Always on/on
Always on/on
By: Bogdan Puslenghea
The same fly, curiosity and speed
Faith becomes you
Idiot sub
Repeat ht
Eat g
At i
L
I’ve seen the devil&
came back
really?
one
on
e
Y
e
mock mock,
defensive
Cherry
O Man he knows!
breath IS
heY, when you tried to open
the window even
it was cold and the radio played on
that hateful music,
you had written
in absence –
I was the first monkey
I can’t get it. Halifax? Quasimofo? Anybody?
Based on the title and word choice, (as well as a massive leap of imagination)….
I’m going with this: This is the product of Ritalin withdrawal after a lost weekend over break where causal sex & infidelity with a friend’s significant other led to a broken heart as the reality sets in and finds early that Monday morning a convenient moleskin and pen placed too close to the bedside to ignore.
The author is speaking with the many moods/auras/personas of himself within the static grey area of awareness.
We are always changing (though replicated from the original template) and are never the same from one moment to the next–“The same fly, curiosity and speed/ faith becomes you…”
There are times in the low tide of consciousness, our minds drift and we contemplate our place in the collective continuum of humanity. We may look at ourselves and even others with a microscope. “Idiot sub/ Repeat ht/ Eat g/ At i/ L …” Or–Idiot substitute, repeat doppelganger of myself, eat grass at eye level (perhaps)… This part of the author is likened to a cow or grazer, a sheep? Going thru life as a herd animal.
The warrior objects saying that he has seen things of hard life “I’ve seen the devil&/ came back”. Does that which does not kill us really make us stronger, or does it chip away chunks of our will to live and ability to navigate life and search for happiness. But the author does not want to delude him/herself and live a lie. So are we really searching for truth here, even at the expense of happiness?
Again, we are drawn back to the eyes, the windows to the soul, where the author takes hard looks at him/herself. The soliloquoy-dialogue becomes a crossfire of mocking…what is the true self? Can it become something else? Or will it always revert to its ‘default setting’?
“Cherry”–the author strikes upon fruit, a welcome sign gambling the slots. “O Man he knows!/ breath IS”… –The realization that thinking about one’s self and place is life itself, the meat of life, and even though it is primitive, it’s an end unto itself that brings a semblance of contentment–
“heY, when you tried to open
the window even
it was cold and the radio played on
that hateful music,
you had written
in absence –
I was the first monkey”
Reminds me of what Nikos Kazantzakis said of our search for meaning resembling a ‘groping in the dark’. Can we make light of it all?