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Sunday, September 1, 2019

Truly Saying Something



The solitary sky.
So busy!
Fifty-seven years of watching it pass overhead.
A silent friend. Except when it's not.
Even then we're still quite close.
The conversations are often nonverbal,
spoken in feeling-prayers and wide-eyed appreciation.
At least from my end.

August has passed.
I heard the sky sigh early this morning with great relief,
as it always does this time of year.
Sometimes it waits till October.
Not this year.
Summer's heat still reigns supreme,
and the river is tired and ready to be replenished.
The dam holding the tourists back has sprung a leak.
Thank God.
Soon they'll be gone, and the sky and river
will begin to heal once more.

I found life here, in this remote corner along the Pacific Northwest coast.
Here the profound and ultimately terminal
insanity that pollutes the souls and spirits of so many is less;
here the memes and the hashtags and the consumption
and the me-firstism and the preening and the prowling
and the dominating and the demurring and the latest this
and the latest that and the industrialism and the ten-easy-steps-ism
and the angry blank stares and the chrome this and plastic that
and the endless conversations about nothing at all
and the endless conversations about less than nothing at all
and the hairstyles and the lifestyles and the deathstyles ...
though certainly not vanquished ...
though certainly not totally obviated ...
though certainly still present ...
are so in a much smaller degree,
one that I can actually manage,
at least enough to keep my sanity intact.

That's truly saying something, believe me.

I can hear your disdain.
It's there in your three-second attention span,
in your obnoxious click-click-clicking as you seek the next
digital high, the next "like," the next cat video,
the next "new and improved" crotchstain remover,
the next bloviator, the next reality-TV-star fellator,
the next Dancing With the Stars masturbator.

I can hear all that ...
but the volume is reduced, and so are you,
and so I remain sane.
Thank God.

This little blog on the corner of No and Where
is precisely where it should be.
I no longer look at the Stats Page.
Haven't for weeks now.
It's irrelevant to me, and will remain so forever.
For it records only ghosts, both digital and flesh,
and returns only their emptiness and coldness.

This little blog on the corner of No and Where
is precisely what it should be.
No matter how many of you empty, cold bastards pass by,
it won't change.
At least not for you.

This little blog on the corner of No and Where
is for those who, like me, truly talk, wide-eyed, to the solitary sky,
who truly listen to the tired,
ready-to-be-replenished rivers.

Not many of you.
Not many of you at all.

One more thing.
That's going to have to change
if you want your children to survive
to see old age, or even middle age.

Just sayin'.


~~*~~
Bandon, Oregon

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