#449

I bought this book for a sonnet--err song ($3) during one of my forays at a local flea market. Not bad for an 1878 illustrated edition of The Complete Works of the Bard, eh? 

William Shakespeare would have been 449 today.

Never Surrender

Last Song Syndrome: Corey Hart's Sunglasses at Night, a song I never heard for more than 2 decades. Damn Detroit FM radio; now I got these lines stuck in my head-

"Don't switch the blade on the guy in shades, oh no! Don't masquerade with the guy in shades, oh no!

Although I hate the said song, I used to like his other power ballad and hit, Never Surrender, which won him the 1985 Juno Award for "Single of the Year" in Canada.

Cheesy and all, I still love the 80s!

This Old Guitar

my old acoustic guitar, 

the sole witness 

during those rare 

times where i can 

wear 

my heart on 

my sleeve.

In Solitude...

I found a long-sought

soft self-comforting freedom

a heart-rousing understanding

governed not by the common reason

but by untamed emotions.

*

...early Sunday morning, driving on a deserted Southfield Freeway. the sun's rays are trying to break through the grey clouds' spell. Michigan in winter; beautiful and lonely.

BrainDamage

Another day, another wasted day. Another rotten day has passed,  spent in this dark old  room, an abyss where not a sliver of light, have penetrated its four corners for ages -- the dominion of the damned, where sanity is slowly eroding inside the battered head.

In the Brain; where the never-ending labyrinth of gelatinous gyri and sulci, continues to boggle and rattle, the spirit of the demented mind.

Pitter patter-raindrops spatter-eat the matter-in the platter-
helpless tapper-leader-follower-naked in the shower-
nobody answers...

this never-ending childish prattle-

taxes the mind,  burns the soul,
castrates the emotions
and rips off the heart

Of everything.

In isolation, inside this padded room, the only place for lunatics- lost in space, locked in total darkness- a prisoner condemned into oblivion.

This smokey room; where the stale air flew in circles, where the mind somersaults like the high-flyer in a circus. This smelly room; where the stench of urine is stronger than the odor of filth, where the nose forgets its sorry existence. This room where darkness rules is the only one that I have ever known.

"The Sandman lurks in the dark. Take this pill and you'll be all right," says the woman in white. The lady with the perpetual  smirk, the purveyor of dreams and what have you. 

Eni meni mini mo, take the pill and off we go!

Blue pill or red pill it does not really matter. The brain is bursting and the neurons exploding- Time stood still, warping my sense of being.

I am a traveler.  I am a gatherer. I am a pilgrim

I am home.

* c.mmx

'Exploding Raphaelesque Head'- Salvador Dali, 1951

Air Bubbles

"In all our quest of greatness, like wanton boys, whose pastime is their care, we follow after bubbles, blown in the air." - John Webster

 *Troy Marriott/Troy Michigan