September 29th, 2001




Back to writing ...

Well, there was that matter of just writing 9 things a month through the end of the year (that obsessive-compulsive need to have "even numbers"), but I've just not been "in a writing place" over the past few weeks .... well, I guess that's changed a bit, since I'm back to cranking these out again. I'm still toying with the idea of TRYING to get back to 250 poems a year next year, but that would be quite a jump (from 9 to 21 a month) ... we'll see how January goes, I guess.

By the way, in all the confusion of this month, I fell "off shcedule" for updating the Poetry Site, and while I have almost gotten all the 1997 poems converted over to ascii, I'm a long way from getting the new year up. I'm still hoping that I'll be able to get a year done a month, but it may take me a while to "get up to speed" with that frequency.

                    CAUGHT IN IMMUNE WORLDS

                    descending focus
                    scrambled sight
                    we have no center
                    from which to gauge
                    we have no locus
                    within the grid ...
                    we have mass but not place
                    spin but no charge

                    uncertain flows
                    in aether, time
                    as though redoubled
                    or twisted back;
                    we can not read
                    the pattern there,
                    we can't deduce
                    the meaning in the mode

                    a desperation grips
                    at the isolation here
                    because the outer world
                    does not release
                    or ease its vile demands
                    and we can not synch
                    with the turn of gears
                    of that dire machine

                    no other paths
                    can be unveiled
                    no matter how we search
                    we seem to be
                    cast down to this
                    damned to a world
                    in which we have no function,
                    alien, unwanted

                    all systems here
                    seek to repress
                    our very being
                    as though we infected
                    the sleeping host
                    of the mundane mass
                    which dully acts
                    to eradicate, purge and destroy

                             - Brendan Tripp

                    Copyright © 2001 by Brendan Tripp

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There is no god ...

Unless my name is Job, and the last time I checked it said something different on the damn driver's license. What a curel fucking irony that "Job" and "job" are spelled the same, eh? I can't find the latter and I sure as hell FEEL like the former. Well, if anybody out there was sort of keeping some real cool communications/information gig a secret from me, now would be the time to spring the surprise ... since the shit is all over the fucking fan.

It looks like we're losing the house. The new property tax bills came in and they've more than doubled. We probably would have had a hard time paying for the old level, but the new level ... it would be an evil joke if it wasn't there in B&W. I have been trying to get a "day job" now for over two years and have had ONE fucking interview. Most places just "round file" my resume because of any number of "red flags" on it (I've owned my own business, I'm in my mid-40's, most of my experience is with a family business, etc., etc., etc.), so I never even get considered. And I've been told repeatedly that "I'm too experienced for a mid-range job (in PR)", but nobody wants to touch me for a management/VP gig.

Eschaton is so deep in the toilet that it doesn't have a prayer of turning around anytime soon ... even if it can continue at all. My Unicity Network business, while still promising, is just that, promising, with nothing yet gelling from it (and I'm still reeling from having had ZERO ... nada, nil, pfft ... response from that 624-piece mailing I did a few weeks ago ... not a single person responded ... which shouldn't SURPRISE me, since that's the fucking story of my life ... where something "should" pull X% response ... I was expecting around 3% here ... my typical results are ZERO response, no matter the nature of the project). The Wife is (once again) backing away from HER new business (again, why should I be surprised, this has happened over and over ... just this time she has new stationary, new computer, new web site, and thousands of dollars worth of "stuff") and instead of gearing up to build that to a "real salary", she's now looking at how to dump her inventory on other people doing that. And, that job that I've been talking about on-and-off over the past month or so is STILL "in limbo", but would only be paying 1/3 to 1/4 of what we really need to be bringing in to stay here. Barring a Lottery win (how come the odds of anything good happening to me keep drifting down to "as likely as winning the lottery" territory?), were screwed.

So, I guess we lose the apartment. I can't begin to tell you how much I love this place and how much I do NOT want to move (I've lived in this building for 20 years and up here for the past 10). The Wife is talking about moving to all sorts of places I have actively never wanted to live. I planned to live here until they took me out feet first. Well, I suppose that still is an option ...

Anway, lucky you ... two fucking depressing pieces of swill in a day ... can't beat that, can you?

                    MY WORLD, COLLAPSING NOW

                    the weight of failure
                    bears down today
                    as we seek some way
                    to move from here
                    but nothing's there
                    and nothing seems
                    to offer hope
                    to ever be OK again

                    we are so broken
                    by constant stress
                    by this history
                    of endless loss
                    how every effort
                    yields us naught
                    and every plan
                    gets shot down in flames

                    I can not believe
                    that anything I try
                    will not decay
                    falling into failure
                    no matter how designed
                    I can not believe
                    the future will show change
                    from nightmares into light

                    the sense of doom
                    is overwhelming
                    the taint of death
                    hangs everywhere
                    we seem so damned
                    in this reality
                    as though we're fated
                    to tragic declines

                    why is it that nothing
                    ever works for me?
                    why do our strivings
                    always end in dire defeat?
                    how can the odds
                    be so stacked
                    that we never win
                    not even once?

                             - Brendan Tripp

                    Copyright © 2001 by Brendan Tripp

visit my home page