Urban Haiku

Armistice

The battle is well and truly joined. Friday consisted of almost relentless struggle against the forces of darkness. When I wasn’t arguing on the phone with shadowy figures over pounds of my flesh, I was arguing about my right to have that phone itself. Though gut wrenching, I revelled somewhat in the clash.

I almost enjoyed the verbal bobbing and weaving required—I floated like a butterfly and stung like a bee—at least in my own mind. By the end of the day, it was like I could feel my own spine changing; growing harder. I felt the perceived limitations in my own character boil up and over—raging self-loathing became the trial by fire.

Nietzsche said, “The great epochs of our life come when we gain the courage to rechristen our evil as what is best in us.”

Today there was a completely unexpected break in the action. Today I actually had a few moments of true happiness—so unexpected that it took a moment for me to recognize them for what they were. Happiness ambushed my cerebral cortex over a couple Guinness, a plate of nachos, a basket of fries and some good company.

I am apparently a pretty simple man at heart.

Dignity

The waiting is over. I have all the answers now—none of them pleasant or with any hint of promise. Welcome to rock-bottom kids. I’m glad you could all join me for this part of the ride. Please extinguish your cigarettes and keep your hands and feet inside at all times. There are no life preservers, oxygen masks or emergency exits on board—if we go down, try and do it with a little dignity.

Steve has been curiously absent lately. He’s been replaced by cannibals, mad surgeons with trembling hands, watery tomb dwellers and blind-men with sledgehammers. I am stalked nightly through echoing hospital corridors, caves, and tombs…voids. I have decided to view these nightmares as part of a larger psychic transformation. I’m being tested in preparation for receiving wonderful new powers—the gash that becomes a third eye.

I’ve been reminded lately of a Leonard Cohen poem called ‘Concussion’—“I will place my paper hat on my concussion and dance.” The dance of denial I’ve been performing—like a tango, only with a broom-handle riddled with rusted nails—has come to a bone-jarring stop. Today I begin facing my new reality.

Oddly enough, the fear has left me. My life is going to change dramatically in the next few weeks. I’ve been badly beaten this time round. But you know what? —I’m not dead yet. Bring it on motherfucker.

"Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have
Immortal longings in me."