BTRIPP (btripp) wrote,

What a weekend ...

Man, I do NOT know how people who have to depend on cars survive the experience ... this is one of the things I dread (among many) about not living downtown ... having to be tied to a car (shudder). Anyway ... since we had the damn rental car I didn't get shit done (work-wise) this weekend, so now I'm in the midst of a panic attack layered over an ever-deepening depression about the job search, and all my businesses being in the toilet and the immanent loss our home, etc. Bleh.

So, what do I do? Go to the smallest, most manageble bits of the "to do" list. Among these, of course, are typing up the poems. It could be argued, that focusing on the poems is healthy, since they are the most authentically ME thing I have on my plate, but it could also be seen as the deepest level of denial, as doing the poems is the least likely thing to provide any solutions to the current chaos in my life.

On a "positive" note, I got another acknowledgement from a company of them having received my resume ... I know that getting these is about on par with the "Get Lost LOSER" cards that I've proposed ... but somehow it feels like an accomplishment to at least be told that they'll stick my resume in a file folder for six months before throwing it out. Oh, also Daughter #1's birthday party on Saturday went well ... even though WE were late for it (!!!) ... and everybody seemed to have a good time. It looks like some of her friends' parents liked the Dojo enough that they're signing the kids up for classes there too, which will be nice for #1.

Anyway, here's the latest poem ... remember, the motherlode of anguished despair is at ...

                    FIVE DOORS TO THIS DECAY

                    slabs of doubt
                    slathered with panic
                    served with heaping helpings
                    of horror and dread ...
                    yes, that's the menu
                    the carte of the feast
                    from which we can't vary
                    what we always must eat
                    useless turnings
                    pointless drive
                    all directions
                    lead downward
                    every forward
                    bears descent
                    trapped in downflow
                    and destructions' grasp
                    so many things
                    are yet to lose
                    we hold them closely
                    dreading the day
                    they are torn from us
                    frantically searching
                    for ways to save
                    that which we love
                    I curse this world
                    of nightmare spirals
                    where terrors bloom
                    bold in the light;
                    I curse this race
                    which is so blinded
                    by greed and doctrine
                    and the sleep of lies
                    too many days
                    and yet too few
                    the frame keeps shifting
                    between these states
                    the hidden dungeon
                    in which we fester
                    and the spinning countdown
                    until decay

                             - Brendan Tripp

                    Copyright © 2001 by Brendan Tripp

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