Posts Tagged Insanity
America 2017, #5, “My Dedication to the Good Failed Too Many times”
Posted by Carl in Photography, Poems on February 28, 2017
They warned me —
Behave, man, do not
scream at the
drunks when you’re
drunk, maintain your head, or we’ll
paint and board you up.
.
This One Lady
I know this crazy
girl / her voice squirrels
around like a fluctuating
car horn with a
dying
bat-
tery.
She is silent often,
but when
she goes,
she goes / it’s slow and
steady and always
breath-
less.
If I listen carefully,
I go crazy with her
as she crawls around on her
belly, sticking her tongue
out at me, and always
surprising
me with a
jump
from her knees to her
tippy-toes, dancing like a
drunken
balle-
rina.
I want to eat meals
with her, watching her
face as she soaks in all
of the chaos
that spins
around
her.
And I want to take naps
with her, but I do not think
she eats or
sleeps.
The Day He Began to Change for Real
He parked his too-large automobile
in front of craft shops, wondering
who was watching him, who was judging
his journey, looking up slightly
at the seventy-three hundred
addresses, thinking about West and East,
thinking about which way was going
up so he could find the place. He knew
going in was a chore commanded of him
through a very brief moment of self-discipline
while knowing that this is the last place
he would ever want to go.
These people
are not the people
he would ever choose to be with.
The daily commute had been tortuous
for years. It had been part of his insanity
incubator, his car had become the prison
that had fostered the growth
of the most severe anger at the most
inconsequential things, not a violent anger,
but a fearful one, an anger that starts
with being born, an anger that starts
with his parents, but not an anger at them,
an anger at what they had given him,
all of those disgusting genetic defects.
.
Perhaps, It Should Be Bach
Mahler adds a false drama to my winter afternoon.
I’m the bear who’s been torn to bits by the shotgun,
but I’m not. I’m the silent mouse, daintily crawling,
searching for approval, strangled by all of the thorns
of ice falling with aggression from the moldy brick
buildings. The scampering of the Mahler violins
makes me jump on top of the stale structures, and
the horns, the most powerful horns with the trombones,
they urge me to tear into the buildings with giant claws
made from plastic straws which never transport
the vanilla shake that helps fix my terrible moods,
but the buildings smash back at me at impossible
diagonal angles, shrinking me, forcing me to realize
who or what it is that I am. The man in the cafeteria
Speaks on the phone as if with his lover, and he’s
terribly ugly, but he creates life worth living, while I
pull the shards of ice out of my body, while Mahler’s lush,
glazed violins sing of unspeakably beautiful children, and
just before the children die, hope bubbles in my silent zones,
Trashed again by a man who is really a mouse, a parasite.
.
Office Window Shadorma 7
Tan hat, tied.
Safari on back.
Ugly blue
coat, buttoned.
Pants, merely halfway to shoes.
Talking to stone steps.
Dear IRS Man, I Made a Mistake (And So Did My Accountant)
Image via Wikipedia
DEAR IRS MAN, I MADE A MISTAKE (AND SO DID MY ACCOUNTANT)
(A) In general.
A business entity that is not classified as a corporation
under section 301.7701-2(b)(1), (3), (4), (5), (6), (7), or (8) (an eligible entity)
can elect its classification
for federal tax purposes [No Shit]
as provided in this section.
An eligible entity with at least two members can elect to be classified
as either an association
(and thus a corporation under section 301.7701-2(b)(2))
or a partnership,
and an eligible entity with a single owner can elect to be classified
as an association
or to be DISREGARDED [really?]
as an entity separate from its owner.
Paragraph (b) of this section provides a default
classification for an eligible entity
that does not make an election.
Thus, elections are necessary only when an eligible
entity chooses to classified initially as other than the default
classification or when an eligible entity
chooses to change
its classification. An entity
whose classification is determined
under the default
classification retains that classification
(regardless of any changes in the members’
liability
that occurs
at any time
during the time
that the entity’s
classification is relevant as defined in paragraph (d)
of this section) [end of parenthetical, remember line 24?]
until the entity makes an election to change that classification
under paragraph (c )(1)
of this section.
Paragraph (c ) of this section provides rules
[Haven’t we had enough F’in rules by now?]
for making express elections. Paragraph (d)
of this section provides special rules for foreign eligible entities
[The IRS nails nails you no matter where you are in the world!].
Paragraph (e ) of this section
provides
special rules [special stinky sauce]
for classifying entities resulting from partnership terminations
and divisions
under section 708(b). Paragraph (f) of this section
sets forth [in stone]
the effective date of this section [which section were we in?]
and a
special rule [what do you know?]
relating to prior periods. . . .
Perhaps Not Wrong
With a scary cross on top,
The street lamp stands tall,
hovering over you, shining,
inspecting your embroiled mind
through your translucent skull.
A 3M Post-It Note on the mirror,
saying, “You’re looking at the problem.”
Remnants of another, rather filthy note,
falsely proclaiming, “God loves you.”
Nothing with you is likely true.
And this morning,
black birds carry bags of rationality
in through the bathroom window,
scattered crumbs of reason
like dirt in the garden, demonstrating
that perhaps those who label you insane
may not have spiritual awareness;
snakes in their hands cast judgment,
but who says you should be made
to suffer the world
in such a kindly and fashionable way?
You admit defeat and accept brokenness.
You are broken over and over,
but perhaps it is they who are broken,
they who stand the barrage of shit,
the waves upon waves of hate
and stay standing, claiming it is normal
to soak up these storms
and not be shattered.
Perhaps they are broken, perhaps insane
in their undisturbed metal skins.
Hearing the Insanity
I hear the air.
Circulation blasting
just as airplanes.
The special hiss at
lower volume and frequency
is what tells me,
this is insanity.
But some voice
or low mechanical
rumble reminds me
to be normal today.
The air stops, rests.
I can hear blood
bubbling in my temple.
Awake and insanity.
The popping
of blood bubbles
is perfectly about
what insanity
sounds like.
stillfugue 