December 27th, 2001

Loon

Ho, ho, ho ... and all that rot

Well, we survived Xmas. Not a very happy one given the current economic reality around Chez Tripp, but at least it's over. All sorts of little stressors in play that I would prefer not to enumerate in detail here, but all building to a big bummer. Despite The Wife and I deciding that we couldn't afford to get each other anything, we both went out and did so anyway. I think it was a draw. I am deeply embarassed at the flood of gifts that came in from relatives (primarily for the Girls), which we were only able to reciprocate in a weak shadow. Nothing quite like making one feel like a sack of shit when everybody is doing for you 10x what you could possibly do for them! And, lord knows, I feel like a sack of shit. Got another dozen or so resumes out over last weekend, one of which for a gig that I would REALLY like to land. If you want to send good thoughts, white light, prayers, dark sacrifices, or whatever to me focus them on that (unless you have a real no-fail whammy up your sleeve, in which case work on my winning the $44 million currently in play in the Big Game lotto!).

Anyway ... here's another poem. I had half-dreamed a MUCH better one, but of course, the stuff composed in dreams just teases and almost never ends up on paper. Two more to go for 4,000 written over the past 26 years. Of course, the rest of them (well, back through the 4th quarter of 1996 at this point) are at http://i.am/btripp


                    POISON IN THEIR WORLD


                    so deeply in the lie
                    and systems built
                    of fantasies and force
                    hallucinations frozen
                    into doctrine, law,
                    paradigms of states
                    forever unwilling
                    to allow another stance

                    we stand amid this flow
                    not quite a rock
                    more like a log
                    brought down by storms
                    into the stream,
                    not a part there
                    but an obstruction
                    which eventually decays

                    we lose the words
                    which well in dreams
                    the better words
                    the truer words
                    the realer words
                    of inner states
                    with which we can not synch
                    and so are lost

                    but still the dream
                    stands apart
                    our dream and the world's
                    never the same,
                    what the mass believes
                    and holds as invariable
                    never echoes in our head
                    or shimmers in our heart

                    thus we are alien,
                    an infection unto them,
                    and all the systems
                    of that outer world
                    marshal to reject us;
                    what resources do we have
                    that would allow us to fight
                    and not simply be destroyed?



                             - Brendan Tripp
                                12/26/2001

                    Copyright © 2001 by Brendan Tripp
 
 



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