July 17, 2009
The kit is set up, already in place, all you have to do is sit down and strike them, but what to play? The options are endless and time is not your friend.
You pick a beat to play and then start hitting the different drums and symbols in the hope to make a tune, hoping it makes sense, hoping you are accepted. The duff notes greet you with disharmony, and like any good student, you learn from your mistakes, you learn from your mistakes, you learn… knowing that you will never complete the song because there is no manual, no set direction, no sign.
Variety is the spice of life, we’re told, yet you only have one kit to play from. You can’t change your kit and get a new one and you didn’t choose the kit your currently playing, it was chosen for you. You make the most of the kit and try and hide the blemishes, scratches, and chips the kit was created with.
As time goes by the kit becomes more scratched, dented, and slightly flat. The canvase sags in the middle and the wood doesn’t smell as fresh anymore. You beat it just the same, because you have to, because there’s no hiding from the audience. No denying the show, the beat must go on, and on, and on… people must be entertained.
July 14, 2009
The midnight train is coming, it’s on its way. You can’t stop it. It knows your stop, it knows your waiting even though you didn’t ask for the ride, you were forced to be at that stop – you make the most of it.
When you see the mystic dark train you smile, accept it, embrace it – you’re obligated to ride. Don’t worry about things you can’t change, we’re taught, worry about things you can change…
You smile in hope it’s not going to hit you. You smile because you want it to be kind when it arrives, you smile because you’re thankful for the possible last moments of normalacy before it comes.
The smile drops as the train takes hold and turns into an nightmare coaster,. You look around searching for something to focus on, something that’s real, hoping it will stop and let you off if you focus.
The train has no intention of stopping, you’re on the ride and it will let you off, if you’re lucky, when it’s ready. As the ride goes on time stands still. It could be a minute, 10 minutes, an hour… it’s all the same.
When the coaster metamorphous into the same dark train and then stops. You’re eyes glance and dialate at the doors opening back to the station. You’re greeted with mystery. It always leaves a present jet lag mixed with sublime Pheonix euphoria. Where did the train take you? Where did you go? What message did it leave you with.; however, it hasn’t gone far. If you put your head to the train tracks you can still feel the vibrations of it departing but you always know it’s not too far away no matter where you go in the world to try and escape it. The days after the train leaves, you hope it doesn’t stop and u-turn to pick you back up again for another …
Lance M. Pope 14 July 2009
December 16, 2008
The Doors night out – Crazy dreams: March 03 2006
The night is complete darkness but somehow there is a light that allows me to see the the two wolfs that are outside the tent. The area surrounding my tent is boggy, wet and moist with tufts of grass that make the ground uneven. The female wolf wants in the tent. She just wants to lie beside me but there are other intentions. Of what, i’m not sure. Part of me thinks the wolf wants to eat me. The other part thinks that it might just want to lie and sleep beside me for warmth. But either way, i’m not entirely sure. I let the wolf sleep beside me because I need the warmth as it’s a cold boggy night but I didn’t want to close my eyes next to the wolf because I couldn’t trust it. Feeling uncomfortable, I decide to push the wolf out. It fights a little but leaves with it’s mate and does not return.
I fall asleep only to awake to see a single aged cougar pace back and forth outside my tent flashing it’s teeth. After a while it lunges for me and now a knife is involved. I thrust it into the beast and it runs away to a safe distant and continues to pace looking at me in my tent. It makes repeated attacks and then disapears into the wilderness.
Moments later, a midget couple arrive and want to sleep in my tent. They want to be with me. The female midget wants sex with me but nothing else. There is no connection and i don’t want to have sex with her. The midget boyfriend is speechless, emotionless; he’s only doing what his partner wants. I contemplate having sex with the midget lady and then decide against it. I ask them to leave. The midget lady fights and screams and then grabs the knife that is in the tent and starts to lash at me. I pick her up by the front of her coat and carry her out like a piece of luggage. She is crying and wanting to be with me. The boyfriend leaves as quietly as he came.
A mad witch gets in my tent. She has the knife and she starts attacking me with it. I fend her off battling to get control over the knife. I succeed. She laughs and says she sorry. I accept her apology. She grabs the knife and goes for my throat, cutting it slightly. I wrestle once again with her, grab the knife, punch her square in the nose, turn her around and put her hand behind her back and call 999 from my cell phone that somehow arrived in my hand.
Lance M. Pope – 3 March 2006
December 16, 2008
Trapped in a motionless body. I can’t read, write, move, think. My body is numb with the thought of losing you forever. I have no desire, no motive for life. The thrill has gone. You were my sun, my center and without you i have no light. I’m in the dark searching with my arms stretched out for you knowing that you are not there.
As i look at the moon i think of your face and wonder where you are and what you’re doing. Are you having fun? How could you be enjoying yourself while i wollow in misery thinking only of you.
I watch the clock waiting for a message, a call, something to make me think that you are thinking of me. I wait in silence, hoping for a sign that you will come to see me. The call doesn’t come and no sign is given.
I live in your essence, i smell you as i walk, i feel you on my body when i sleep. I’m living in a coffin of our past love.
Why is life so cruel? Why has our love died like the distant past of heroes long buried in the graves of honor.
I’m dizzy, my breath is short, my shoulders hunched, my vision blurry. I can’t lift my head because i have nothing to look at above the ground.
My heart beats nervously not producing enough blood for my head, arms or legs. It has crumbled under the weight of losing you. It has lost it’s desire to beat like it did when you were in my life.
Lance M. Pope – 6 Sept 2008