The thing that really KILLS me with all these various career counsellors is that NONE of them have any cogent suggestions for me! Every one of them that I meet with pretty much clucks and says "gee, that's tough" and then pretty much washes their hands of me. Obviously, I'm in a bad, bad, bad situation ... with a "power" resume which is too much "neither fish nor fowl" to fit in the little boxes of the people doing the hiring ... I get "round filed" constantly for being "too this" or "too that", with NOBODY willing to give me a shot at re-inventing myself in their context.
The only "interesting" thing that's happened over the past day or some is that some lady's computer has got one of those damn viruses that sends itself out over and over again ... I don't know HOW my Unicity e-mail address got into her address book (as neither she nor I recall having any contact previously), but her computer is sending me mail about every 15 minutes (I've had nearly 50 messages so far, all with different subject lines and saying "Hi! How are you? ... I send you this file in order to have your advice ... See you later. Thanks" with a file attached that is the subject line with .doc.com or .doc.pif attached). So at least I'm getting mail today ... whoopie!
Anyway, wrote this in various chunks yesterday (hence the numbered sections) ... of course, to get to the "motherlode" of my poems you just need to visit http://i.am/btripp ...
SO CAVERNOUS THE ABYSS
1
dim cycles
start anew
echoed traces
of time wasted
in half-remembered pasts
regurgitated here
in slightly altered form
as if to salve our panic
2
dark days
the inner
and outer worlds
conspiring now
to crush all hope
to leave us dreamless
to obliterate
the essence of ourselves
3
all systems decay
all functions
on which we rely
fall to chaos
we amass this loss
within our anguish,
a stain these tears
won't wash away
4
in this cell
so like those dungeons,
pent within
collapsing space,
we know the dread
of these encounters,
a fear which smothers
all prayers unsaid
5
so down,
so dire,
so dismal, this,
so empty are these futures
except for agony;
so worthless are our days,
so useless our prospects,
so cavernous the abyss
- Brendan Tripp
12/13/2001
Copyright © 2001 by Brendan Tripp