MISANTHROPIC MOMENT

Up’ards and out’ards
betwixt and between,
I seek revelations
that I’ve never seen

Back’ards and for’ards
to left and to right,
my goal and salvation
is still out of sight

Internal, external
wherever I look,
I can find no redemption
and I don’t give a fuck!

-------------------------------------------------

This was originally entitled BACK ON YOUR HEADS

This is something of an aberration for me … not unusual after a black patch.
It may seem trivial or comic, but it has an edge. You work and strain, seek and ruminate, worry and fret – all to no avail. Nearly there, and somebody or something pulls the rug out. You think you’re on your feet, head above the water – then it’s back on your head, mate, you’re done for …

You’ll need the [hoary old] joke for the reference:

‘A guy is consigned to Hell which, as we all know, is the last bastion of the English Empire [not British – Wales seceded long ago]. He is greeted by Lucifer himself, sartorially elegant in black and red – a James Bond in neon. Lucifer explains to Fred [our man] that although the length of stay in Hell – eternity – is not negotiable, there is a choice of three residential suites [locally – and more accurately – called ‘pits’] and takes Fred on the selection tour.

Fred peered into pit one and noted with horror that it was filled with writhing, charred bodies screaming silently, and as he watched each smoking body regenerated into solid flesh. The respite was pitilessly short: jets of kerosene were directed onto the renewed people and the spray was ignited by miniature cackling dragons. Fred – who thought himself a real cool dude – was less than enchanted.

Pit 2 was nothing less than a rocky desert landscape crowded out with people completely covered by suppurating obviously agonising bites and stings donated avidly by the swarms of venomous snakes, insects and other nasty specimens of nature – including some he had never ever seen before. Since Fred was terrified of even the most harmless creepy-crawly, this venue didn’t seem the most probable choice.

They were aware of pit 3 even before they reached it. Firstly, the stench was utterly appalling and, secondly, they could hear a caterwauling klaxon gradually fading. Fred held his nose and looked in to see a shallow lake of pig-dung heaving with maggots and populated by heads. Fred correctly surmised that the rest of each body was submerged. He was, however, much more fascinated by the highly sexually-attractive devilettes who were dividing their time between a slow sensual striptease and serving their assigned ‘head’ with cups of tea [I did mention Hell was English, didn’t I?] and morsels of canapé, cookies and cakes. The delectable devilettes were male or female or deliciously hermaphrodite, and for Fred – who swung both ways – this was the decider. He turned to Lucifer: “This’ll do”

Just then the klaxon blared, followed by a voice [sounding remarkably like HM QE2] announcing:

“Tea-break over. Back on your heads”