hobbit.
Gods rep on Earth.
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You are one scary dude.
A time to live and a place to die
- Thread starter Bert Notorius
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You are one scary dude.
Bert Notorius
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Cindy's urn was nice, as urns go-
Pastel pink flowers on shiny white porcelain,
her oxidizable bits reduced to an 11 inch tall cylinder,
a sister, a Mother, a daughter, not to be reconstituted.
Not all of Cindy was reduced to powder.
A certain percentage of mass remains large and unsightly,
and must be run through the cremulator.
Can't have bone fragments rattling about.
All the pink ribbons
on all the lapels,
and Nike nylon tanks,
and automobile bumpers,
could not keep Cindy out of that porcelain tomb.
The seeds of death and primrose sprout where they will.
Pastel pink flowers on shiny white porcelain,
her oxidizable bits reduced to an 11 inch tall cylinder,
a sister, a Mother, a daughter, not to be reconstituted.
Not all of Cindy was reduced to powder.
A certain percentage of mass remains large and unsightly,
and must be run through the cremulator.
Can't have bone fragments rattling about.
All the pink ribbons
on all the lapels,
and Nike nylon tanks,
and automobile bumpers,
could not keep Cindy out of that porcelain tomb.
The seeds of death and primrose sprout where they will.
Bert Notorius
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How does one steel the soul for the visage of death?
I know of no balm, no litany or invocation.
I got to meet the Coroner tonight,
an attractive lady,
her brown, leather jacket,
much too light for the weather.
She wore the visage of life.
She said it was most likely
a coronary event,
by the way no attempt was made
to break the fall.
The nose, broken, one final insult to life,
left a small spot of blood
where the carpet met the vinyl flooring,
it's size limited by the last few ventricular throbs.
My Dove looked at the face of death today.
Forever changed.
Not nearly as brave or as strong
as She would like all to believe.
Fitful dreams will follow.
They always do.
They always do.
.
I know of no balm, no litany or invocation.
I got to meet the Coroner tonight,
an attractive lady,
her brown, leather jacket,
much too light for the weather.
She wore the visage of life.
She said it was most likely
a coronary event,
by the way no attempt was made
to break the fall.
The nose, broken, one final insult to life,
left a small spot of blood
where the carpet met the vinyl flooring,
it's size limited by the last few ventricular throbs.
My Dove looked at the face of death today.
Forever changed.
Not nearly as brave or as strong
as She would like all to believe.
Fitful dreams will follow.
They always do.
They always do.
.
Last edited:
Bert Notorius
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She didn't want one of those fucking buttons,
"I've fallen and I can't get up."
She'd rather have a six pack of Bud,
and a quart of rocky road.
Her life was a rocky road.
She fell a lot toward the end.
You'd turn around and in a second,
she'd be on the floor.
I accepted her and I don't readily accept anyone.
Is 80 enough?
"But, it's all about quality."
Bullshit!
Even misery beats the alternative,
doesn't it?
If you can make someone else's life
just a little bit better, it's worth it,
right?
"I've fallen and I can't get up."
She'd rather have a six pack of Bud,
and a quart of rocky road.
Her life was a rocky road.
She fell a lot toward the end.
You'd turn around and in a second,
she'd be on the floor.
I accepted her and I don't readily accept anyone.
Is 80 enough?
"But, it's all about quality."
Bullshit!
Even misery beats the alternative,
doesn't it?
If you can make someone else's life
just a little bit better, it's worth it,
right?
Bert Notorius
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I saw Dad last night. It was the first time since he died nearly a year and a half ago. Those dreams tend to linger on, giving the day a sepia tone of semi reality. It was a short visit. No words were spoken. It was in the middle of a frenetic, work dream. not at all accurate in surrounding or people but close in circumstance, in anticipation of upcoming, sweeping changes.
He had on blue pants and a red sweater. I remember him as a fashion nightmare, being that Mom's passing left him to dress himself for the last 30 years or so. He looked thin. And sad. Yet proud. In shaky fashion, he stood as I approached. We shook hands and I was then swept away in a flood of blank faces. I was aware from that point on that dream and reality would soon invert.
Hands reaching from beyond, or hands reaching into the beyond? Both or neither? Either way, I'll be sleeping here every night.
Don't be a stranger.
He had on blue pants and a red sweater. I remember him as a fashion nightmare, being that Mom's passing left him to dress himself for the last 30 years or so. He looked thin. And sad. Yet proud. In shaky fashion, he stood as I approached. We shook hands and I was then swept away in a flood of blank faces. I was aware from that point on that dream and reality would soon invert.
Hands reaching from beyond, or hands reaching into the beyond? Both or neither? Either way, I'll be sleeping here every night.
Don't be a stranger.
Bert Notorius
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"I'm taking cookies to TAP's neighbor. Her grand daughter did not survive the night", she said.
"Death cookies? Someone died, let's eat cookies..."
(blank stare)
"What?"
"What the fuck is wrong with you", she asked, almost tearing up.
"Death cookies? Someone died, let's eat cookies..."
(blank stare)
"What?"
"What the fuck is wrong with you", she asked, almost tearing up.
Bert Notorius
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"I think you just put too much faith in the power of cookies."
.
.
.
.
.
"You can be a real ass sometimes."
and as she went on icing the room grew colder.
"Can I have one? One of the death cookies?"
(whizz, splat)
.
.
.
.
.
"You can be a real ass sometimes."
and as she went on icing the room grew colder.
"Can I have one? One of the death cookies?"
(whizz, splat)
Bert Notorius
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"Here is what is wrong with me. I hear you say a baby is dead and I feel nothing. At least I think I feel nothing. I am making myself feel nothing, as if life is only a tv show. What is my appropriate level of feeling? To put myself in their place would be something I don't think I could bear. What if I had to plan the funeral? What if I had to console you? What am I suppose to do?"
"You could make cookies..."
"You could make cookies..."
Bert Notorius
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La Belle au bois dormant
A kiss floats off my lips to the great beyond,
Always unshared, no sleeping princess to awaken.
One cannot help but wonder what might have been.
The twisting of fate and circumstance,
sends a life careening into another, or barely passing by,
like so many spinning, ineluctable billiard balls.
My eyes are hot to vent the steam of tears.
In typical fashion, they will in some dark
Or secluded other place. The place only I see.
I would go to send her off,
But it is too far, too perilous a journey.
The fable ends here, with the Grimm, not the Disney ending.
The night of her passing...call it what it is,
by its given name...the night of her death,
The fireflies took first flight of the late spring.
I am not a believer in spirits or ghosts, or portents,
The romantic notion that a self luminating insect
Would rise to guide her onward is perposterous.
Of course it is.
Just breathe, bert. It is what separates us from the dead.
They have no use for the living, not like us, who cling
To their memories to keep us warm on a cold night, or
To feel that particular feeling one more time.
Her face is frozen in time. 1962. I will carry it with me
Until such time that the fireflies come for me.
A kiss floats off my lips to the great beyond,
Always unshared, no sleeping princess to awaken.
One cannot help but wonder what might have been.
The twisting of fate and circumstance,
sends a life careening into another, or barely passing by,
like so many spinning, ineluctable billiard balls.
My eyes are hot to vent the steam of tears.
In typical fashion, they will in some dark
Or secluded other place. The place only I see.
I would go to send her off,
But it is too far, too perilous a journey.
The fable ends here, with the Grimm, not the Disney ending.
The night of her passing...call it what it is,
by its given name...the night of her death,
The fireflies took first flight of the late spring.
I am not a believer in spirits or ghosts, or portents,
The romantic notion that a self luminating insect
Would rise to guide her onward is perposterous.
Of course it is.
Just breathe, bert. It is what separates us from the dead.
They have no use for the living, not like us, who cling
To their memories to keep us warm on a cold night, or
To feel that particular feeling one more time.
Her face is frozen in time. 1962. I will carry it with me
Until such time that the fireflies come for me.
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Bert Notorius
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And he'll have to fight the worms for that place to die.
You plannin' on dyin' slow?
Bert Notorius
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"I see your high school yearbook is sitting on the coffee table. It has the smell of old book," she said.
"I can't seem to open it. I have just been staring at it. I could put it away, if the mold and history is clogging your sinuses."
"I can't seem to open it. I have just been staring at it. I could put it away, if the mold and history is clogging your sinuses."
Bert Notorius
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"No, it's okay. I'll stare at it with you. Should I get some wine?" and she disappeared into the kitchen.
"Open some of that sweet stuff from the new vineyard up the road, the one with the windmills on the label.
And grab some Lysol spray."
"Open some of that sweet stuff from the new vineyard up the road, the one with the windmills on the label.
And grab some Lysol spray."
Bert Notorius
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(We stare at the book for some time, sipping central IL grapes from the bottle with the windmills on it. The reds would probably be better for book watching, but, honestly, they aren't very good. Red wine that doesn't sleep in oak is a sacrilege, even by midwestern standards)
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Bert Notorius
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"I assume at some point, either the book will spontaneously ignite or it will speak of what is up. Or you will. Or it can remain silent. Kind of our neighbors to get us drunk don't you think?" she misdirected, as she often does to throw me off balance, to elicit sound from my silence. She is a clever girl, a good counterpoint to my somber.
After some more silence all I can say is, "I don't know how."
After some more silence all I can say is, "I don't know how."
Bert Notorius
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As long as you have a plan.
Bert Notorius
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"More wine then?"
"You know that except for a short time in the 1970's I have always been able to out-drink you," I said knowing full well that I was no match for a lioness in search of intellectual meat.
"You know that except for a short time in the 1970's I have always been able to out-drink you," I said knowing full well that I was no match for a lioness in search of intellectual meat.
Bert Notorius
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"So, have you seen any fireflies yet this year?" I said.
"A few days back there were some. The rain has been hard on them. I suppose getting hit by a rain drop the size of a Volkswagen could be a terminal event."
"Terminal event. Huh. That's kinda like dying only in bug? Do you think they have a higher purpose, those sparkly bugs?"
"I like to think we're all in it together. I'm no expert but it's been a work in progress for a while now." (what I would give to feel that kind of optimism, just once)
"A few days back there were some. The rain has been hard on them. I suppose getting hit by a rain drop the size of a Volkswagen could be a terminal event."
"Terminal event. Huh. That's kinda like dying only in bug? Do you think they have a higher purpose, those sparkly bugs?"
"I like to think we're all in it together. I'm no expert but it's been a work in progress for a while now." (what I would give to feel that kind of optimism, just once)
Bert Notorius
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"You seem to be a little less than your bubbly self as of late", she said, sniffing at my reluctance like fresh killed gnu. Something between the covers of that book has been disturbed."
"It's just a book," I lied, poorly.
"It's just a book," I lied, poorly.
Bert Notorius
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More silence.
I am not a person that is compelled to fill the silence with the sound of my own voice. I am comfortable inside of it. Thoughts are another matter. They can be a cat's purr one moment and a Hallelujah choir the next.
"Someone who lives between the covers of that book has been disturbed."
(Did I say that out loud? I'll wait. Maybe it was only a loud thought.)
"Show her to me."
(Stupid mouth.)
I am not a person that is compelled to fill the silence with the sound of my own voice. I am comfortable inside of it. Thoughts are another matter. They can be a cat's purr one moment and a Hallelujah choir the next.
"Someone who lives between the covers of that book has been disturbed."
(Did I say that out loud? I'll wait. Maybe it was only a loud thought.)
"Show her to me."
(Stupid mouth.)
Bert Notorius
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"Time heals all wounds."
That is true, maybe, in regards to a hang nail or even a through-and-through. Tell that to a guy whose leg has been blown off and he may disagree. The stump may skin over with proper care, but time won't regrow a new leg. It's up to the nouveau monopodial to develop work arounds.
Phantom pains- pain emanating from a loss so great that the bearer is unaware the loss is tangible. I hurt, but why? Why do I continually fall to the right every time I stand up? At some point, the loss is accepted and dealt with. Until then it is just part of the background noise of all "the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune" that has compiled.
Emotional connection. Tangible? No. It is just there. More cerebral deception. It is not like being dependent on water, or air, or potato chips. Maybe it is the brain giving the corporeal a better chance of survival by pairing it up. Some suppress the need better than others, but it is always there, until the connection is severed.
See phantom pains.
Scabs. What does an emotional scab look like? Dark, brown, emanating puss? A furrowed brow? Colitis? Looking for physical manifestations of a severed cerebral deception is beyond my pay grade. Still, I tend to pick at them. It is my nature. It is how I deal, waiting on time to pass.
That is true, maybe, in regards to a hang nail or even a through-and-through. Tell that to a guy whose leg has been blown off and he may disagree. The stump may skin over with proper care, but time won't regrow a new leg. It's up to the nouveau monopodial to develop work arounds.
Phantom pains- pain emanating from a loss so great that the bearer is unaware the loss is tangible. I hurt, but why? Why do I continually fall to the right every time I stand up? At some point, the loss is accepted and dealt with. Until then it is just part of the background noise of all "the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune" that has compiled.
Emotional connection. Tangible? No. It is just there. More cerebral deception. It is not like being dependent on water, or air, or potato chips. Maybe it is the brain giving the corporeal a better chance of survival by pairing it up. Some suppress the need better than others, but it is always there, until the connection is severed.
See phantom pains.
Scabs. What does an emotional scab look like? Dark, brown, emanating puss? A furrowed brow? Colitis? Looking for physical manifestations of a severed cerebral deception is beyond my pay grade. Still, I tend to pick at them. It is my nature. It is how I deal, waiting on time to pass.
Bert Notorius
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Waiting.
Waiting is exhausting.
Waiting and hoping for nothing to happen is maddening.
All she wants is a time to live.
Is that too much to ask?
If she lives,
her name is Aria.
She will be a song in human form.
Solid?
One can only hope.
All we can do is hope, I told her "maybe to be Mom."
She is so brave under these circumstances.
-So brave for being so young.
Solid.
I admire her and I don't even know her.
No.2 will be fine.
He may even come out the other side
solid.
But now
we wait.
Waiting is exhausting.
Waiting and hoping for nothing to happen is maddening.
All she wants is a time to live.
Is that too much to ask?
If she lives,
her name is Aria.
She will be a song in human form.
Solid?
One can only hope.
All we can do is hope, I told her "maybe to be Mom."
She is so brave under these circumstances.
-So brave for being so young.
Solid.
I admire her and I don't even know her.
No.2 will be fine.
He may even come out the other side
solid.
But now
we wait.
Bert Notorius
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Unless you're an ancient Egyptian king.
