heatherbeck
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Hole.
🕑 Added 2021-11-17 02:15:57 +0000 UTCOne of my favorite artists is Ralph Steadman. By all accounts, he is a perfectly delightful man. Kind, friendly, outgoing, rightfully eccentric, and just generally good.
If you don’t know him, Google will remind you. He’s that guy. His work is dark, and gritty, and fierce, and just very scary, in a lot of ways.
An interviewer asked him, “Why are you such a congenial person, yet, why does your work exude this demonic essence?”
Ralph, to his credit, replied, “I just get the darkness out onto the paper, my dear.”
Fabulous man.
I certainly don’t profess to be Ralph Steadman. But I’ve always adored that philosophy for as long as I’ve known about it: letting it all dump out onto the page, and see what order-from-chaos happens.
I’ve envied visual artists, partially because, I suppose, they can make the happy accidents seem just a little more intentional. In my case, when you’re dealing with 26 letters, 10 numbers, 13 punctuation marks, and a Wi-Fi connection… Well, that’s all you’ve got.
Oh, who knows. Creativity rests in the limitations.
And, for fucks sake! I’m not even a poet. Lord knows real poets and I have a lot in common… There’s nothing more satisfying, and yet torturous, then dangling a comma for an entire afternoon. But still!
I don’t do poetry very often, and this one, by the time it’s it’s done, will be very different than it is now. I just thought you might like to see… a first draft? Is that what poets call this kind of thing?
As always, and in any case… For what it’s worth. Submitted for the approval of the Midnight Society.
(Or… Worshiper of the external Buddha? 🤷🏻♀️ That’s for you, A.)
(Also, not a good “reading poem”. Definitely more of a speak out loud type a deal. Anyway.
Fuck.
It’s just that… A dear friend of mine once told me to never apologize for my cooking, and I’ve tried to take that to heart. Same ‘ish here.)
Provecho.
###
I sat by a hole in the not distant past, when the big of the stuff had run through.
I looked in the void; the void didn’t look back. But what’s a big void gonna do?
That’s why they’re called voids: they don’t laugh, or cry. They don’t eat, they don’t sleep — they don’t even poo!
They’re empty and spaceless and vast, endless things.
Not barren… but peaceful. And tranquil. Not black;
If I had to describe it, more… blue.
When the big of the stuff was at last calming down, and I no-longer wanted to die, I still was quite mad (and I still don’t know why), that the void was so quiet. Like f’real — “fuck you.”
I spent more time with the void than preferred. It didn’t say nothing! Not even a word! A “Hey, how’s it going?” would certainly do, for a void that’s so howlingly quiet as you.
But quiet it stayed, so when the sun got too high, I packed up my things, to go wandering away. I traveled a step, perhaps, maybe two. When a tone from the ground made me stumble and sway.
I had no idea why this din caught my ear. Curiosity, kinda (or a little bit fear?). If I just tilt my head, will it get somewhat clear? (I tried that before, and got kicked in the rear.)
I turned back around for that one step or two, and gave one last look at the deep, stale blue. When you feel that sound? What else can you do! But, be lured right back to the deep, stale blue?
Then finally, strangely, the rumbling stopped. Clouds covered the sun, and the temperature dropped. Then as clear as a bell! As loud as its ring! The void muttered one magnificent thing:
“Sorry to say so, but sadly, it’s true. I hope you don’t mind… I don’t think about you.”
The blue hole grew quiet, and the sun came back out. I tried hard to figure what the void talked about…
It all should have hurt much worse than it did, to hear such a callous remark. Apathetic at best; just mean at the worst — uncaring, and hollow, and stark.
“Just lie, you big shit!” I wanted to say. But… I didn’t say nothing, and went on my way: there was nothing more that the void could convey! Why listen for more? Should I sit there all day?
Its point was quite clear; at least it was honest; I can’t really foul it for this. A void is a void, and that’s what voids do. But the sun was too hot, and I needed to piss.
At sunset that day, I was far from the void; it seemed like a lifetime before. I was drinking a beer, and propping my feet… when I felt a dull humm from the floor.
Comments
HungToMyKnees
I have an “Alice In Wonderland” book illustrated by him. It’s maddeningly beautiful
Steve
Lovely 🥰
Bob Clevenger
Lovely photo as well.
Bob Clevenger
What a wonderful turn of phrase: "...a void that’s so howlingly quiet as you."
