The Lucky Ones

zen lunacy

There's no Jack Kerouac here,

no Sylvia Plath, I

don't have stones in my pockets, I

don't have pockets on my clothes so

I'm not Virginia and

I don't have a hat so

I'm also not Ernest.  I

already know I'm not Jack because

Jack was high and I'm finally sober, I

forget who I am, what's

my name again?

Ernest

Robert

Jack

Maya

Niel

Alex

Alexzan

Unger

Burton

Peavey, too

many pieces in this puzzle that

I'm trying to force into

spaces they don't belong in

one night at one

time in one year

one decade one

century, a

whole generation

confused by who

we come from and

where we are going.

Where was I going

with this?  I

can't remember or

I never knew or

I don't give a f**k I

have no clue but it's

one long thought and

far from poetic justice

the

greats would be

so disappointed in me

in the world in

life if they were still

living so

am I lucky or

are they the lucky ones?

Reviews

[isus]

i like this, interesting writings you have there, not just this one :)

[M Breen]

It does read like one long thought and the way you sustain the fluency and reader's interest in that is well done - the writing and idea.
I don't think anyone is lucky to die a death from substance overuse/abuse. What happens after death is a different equation that can just as well use the example of the greats as an expression, as use the idea of the old lady down the road who is wearing out here tiny dog by taking him on multiple walks per day.
That's just my opinion though - that she's wearing out the dog.

[BlueZan]

Yeah, that poor dog.. ;)
Thank you for the review! I agree that they are not lucky in the literal sense of the word but for some reason as this insanity showed itself, it felt and sounded right. Sometimes humanity and culture disappoint me and I'm not half the artist that they were so I can't imagine their disappointment, you know?

[M Breen]

I know, I guess, but give yourself a chance to be the artist...
For Kerouac there is also Ginsberg, or Hughes for Plath and many others who kept and keep going, seeking sand often finding something. And some of those who died young, were just celebrating life too much.