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Saturday shorts December 2, 2006

Posted by dr. gonzo in Writing.
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A couple short, short pieces for reading or heckling enjoyment.

Amnesiac

And though the words we knew to the songs we sang were few, we were. Remember sweeping plains and building storms? Remember walking alone, in hands on beaches. Or sunsets and unimportant minutes with fuzzy detail and fallen structure. The way the sand wisped in the wind and tickled your forehead. Mischievous glances from tired eyes or maybe, remember, that? Remember drum beats and thugs? Standing in the rain, alone? I remember changing my mind. Do you? Do you remember being persuaded to lie? Or lying? I don’t really remember any of this. Concoctions of falsehoods and webs of lies and deceit tumbling all around, abandoned. Riding the wake to its terminus. And finding there nothing, no memories of hollows, no signs of life. If it was summer or spring or if it wasn’t would everything still be gray? Even a glimpse over this hill, at its summit returns only furtive movements way out on the periphery. It wasn’t the only time. If I could have done away with it I would have. So now heaven is bare, do you remember the lush hanging gardens that have all rotted away? All of my memories are gone now. Do you remember any of this? I can’t, for the life of me. I seem to have forgotten

–END–

Stupid! Capitalism!

The thing that keeps crawling back the most, or the things, are those moments. They stand out in indisputable detail but they are almost meaningless. Why recall useless points in reality, instead of a moment on some grassy knoll of consequence, of a thought or a glimpse of thought that might have momentarily revealed some greater truth or some greater thrill. Instead, minutes of little consequence come crawling back the most. I spent my last quarter on a small box of Mike n Ike at the corner store, at the country store—-as it felt so much more comfortable labeling itself, there is always broken glass littering the ground in the country stores of America. And peeling back the glued paper box top and revealing the colorful treat inside for a mere quarter a moment of mysterious happiness. Manufactured. Pre packaged and sold to the unwitting and sad consumer. Happiness. For a moment–longer the moment more expensive the package. Instead of the moments of consequence. These stand out and come crawling back. Life and its nature and death and its part in life. The molding of humanity. Ignored and forgotten amongst the clutter of unkempt thought inside of minds. Crawling back are the pre packaged ones. Memories for sale. Happy children for only a week’s salary. This is what comes crawling back the most. Plastic masks covering sad sad sad times. Sad faces. Hiding behind shrink wrapped splendor. Agony is unnecessary. Happiness is for sale. Happy faces–from moments purchased—-speckle the atmosphere, happy, little, lost faces

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