I woke up in the front yard this morning.
I had built a statue to all that is
Made from materials from my garage
Garden hoses, barbecue pits you name it.
It reached towards the sky like the Tower of Babylon
It almost reached the treetops,
Which I had been in most of the night
Swaying in the wind on a full moon night
With a case of beer hanging from the limbs
And my monkey like toes gripping the branches.
I drank with Bacchanalian abandon
It was the best of times…
Sometime during the night
The neighbors called the law
Apparently they didn’t like my version of Red Headed Stranger,
But hell I was red headed and I felt a bit strange.
They asked me to come down and I invited them up for a beer
A stalemate if you will.
I promised not to “sing” and they left me to my own devices.
Once they left I abandoned my lofty position
And continued to work on my art.
It was beautiful to behold
It reached towards the night like a beacon searching for angels
Some time during the night my angel called me
And said she didn’t understand my cause
That’s when I stopped believing in angels
And started believing in me.
ABOUT TIME TOO
Create a universe with space,
and stars and suns, then planets.
Add some life and watch it grow;
almost nothing to almost something.
Implant a need to change, evolve,
until finally one arrives at sentience.
We now have human, which thinks,
therefore it is, but often chooses not to.
Our very human need brings order into,
and from surrounding chaos,
or so we imagine. Hence years, seconds
and so forth will codify time.
This time is *very *important;
brought in to rule over us all,
while some changes of time
are turned into veritable deities.
One grand god is to be worshipped
when he grants us his New Year,
for joy and wild celebration,
and sundry bacchanalian pursuits.
But, dammit, an invented construct
starts whether we're awake to scream
or not, so this one thinking human
prefers pursuit of non-bacchanalian sheep,
and sleep ....
Alan McAlpine Douglas
But nevermore my harsh friend, for I hear Kipling poignantly
Clearer now, when he beseeched “If neither foes nor loving friends
can hurt you.” I am holding nothing against you. But allow me a wry
smile as I imagine you sneering, or with morbid bacchanalian
fashion smiling with me, as I proclaim it is a 21st century movie
which sundered the lock in this, my bes-Poe-k (bespoke) manacle.
NEVERWAS my tormented brother, for once more I could meld dreams
with all that it seems. Once more there be castles and stalwart kings.
Once more there be beauty and strength in ideals held as faith and truth.
Once more there be no such thing as out of sanity, when I can hold
Aloft again a head full of flighty things. When I can believe again that
All that we see or seem is not a dream within a dream.
When this genius of a character proclaimed: “Once again, I live as I dream…”
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