Random Thoughts for Mr. R
Dear Mr. R,
Tiny gods have beckoned me once more to examine my true nature.
I have of late, been challenged by various fits of human drama unfurling like an onion all around me. Nothing too serious; missing teens, deposed kings, drama queens and numbness in my solar plexis.
In the past 24 hours, I have been angry and pensive, brutal and embarrassed, critical and kind and thoughtful but brash. None of these pairs seem compatible, like a jack and a deuce...what the fuck do you do with those?
I have said many times: "Do not let emotion rule you." "Emotion clouds judgment." "Do not pray, Do." "Act like you have more brain than heart." "You cannot see clearly through tears."
Today was no different though it was much harder to keep it all contained, but I did it.
I feel it all and simultaneously. My bones are screaming. My blood feels solid inside my veins. My skin is tanned and mimics stone. My soul hovers over me, afraid.
Write that one down Mr.R "My soul hovers over me, afraid."
So, with all these storms inside my brain; these tiny gods that cause all the rucous, I wonder why can't I just run away?
Well, I could say something cliche' like: "play the cards you're dealt" or "put on your best poker face and don't let anyone see what you have" but its really not like that. What happens when you get tired of playing?
People use life metaphors too much I think. They start believing in fortune cookies, then one day, someone sees the face of the Virgin Mary in a tortilla. We are much too easily swayed and even easier to dissuade.
Hope? Hope is for rivers Mr.R, hope is the embryo of prayer and who would hear those prayers? The tiny gods inside your brain? And what can they do? What have they done?
Wait. I feel a poem coming on:
Pray to tiny gods within your head as proof that you are still undead and when the voices answer back, another day will you attack.
I apologize for that outburst kids, I couldn't stop myself I couldn't stop those tiny gods o mine.
Tiny gods have beckoned me once more to examine my true nature.
I have of late, been challenged by various fits of human drama unfurling like an onion all around me. Nothing too serious; missing teens, deposed kings, drama queens and numbness in my solar plexis.
In the past 24 hours, I have been angry and pensive, brutal and embarrassed, critical and kind and thoughtful but brash. None of these pairs seem compatible, like a jack and a deuce...what the fuck do you do with those?
I have said many times: "Do not let emotion rule you." "Emotion clouds judgment." "Do not pray, Do." "Act like you have more brain than heart." "You cannot see clearly through tears."
Today was no different though it was much harder to keep it all contained, but I did it.
I feel it all and simultaneously. My bones are screaming. My blood feels solid inside my veins. My skin is tanned and mimics stone. My soul hovers over me, afraid.
Write that one down Mr.R "My soul hovers over me, afraid."
So, with all these storms inside my brain; these tiny gods that cause all the rucous, I wonder why can't I just run away?
Well, I could say something cliche' like: "play the cards you're dealt" or "put on your best poker face and don't let anyone see what you have" but its really not like that. What happens when you get tired of playing?
People use life metaphors too much I think. They start believing in fortune cookies, then one day, someone sees the face of the Virgin Mary in a tortilla. We are much too easily swayed and even easier to dissuade.
Hope? Hope is for rivers Mr.R, hope is the embryo of prayer and who would hear those prayers? The tiny gods inside your brain? And what can they do? What have they done?
Wait. I feel a poem coming on:
Pray to tiny gods within your head as proof that you are still undead and when the voices answer back, another day will you attack.
I apologize for that outburst kids, I couldn't stop myself I couldn't stop those tiny gods o mine.
posted by Robbb at 10:31 PM
2 Comments:
Umm, who's Mr.R and why does he provoke such musings?
davey, if i tell you, you gotta promise to keep it to yourself.
Mr. R is a semi-fictional character, based ofcourse, on a real person or rather, a conglomeration of real people.
I discovered him in old journals I used to write...they read like letters TO someone rather than records of my days.
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