Crazy crazy

I was combing the cat’s hair
he smiled
but the hair began to come off in clumps
soon all there was was skin
and his eye fell out

I had a lemonade stand
on a deserted dusty desert road
a camel rider came by
dismounted and gave me a cactus
I gave him lemonade
and the camel too
once I had the cactus more customers came
but they all brought cactus

at night, I was driving a bumper car
in a closed courtyard
buildings all ’round
my electric pole was connected
to the thunderclouds
I couldn’t get out
so I waited for the lightning

in a waiting room
for military service
we were all shaved
the guy next to me
had very bad jitters
and I had sudden pain in the groin
he pulled out a syringe
looked me in the eye
I nodded yes
and then there was a bad smell

a thing with insect eyes
stood at a lectern
while I was chained to the tree in front of him
the eyes were judging
as it looked at its book then back to me
I hoped for its disapproval
’cause I did not want to go where it was going

under the sea I moved, with gills
fat smiling lips
and lidless eyes
I thought myself King of the coral reef
until a fella with eight arms
begged to differ.

Haraview Burgers

Going on 50 years ago, I first began driving highway 11 north into Ontario’s Muskoka country.  I and a group of friends were weekend campers in a park north of Severn Bridge.  Just south of our campground, a burger place had opened.  I never did stop there because it was so close to our destination and because of the sometimes difficult task of getting back onto the highway again.  Haraview Burgers it was called, and I do remember a small sign in their parking lot that said something like “Best burgers around.  Recommended by Kingsmill of the Toronto Star”.

In all of those camping trips, and the subsequent 40 years of driving past it on the way to North Bay with my wife, I noticed a few things:   It seemed to have been operational for only a short time, maybe a year or two.  After that, there was a CLOSED sign on the door.  At first I thought that they were only going to open in the summer months, but that never happened.

Curiously, the place seems to have been reasonably well maintained over the years.  The signs are still up, but I have seen no evidence of occupancy.  The single exception to this is a curl of smoke I saw coming from its chimney one winter day.  The photos I have presented here were taken about two weeks ago.  I actually stopped there to take a look around.  No one was about, and I did not knock on their door.  I have never been able to glean any information about the place, even from the great God of Google, or from social media.

It now has a fresh paint job, but still has the persona of a burger place.  I really do wonder how many people have actually pulled into that driveway in fifty years.  My imagination says that perhaps an old hermit lives there who gets amusement out of peering through his curtains at the disappointed tourists that come and go from his property.  Or, it could be a front for some kind of nefarious business, haha.

Next trip, I may just summon the nerve to investigate a little further.  I will keep you posted.

Hooligan Heaven

June bug down your jersey
(Never jumped so high)
A one-eyed cat
A broken bat
A stolen piece of pie

A snake it was, a garter
That made you run so fast
You tortured things
You pulled off wings
Your parents were aghast

A paper cup of doggie-doo
You put on someone’s porch
Soaked in gas
(You silly ass)
And lit it like a torch.
When they rushed to stamp it out
You hid behind a tree
Then watched them curse and jump about.
You giggled with such glee.

One time, your little brother
(An accomplice, without fail)
Cooked a rat
Then grabbed a cat
And swung it by its tail

The kitty cat survived this test
And landed on its feet.
Your brother, under house arrest,
Still thought ’twas “pretty neat”.

Incorrigible hooligans
You broke your mommy’s glasses.
When Dad found out
He gave a shout
And tanned your little asses.

Small things amuse small minds

The funny fridge made too much ice.
Overflowed all inside.
I dumped the cubes into the sink, filled it up.
Hosed the hot water and watched them melt.
A studied simple pleasure.

A novice at laundry, instructed by Wife.
You do this and this, don’t forget the lint.
Slide out the screen, wet the fingertips.
So smoothly and cleanly does it bunch into your hand.
Looking like grey candy floss.
Soon, I’ll have enough for a sweater.

Pleasing memory.  Dad got me a gyroscope.
The small kind that fits within your hand.
Wind a string around the axle, pull hard.
It will balance on a piece of thread.
Simple wonder and amazement.

Worked in a cigarette factory.
You lifted as many packs as possible, at once.
Stacked them on a cart as they came down the belt.
We had competitions.
You succeeded, or they were on the floor,
Shutting down the line.
We laughed.  I loved it.

Now, I sit at home.
Combing the cats, one by one.
They see me sit, they form a line.
Hogging the time, they are in nirvana.
I am amazed at the hair coming off.
It clogs and accumulates upon the comb.
With each repetition, there is more.
Why are they not bald, like me?
They purr, and they lick.
Therapy for me.
A free and easy exchange of dopamine,
For both sides.
Soon, I will have enough for a sweater.

 

The LSD cats

I would like to acknowledge a blogger over at https://smsaves.wordpress.com/  for pointing out some inaccuracies in the original draft of this story.  I remember seeing these cat portraits many years ago and, at that time, I had the perception that they were done under the influence of LSD.  They have indeed been represented as such in a number of different accounts.

The true story is of a man named Louis Wain who was a commercial illustrator in England.  He was born in 1860, and gained popularity mainly through the many and varied portraits of cats that he did.  Later in life, he developed a mental illness, and was thought to be schizophrenic.  As he continued pursuing his art, his paintings became progressively more bizarre and complex.  For reasons I cannot pin down, the gradual metamorphosis of these paintings began to disturb me. In my mind, they represented a descent into insanity.

Now, I am not so sure.

Was this man simply trying to render the pure spirit, essence, and wholeness of What was before him, seen through an altered consciousness?

I think on this quite a bit now because, as i age, my own consciousness is changing. Dreams are more strange, and so is waking life. Perceived reality is at times different, as if I am existing one or two dimensions removed. Certain things fade while others come to the fore, as if through a kind of winnowing. I feel I am being shown things.

Others find it harder to relate to me, and I to them. Just so you know, I have had my head examined, both physically and metaphorically, and they have found nothing.  And yes, at times, I have seen a therapist.

If this the beginnings of senility, then it holds a certain clarity of mind on things that were once thought to be unimportant or unfathomable, and a letting go of things not sanguine to the new Now.

You may put this down to the midnight musings of an aging man. One who is trying to do his own paintings of a certain landscape, and one who has felt he is on a pathway, at the end of which lies something we all yearn to see.

A Poet Who Died In The Gutter

Give a listen to this cautionary tale from Frank Solanki, who writes at
https://franksolanki.com

Frank Solanki's avatarFrank Solanki

I’m a son who betrayed his father for a piece of land
I’m a brother who cheated his siblings with a rogue hand
I’m a friend to all those men who are useful and rich
While the real friendships I had lie in a lonely ditch
I’m a husband who was never there to wipe her tears
I’m a father who abandoned his daughter for several years
Finally, I’m all alone with the open skies and the birds who flutter
I’m a poet, hear my final song, who died in the gutter

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Barricades

I dreamt this morn’ of fences
They’d been put up while I slept
But the fog obscured my senses
And I stumbled ’til I wept

The urge was strong for going on
So I got up and I leapt
O’er barb-ed wire, until the dawn
Its promises had kept

The fog had burnt away from there
The barricades were clear
The wind was passing through my hair
And freedom was so near

“Awake me not”, I prayed to One.
(The Spirit in me now)
“I’m almost there, I’m nearly done”
Then lost the will, somehow.

This thing within my soul has made
The devil grin with glee
He’s scripted well this whole charade
To gloat his victory

Awakened was a new resolve
That I’d not lose the fight
The clock, its circle would revolve
And I’d join the dream next night

Jack’s winter

Jack sat in the living room of his big old house, chewing on a dry sandwich of rye bread and rubber cheese slices.  No butter.  Too hard to spread.  A container labelled “Milkshake” was in his left hand, to wash it down.  Too tired to bother reading labels anymore, he knew that the cheese and the milkshake were likely made of some chemical cocktail, and about as nutritious as eating Kleenex.

Surrounded by stacked up boxes, he had just enough room to peer out of the front window,  waiting on the movers to come.  Now, at 69, Jack was alone.  Irene had died six weeks before, and Jack didn’t want this house any more.  Sure, he could move in with his kids but, no.  There was not a chance he would do it.  He and the kids were pretty close, so it was not because of their relationship that he nixed it.  This old man was smart enough to know that something like that would change everyone’s routines, and the last thing he wanted was to be in the way.  Besides, he was still healthy enough to be on his own for a while.

He had five crisp hundred dollar bills in his pocket to give to the movers as a tip, if they deserved it.  He’d been in that business as a young man, and knew it was no picnic.  Between Irene’s life insurance and his sale of the house, he had nearly two million.  A small apartment with a view had attracted his attention.  It was uptown, overlooking a  manmade lake.  A quiet and well groomed neighborhood.  He had given them the deposit,  and that was where he was going to end up tonight.  The other thing he had in his pocket was a folded envelope.  It contained five prepaid credit cards worth a thousand bucks each.  He had plans for those.

The movers arrived within the hour.  There were four reasonably burly guys in their 30’s and 40’s, and a teenage red-haired kid who looked skinny but wiry.  The kid looked a little nervous, standing there and shifting from one foot to the other.  One of the guys looked at him, shook his head, and said “Jimmy, let’s go.  I told you it’s your job to start packing the boxes into the overhead.  Start with the heavy stuff and use it as a base.  We’re gonna get the furniture padded and ready to go.  Hey, where’s the dolly?  You should have brought it with you!”  Jimmy nodded quickly and went up the ramp into the truck.

Jack spoke to the guy, saying “Don’t be hard on the kid.  He looks like he’s trying.  He’ll work out for you.”  The guy just gave him a sidelong glance.  As the afternoon went on, Jack noticed they were giving Jimmy quite the workout, putting him on the wrong end of kitchen appliances, heavy dressers from upstairs, and leaving him most of the boxes as well.

In about five hours, they pretty well had it done.  Jack had made them coffees and sandwiches for a break in between.  Jimmy had asked to use the washroom before they went.  He seemed to be gone for a while, so Jack went upstairs to check on him.  Jimmy came out, and had obviously been crying.  Jack said “What’s up, buddy?”  Jimmy sat down on a chair and said “My Mom died three weeks ago.  My Dad left us two years ago.  Now it’s just me and two brothers and a sister.  I don’t know what we’re gonna do.  I started with these guys two weeks ago, but I’m finding it hard to keep up.”

Going downstairs, Jack said to the mover boss “Listen, can you get along at the other end without this fella?  He’s sick, and I want to drive him home.  If you need someone else, get them, and I’ll pay the extra”.  The guy grumbled a little bit and said “Well, he never told us anything, but if there’s an elevator we can use, we’ll be alright.  Just take a little longer.”  Jack said “Right, I’ll meet you there in half an hour.”

So it was that he took Jimmy home, and met his younger siblings, who were trying to cook macaroni and wieners on a hotplate.  He took an old business card out of his wallet and wrote a phone number on it, then gave Jimmy one of the hundred dollar bills and a couple of the credit cards.  “Look, this will be enough to keep you going for a little while.  You’ve got a tough road ahead, but I think you can do it.  Call me and let me know how you’re doing.”

At his new apartment, most of his stuff had gone into storage.  Unneeded furniture and what not.  Jack gave each of the guys their tips and thanked them.  The day was finally done, and he was once again alone.  He was warm and dry, and had lots of food.
Well.  He wouldn’t be home much anyway.  Irene, with her optimistic spirit and her charitable ways, had changed him a great deal.  He had plans for the winter.  They involved more credit cards, and the little wagon he had in the basement.  It would hold a good amount of groceries.  The people sleeping with a sheet of cardboard between them and the sidewalk would do a little better this year.

Follow Jack’s last adventure here:

https://secret-lifeof.com/2018/03/07/oh-that-magic-feeling/

No rest for the wicked

now I lay me down to sleep
there’s no more noises, not a peep
the shades are pulled, the light is out
and slumber’s what it’s all about

fluff the pillow, warm the feet
Sin’s solicitations meet
mantras said to calm the mind
gently will the stress unwind

in five or ten or twenty three
‘Tis the latter, I gotta pee
back in bed and pull the cover
then read a book, my secret lover

start to yawn, and eyelids droop
but I’m hungry for a bowl of soup
hit the kitchen, scratch my head
the wife is bitchin’, “go to bed!”

so once again I scratch my noggin
think of more ideas for bloggin’
get the tablet, write the story
and then I’ll never have to worry

so now it’s finished, nicely done
I’m sure it will be number one
Martians and a teenage girl
whose empathy may save the world

I check the clock, my God it’s three!
whatever has come over me?
I’ve gotta drive the wife to work
(So, better get to sleep. You jerk)