I’m actually feeling better. Honest. No joke. I’m actually pretty excited about the future, now that it seems I’ve bottomed out, emotionally–now it’s time to do whatever I want; whatever I decide. I shall indulge my passion; I shall indulge my whims and fancies. Let the chips fall where they may. Damn the torpedoes! Full speed ahead. I’ll call out Janis again: “freedom is just another word for nothin’ left to lose.” And it actually feels pretty damn good.
Nevertheless, I can’t let this day go by without comment. No, I’m not talking about the new prez. Rather, it’s the anniversary of my mother’s death. Ironically, with everything else going on in my life–-father dieing, estate squabbling, being laid off–-I almost forgot. I think being laid off had the most to do with it, because it was relatively late in the day before I had an occasion to wonder what the date was. Had I actually been working today–-rather than sleeping ’til 1:30 p.m.! Ha! Put that in your pipe and smoke it, employed people–-I would have realized what the date was much earlier.
And I miss my Mom. More so, methinks, in light of recent events.
Today is also significant, because it is also my man Edgar’s birfday–yes, I said birfday, not for real real, just for play play–-it really is Edgar Allan Poe’s birth date (and this is not to take away from Martin Luther King–much respect due there). Were he, [tag]Edgar Allan Poe[/tag], a Methuselah, he would be 200 today. So in honor of him, I won’t post the lyrics to the Raven or the Telltale Heart. Rather, a bit more obscure poem, which, if you read between lines, seems rather apropos … er, apropoe, even. You know I got my head back when I’m kicking out the bad pun jams. It may be flavored with gallows humor, but that’s about as good as you get with me, unless I’m well into my cups (catch me down at Bronze some Friday night; I’ll be a veritable fount of wit and humor).
Edgar Allan Poe
The Haunted Palace
In the greenest of our valleys
By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace –
Radiant palace – reared its head.
In the monarch Thought’s dominion –
It stood there!
Never seraph spread a pinion
Over fabric half so fair!
Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow,
(This – all this – was in the olden
Time long ago,)
And every gentle air that dallied,
In that sweet day,
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
A winged odor went away.
Wanderers in that happy valley,
Through two luminous windows, saw
Spirits moving musically,
To a lute’s well-tuned law,
Round about a throne where, sitting
In state his glory well-befitting,
The ruler of the realm was seen.
And all with pearl and ruby glowing
Was the fair palace door,
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,
And sparkling evermore,
A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty
Was but to sing,
In voices of surpassing beauty,
The wit and wisdom of their king.
But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
Assailed the monarch’s high estate.
(Ah, let us mourn! – for never morrow
Shall dawn upon him desolate!)
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
And travellers, now, within that valley,
Through the red-litten windows see
Vast forms, that move fantastically
To a discordant melody,
While, like a ghastly rapid river,
Through the pale door
A hideous throng rush out forever
And laugh–but smile no more.