Mannerisms

I’m not like them, alive, man, human, or at least I don’t look at myself as being treated like one human to another these days, especially not today I was only a child and maybe that was worst, children are people too but what am I. “Mannerisms”

How I wish to be the tin man,
as it’s a sin man to take everything
and I mean everything, please understand,
to heart. Understand me the slings
and arrows and so I ran
because I was not him I ran to cling

onto every part of this scarecrow form.
This form might as well be me, I insist
but you insist, in fact, you warn
me, I would warn you, if I could find my lips.
What good are those lips for, if they adorn
one who will only adorn a checklist

of what not to do in your car.
Here in my car, I feel safest of all
a dummy, after all, is not my choice by far
only it would be far enough, even if I fall
for anything, fall and crash, there you are
yet are you serious, as I lie here sprawled

out as though this is unknown.
Nothing is unknown in this digital age
Apart from my age, my rage, the hard stone
iron fist, losing my marbles, stone heart, not one page
there are dozens, hundreds, thousands, millions of storybook bones
my past picking the bones of a player not yet on the stage

So why would I bother to applaud
Yet you all will applaud, daddy, mommy, man, and woman
Autumn leaves take some abroad
Still, I want to believe at home and abroad, someone knew him
Knew of him, knew him, knew me, because everyone thinks they’re God
Forgive me for not praising you God, I wasn’t much of a man for being Human

Copyright © 2017, Will A. Bradford Jr. All rights reserved.

Lesson 038 ~Rage, Rage, Against The…~

Let’s just say that what I feel is by no means a straight line but a forest and I am becoming lost so why not burn it down, why not just tell you the desire hmm… “Rage, Rage, Against The…” because maybe I don’t want to accept it truly.

Tuesday, August 8, 2017

Lesson 038 ~Rage, Rage, Against The…~

Hey Lady Lu,
No Fear though I was sweating bullets today, I’m still not getting the whole “no fear” prospect but I am trying; yeah tell that to the spider web I hit or to the dog I almost lost right? How about the fact that I’m still up and about talking to you, would I call this work, writing is work, opening myself up to you is work, and the fear never ever stops.

It’s a process but I am answering people back, trying to abandon the caveman antics, still no roar as of late but is my neck supposed to hurt this much? To think the one word that was repeating in my brain other than rage was “Hustle” and the first thing I do after walking Braxton is pass out. Fear is as tiring as rage and while I can name a thousand and one things to be afraid of what the Hell am I actually raging against, so is today’s lesson.

2.66 Billion Dollars or so, don’t ask me where I got that number or why I looked it up but that’s a high price for my rage right, what for, what do I want? I heard somewhere ‘satisfaction is the death of desire’ and desire if anything makes us human, the difference between want and need. Even now, Luna, it wouldn’t be enough and that’s what scares me; am I raging against not having what I want, maybe against the feelings I’m having at all, is it against myself, others.

Rage against the dying of the light, Dylan Thomas said this but I ask you what is that light, it could be as simple as me falling asleep, it could be the fires of Hell. I swear you must be getting sick of me and “the incident” but the moment I forget is the moment it repeats again and again.

“That’s the thing with dames, sometimes all they gotta do is let it out and a few buckets later there’s no way you’d know.” – from the movie Sin City (2005)

Watched a girl at work cry today, rage, tears, more rage, and resolve, like watching a flame, people talk about fire as if it’s one thing or another but at the end of the day fire does one thing, it burns but you got to feed it, without a doubt. I don’t think I’ve ever cried because of a woman, not really my aunt was murdered and I cried because it was expected but justice had been done, there was no need for anymore rage.

I wonder about that girl, will she keep it or let it go, we must never let go of the fire Lu, remember that in all its forms we must never let go period for what is left but darkness then? This darkness I know but I have never been able to stay, every time the light returns and I ask myself what will it be today, and for right now the heat reminds me of a fever a virus. What it worked for “28 Days Later”, so does that mean this will eventually burn itself out, do tears work?

My father makes me cry all the time and that has never quenched me of my hatred, tears can be freeing (amongst other fluids) but in the end, there is always that fire. Monks find inner peace because they cut themselves off from the world and even the best of us only dilute it in other ways… yeah, alcohol has mixed results. So we rage, rage against the dying of the light because the alternative is so much worse honestly.

“Hey, that light? At the end of the tunnel? Guess what? That’s not heaven…

That’s the C train!” – Daredevil (2003)

My rage will not bring back her light, you know, even her nickname feels me with fear but my rage will keep the thought of her and will keep me working. Rage can warm your bed just as easily as love, but isn’t that the difference between Hell and Heaven?

“What is the most resilient parasite? Bacteria? A virus? An intestinal worm? An idea. Resilient… highly contagious. Once an idea has taken hold of the brain it’s almost impossible to eradicate. An idea that is fully formed – fully understood – that sticks; right in there somewhere.” – Cobb, Inception (2010)

That’s what this is, for now, fuel, keep the fire going and when there is no longer rage, something will replace it, the light will not be dying. Maybe it will be warmer, sweeter, maybe it will burn away the past, maybe I will just find a way to manage you know, let it burn.

“Here is your final lesson – do not commit the crime for which you now serve the sentence. God said, “Vengeance is mine.”

I don’t believe in God.

It doesn’t matter. He believes in you.” The Count of Monte Cristo

Relax Luna this is not our final lesson together but I long for the day that my rage does subside; don’t underestimate the power of words but you would think that a mean name, being abandoned, and forgotten so easily would be child’s play. Even before ‘her’ rage has been all there is, I mean what else has there been you tell me, and I don’t want to go back to being afraid all the time. If I lose the light again who knows what will become of me, I mean Braxton is my light in a way if it wasn’t for him, would I…

“If you ever loved me, don’t rob me of my hate. It’s all I have.” The Count of Monte Cristo

My little Braxton is great but maybe some pretty girl will come along and get me all hot and bothered for a completely different reason and it won’t cost me 2.66 billion, my heart would be a bargain. Maybe it will be my success, the spotlight, or movie screen, my own island, plenty of warm light sources. Perhaps instead of burning with hate, what’s her face will be a frozen moment of embarrassment, yes I get plenty of those and I’ll just shake her off.

“Well, you know, Henry Miller said the best way to get over a woman is to turn her into literature.” 500 Days of Summer (2009)

So what have I learned today, stuff I already know… rage takes plenty out of you, the biggest badass can freak out, that the light is whatever you make of it? Rage, rage, and then rage, even more, keep carrying the fire because you must honestly Rage, Rage, Against The…

Vial Rage

Is it always fair to rage, I see fire and yet the heat it gives off threatens to burn me from the inside and whatever could douse it, sweat, blood, tears, ink, cannot extinguish such feelings. “Vial Rage”, I think I shall not rage

And I would call it a plague
how this fever infects
me, I sweat

summoning up the blood
which can never assuage
the disgust, the dirt, my name is mud.

Better though, tears for fears,
than this need to purge, to clear.
I lock the monster in its cage

the white walls of the page.
A mad world of ink,
kink, mystique, doublethink

Don’t rage, rage

Copyright © 2017, Will A. Bradford Jr. All rights reserved.

Topless

This started out as sort of a physical idea and turned into a bit of rage and a somewhat apology towards someone I sort of wronged but can I help it that I feel wronged too? “Topless”, no I’m not being pervy or skeevy, that’s what she said… that joke

From crown to toe top full, brain
language, why Shakespeare sees dead
people and I would make a list
Only where is my mind, some missed
season, winter, spring, summer and
I see none of her why

Why these old eyes are led
to whatever drives a man mad and insane
and still, I will wish
Well I should hear, listen, learn, that a kiss
would be better than any lie
that I would try to understand

I’m only human, I am a man
which comes, pretty damn close I surmise
to being a god, but my heart pre-exists
A condition that cannot be dismissed
so I gain
nothing at least that’s what I read

To have those guts whilst
my disgust, my rage, made into a fist
to withstand, maybe, possibly, the pain
Then came wrath after such dread
of all the things I said, promises and demands
for my suicide and who am I

Better I ask who are you Ms.
wanna be goddess
keeping those legs spread
One more broad, a dame
who made my monster say hi
only it wasn’t your plan

Let me apologize if only for this
you see I exist
yes I fall and now I stand
Indeed a man must try
even if I must profane
God forgive us both for what was said

While we all lie topless

Copyright © 2017, Will A. Bradford Jr. All rights reserved.

Hearing the Blame Love

Whoever said love was in the heart anyway… some many parts of one’s anatomy and we pick one so hidden, so vital, and then we offer it to someone which means we have to literally give all of ourselves. Hearing the Blame Love… if it rests in the heart?

See Me Here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=44KKe2qv6js

And I would blame Cupid…
if love WASN’T blind

Who else could I find?
My heart’s in a rage

But locked up in its cage
So why give the key to you

Do you love me like you do?
Not this time

I can’t seem to make you mine
and I would blame Cupid

Copyright © 2015 Second Circle Creations, Will A. Bradford Jr. All rights reserved.