Reality Where is thy Sting -- Random Thoughts

I realized a key question today….on days when I’m posting a lot of poems, am I inspired to find a thousand words, or am I flailing in the dictionary, failing to find the right one?

Everything is in place to keep me alive comfortably the rest of my life. The only thing I need is a reason why.

I’ve heard applause for my words both on stage and online, but is there just one person I want to see clapping and whistling in the crowd? Because if the relationship is right, every poem and burp I create is a magic, and if it’s wrong, they will not give a shit if I wrote “Ulysses”.  (Fill in your favorite poem or book that would not care if I wrote. ((Fortunately, I do not wish to be the author of “The Chronicles of Narnia.”)))

Why have I given up using colors in my verses and speeches? Perhaps when I wrote of the scent of blue and pink and lavender, I had said too much.

I’m terrified of new people and situations and now, I have to enter them on a cane, with white hair and tits around my waist.

Occupy made me realize that all the essays we wrote and petitions we signed didn’t bother the powers that be. We were content to be doing the right thing and the powers that be were content to ignore us. My beloved young protestors decided that our concerns will be heard. WE ARE…OCCUPY!

I’m tired of waiting for future love or future success. There is no past or future, there is only now. Looking around the moment, I am alone. Listening for sounds, there is just the hum of cars accelerating up the hill and my refrigerator shuddering in its self-created cold. I am tired of fighting for success and most of all, sick of looking for love. (see earlier remark of ‘tits around the waist.’) There is a certain power in giving up and of going slack and immobile (Hi, again, Occupy!). Of course I will write, I am writing now. Perhaps there may be someone out there to love, but I should have stayed in the moment forty years ago. I was lost in daydreams and fantasies and was never really married to my husbands because I wasn’t really there.

Reality, where is thy sting? I’m ready for it now.

I’m not going to get back into the show business rat race again. I will write and have my friends give it life in readings, but no more trying to compete in a younger world. However, if there’s a producer out there smart enough to get that there’s publicity possibilities in the crippled old lady hook, let me know and we can milk it to the max.