Welcome, pilgrim, sit ye down. Happy Canadian Thanksgiving! Another deeply unsettling “holiday” officially commemorating the time indigenous good Samaritans saved the lives of the early settlers only to be mostly exterminated for their troubles. There is a lesson here, I cannot however seem to isolate the whisp. I’ll never abandon giving unconditionally, when possible, but what if it brought about the downfall of your entire nation? Was your city surrounded by murderous foes but offered redemption should they sacrifice 10 children, is that price too high? To save millions? I think so, but when one adheres to their principles, they must be prepared for the same disaster courted by those who have similarly abandoned. A valuable lesson indeed. Life more rarely enjoys the comfort of a happy ending than fiction. Happy sells.
Well, with that in the rear view please let me thank you for waiting out my mental health hiatus. Five weeks away from all social media was relatively beneficial in most ways. I do feel rather dedicated to my myriad goals again suddenly. Previously I hadn’t displayed such a lack of commitment since
escaping the asylum. No butterfly net could contain this most caustic insouciance.
Today’s poem is as stark as Iron Man and bleaker than the house of Dickens. Enjoy?
“She’s So Heavy”, August 19, 2021.
Indecision weighs harsh upon ragged soul
Atlas unable to muster even minimal shrug
Regret subdued by grossly ravenous hunger
And logic is consumed blinding by endless fire
Sibilant whispers beckon soothingly
Up and down paradoxically rapturous vertebrae
Passionately decreeing amiable acquiescence
With sweet promises to blessed silence
A peaceful chorus, the siren’s lament
But they are liars all, tired conceit colossal
So ever on the battle rages
In stark knowledge of possible futility
Resistance crumbling and rebuilding
Both at wildly varying rates
Denying either combatant victory
But like the final captured occupant
Of fabled Pandora’s accursed box
Hope remains, forever crying out
But whether mocking or to offer salvation
Still to be long unknown
To those eventually proven worthy
Or the uncountable remains
Forever ensnared, so very far below.
Uplifting like an undertow, yes? Drugs are bad, mmmkay. (The suggested spelling correction for mmmkay was “mammary”, just thought you’d want to know). Free chuckles. That poor clown has been imprisoned too long. Strange how the poor always seem to be the ones in jail. Coincidence indubitably.
Anyway, quick update, Catherine and I are thriving. Not unlike the headiest of wild violets, spreading our roots and strapping our boots. Life abounds.
I’ve sincerely missed this cabal of consciousness and look forward to providing future content on the very soon. Be blessed:)
Happy Trails and Waggy Tales!
-Alex Blaikie (He/Him/It)
A fractured mind held together by cellophane and some used tack.