BTRIPP (btripp) wrote,

Bleh ...

Well ... got another month up in the archives ... March 1996 ... another 20 old poems for your reading enjoyment! The poetry archive is, of course, available over at (like you didn't know that by now).

Some days there is just no winning for losing. I went and took the aptitude test for the computer training deal and just missed one question on that (and I didn't have a wrong answer on that, just not the most right one) which seemed to impress the hell out of the folks there. Oh, good ... Brendan's not an idiot! WRONG! I get home, start getting my act together to get stuff ready for this meeting tomorrow night at 2U about their web site (something that I was SURE was on Tuesday night all the past week), I pull up the e-mail on it and discover (4 hours too late) that it was TONIGHT ... which pretty much blows that whole project at this point. So, Brendan is, as usual, a scum-sucking sack of shit!!!!

Needless to say, this has not made for a good evening. Once something like that gets rolling I start getting real paranoid about other people's intents and relations with me. It is just too damn easy for me to not trust anybody and to assume that everybody at minimum considers me some sort of pitiful bufoon, and at worst is actively plotting to destroy me. Since there ARE those in my immediate environment that are pretty clearly trying to destroy whatever bits of me are indentifiably ME, the following poem is probably more objective than it sounds.

                    JUST MURDERED SHADES

                    all these parts
                    which once were me
                    have been isolated,
                    hunted down, cornered,
                    and brutally killed;
                    when I look back
                    I find nothing
                    which survives

                    these others
                    they circle
                    screeching for carrion
                    while searching for signs
                    of inattention,
                    of weakness,
                    awaiting the time
                    to strike and tear

                    who we were
                    has been murdered here
                    I am nothing now,
                    only a pastiche
                    of dead echoes,
                    slaughtered lights
                    which once burned strong
                    but are now snuffed

                    and the carnage
                    just goes on ...
                    every day, some new attack,
                    some fresh sortie launched,
                    expeditions to determine
                    how I might be reduced
                    to shadows in the void,
                    vapors in the pit

                    all the things I need
                    are destroyed,
                    all the stuff that matters
                    is stripped away like limbs
                    drawn and quartered,
                    all the bits which formed the self
                    are hacked apart
                    and ground to dust

                             - Brendan Tripp

                    Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp

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