Monthly Archives: August 2013

Checked Time

I have stopped wearing a watch

I am no longer calibrated that way

To those divisions that break life

Into microscopic slices

I don’t check time

Now

I let it be

Amorphously

My markers are dawn and dusk

The pull of the tides

And the rhythm of the day

 

 

David Trudel      ©  2013

 

 

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Hollow Empty

If I am hollow empty as I feel

Maybe I can touch dark matter

Feel cold flames of a conflagration of dark energy

Inside this void

Where there is more space than I care for

Normally

Whatever that state is

 

Today I’m stateless

Abnormal

Hollow empty

Absolved of guilt borne of excessive obsession

Or sins of misdirection

In this absence of emotional weight

I approach nothingness

Surreptitiously

More of a leaving than an arrival

Remembering a void, not a place

Where there are no exits or entrances

Because this is not a place to come to or leave from

This is not a direction

 

This is waking to hollow empty carelessly

Darkly indifferent

To the absence of emotion and externalities

Internalizing the all of nothing

Which has just enough mystery to matter

Darkly

 

 

David Trudel     © 2013

 

 

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Mainstream

It’s all distorted

The news

Facts pushed and pulled into rumors

Truth’s elasticity stretching beyond is to isn’t

Until we are left to question everything

 

Trust is collateral damage

When journalism disappears

Beneath a tide of economic interests

Suppressing any story deeper

Than the shallow but well dressed puppets who read

Soft spun press releases

Promoting depredations of resource extraction

Or the need to cut more social programs

To pay for tax reductions

 

So the stories we are fed

Are cats being rescued from trees

Stormy weather

The twin circuses of sports and entertainment

And the illusion of being included

In the bogus democracy of global corporatism

 

 

David Trudel    © 2013

 

 

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Non Sequitur

Even a harmless snake

Is a perceived threat

When a brittle stick becomes animated

Beside your foot

 

The closer to downtown

The slower the road repairs

 

Even if you are all alone at sunset

You share that moment of transcendent beauty

With countless others

 

Ripping out native plants for lawns and flowerbeds

Is horticultural colonialism

 

Sidewalk etiquette is a moving target

 

Hearts beat louder at midnight

 

I can’t recall ever seeing anyone sitting around

Doing advanced mathematics for fun

Not even quadratic equations

But the education system sure treats that shit seriously

Seriously.

 

Life is process

 

 

David Trudel        ©  2013

 

 

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What Is Truth

If I could talk about beauty today

I’d talk about whirligig seedpods spiraling down from maple trees

Whose leaves lie yellowed and rusted

Beneath the green canopy that has begun its fatal turn

Anticipating the fall

Or the smell of the forest moments after a rainshower

Evoking distant memories

Walking along the trail

My feet play an arpeggio of crunches

But I’m not listening to that song

My mood is as gray and ponderous as the clouds

Massing like warships off the coast

There is little room for beauty

When the ugliness of war is imminent

When the ugliness of violence is prevalent

And the mean spirits of the convinced

Crush any non-conformist view

With the finality of the fallen

Yet even though I ache with empathy

For the lost and beaten

For long lost spirits vanished in genocidal flames

That is not my truth today

My truth is my own pain

The dull ache of bone regenerating

A scabrous tug of congealed tissues beneath a zippered line

Of reddened welts

Ascending my chest like angry punctuation marks

My truth is stolen by my self-absorption

I isolate chaotic messages of a disrupted nervous system

Comprehending metallic intrusions

Listening to the mechanical insistence of the new valve

Then, drained and enervated I fade

Into somnolence

Unable to maintain the illusion of reality

I slumber unconcernedly

Aware of nothing beyond my next breath

Finding a solitary truth

 

 

David Trudel        ©  2013

 

 

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Indescribable

My Cain and Abel are my words

Battling for the give and take of perception

They circle themselves

Poised to lash out or swiftly defend

I have used words as shields

I have hidden behind their illusion

Used the ambiguity of meaning and intent

To prevaricate and dissemble

Not from deviousness

But unconsciously

Or to mask my own fear and insecurity

 

Yet I find great joy in words

They are my playground and delight

Dancing meaning into dialogue

Reinventing clouds into rain

Or mining seams of elemental truth

I turn words into bouquets

Or scrawl them on signposts and sidewalks

Like some mad tagger

Illuminating the gray sameness

Of blank canvasses at midnight

 

Eventually the words turn me

Into a question

That I cannot answer

Feeling walled in

By the discreteness of each definition

Stamped out by our shared accommodation of

Conventional language

Which isn’t drunken shouts of expense account delegates

But a common delusion

That we can trade perceptions

Without trading our inner selves

Uncentering from each private strand of individuality

Into some union of sameness

Believing that words can be shared with exactitude

Forgetting the magical glow of transitory sunsets

And how impossible it is to grasp that moment

Let alone use words to describe the indescribable

 

 

David Trudel    © 2013

 

 

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Naked Sky

There were other summers

When miles would roll by

Cliffs and undercuts

Screaming here I am

Here I am

Today

In those half forgotten days

I would trust in

The reality of whatever gods presented

Today

I listen to

Murmurs

Of your heartbeat

I listen to you

Under the naked sky

Even if you are cloaked

With the fetters of your generation

I listen

To the beats

You don’t hear

To the messages that are always

Intercepted

By your sense of propriety

Or mild revulsion

Under this sky

That holds its own revelation

Waiting

For

A rhythm to follow

All I can offer

Now

Is the mechanical whir

Of a machine

Saying thump

Thump

And thump

With the insistence of a chapel house

In the night

 

David Trudel © 2013

 

 

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