Virginia Woolf

Haunted by blank reflections, she stepped into the netherworld of empty bliss, sinking slowly from the weight of the rocks she fetched from the river’s edge, having filled her pockets with their heft. She entered the wash of her salvation, her single purpose murky with the green filter of life conducting its ebb and flow. Her eyes wide and wondrous called to a welcoming place, her final place.

 

Changing Dimensions

Time to run away?

Where to go and what to say

Ticking gets louder.

A ravaging discontent descended or perhaps ascended or better just landed. It felt heavy, weighty across the shoulders, although not to be measured in pounds. Still, it had heft and I staggered under its embrace. A clashing of me’s ensued. The logical, rational, reasonable me versus the dreamer, the schemer, the romantic. I now realize the battle has been waged for years, not a war, more regular skirmishes with no accord in sight. Enough! Battleground chatter matters not. What does matter is the “same” morphs into new iterations of the “same” and that’s insane. Perhaps change for the sake of change is a good thing, the only thing. Who said that was a bad thing in the first place? Some intransigent malcontent trying to pretend to be content? My mother loves to tell the same jokes all the time, given her limited repertoire, perhaps she hopes that I can’t remember the punch line. A favorite is, “What’s the difference between a rut and a grave?” She takes great delight in delivering the answer, “the dimensions”. It’s true, the dimensions make an impact but change, perhaps changing dimensions makes a bigger impact. I feel crowded, the rooms are closing in on me, the dimensions are painting me into a corner. I need a big sky, an open field, a giant breath of fresh air. Big dimensions, big change.

                                                                                                                                                            

Brave New World - A Rap by DJ TazzieDog

My acrid invective, selective

Directed to a world gone mad

Sadly teetering on the brink

Of what? Destruction? The stink of corruption?

It might come down

To those capitalized clowns

 Making the rounds with the

Takers, the breakers, the policy makers

Doing the bidding, taking the hitting

Fitting the world in

Maniacal games of

Fame, fortune, greedy contortion

Cesspooling their retooling

Fooling with our resources

Our recourse is

An evolution of

Trickle down solutions

Call it revolution

When the shit hits the fan

And the cowards all stand

On their island alone

With their glam and their gab

On their now sinking slab

We will sup with the fish

We will breathe in the pitch

Of the pine and

Rewind the plunder

That brought us asunder

We will look to the stars

That shine down on our hood

We will learn to be good.