Kill Quill Drill

Short parable.

I had to kill the guy who perpetually mourned the stupidity of his interfaces, then cremate him, 'cause he was already like dragging a corpse around in my psyche before I killed him. Dead tiresome.

He wouldn't stop painting turds as if they were Easter eggs.

I'm not now magically thrilled, but feel sounder. Bedrock-esque. Whatever that means.

Now I paint hand grenades as if they are Easter eggs.

Meanwhile, I shake hands, a hand comes off, sex an evaporating ghost, watch another "love" tag disappear, and realize there's still nobody home anywhere for me.

I killed the whine of mine but only brine remains.

So it goes. Perhaps the wind is my friend.

No -- banished from banal simulations, I am the wind whirled, vanishing.

Reviews

[Nautili]

Wow, this is an amazing write. Like Midas, where everything turned to gold and was therefore inaccessible, you seem to have a "knack" for isolating yourself. This is a landmine for a psychologist, and you have the grenades in your hand, painted in pastels...

[Pax Analog]

Like a mote midst the infinite, eh? Your words are strikingly perceptive! When one feels the roil of the collective -- or even most single others -- is rather like a tired dream, one arises in the wilderness awaiting the whirlwind, stark. I like your juxtaposition of "landmine for a psychologist" w/the painted grenades. Here's a quote for ya: "The spiritual master's laughter is a vague attempt to blow himself to smithereens!" -- Adi Da. Guess I'm into metaphoric explosions/implosions! Perhaps men build bombs because they don't know how to accommodate the power of Great Spirit! Thanks!

[KAOlmsted]

I like this, as a parable or poetry, it has a nice flow. I do have to wonder, however, why the optimist you've so callously murdered and cremated "mourned the stupidity of his interfaces"...does he wish to bring the stupidity back to life? Is that why he was killed in the first place?

And, I suppose the reason I chose to call him the optimist is because of that second verse..."painting turds as if they were Easter eggs"...*laugh*...there's some imagery ;-)

Ah, an unreliable narrator; one of my favorite ploys. Of course you know what "Bedrock-esque" means...so do we. Clever boy.

So the optimist is dead and in his place you have stationed the troops? Color-coating your grenade, pulling the pin with your teeth, tossing it at your enemy, and watching the pretty colors explode? As a writer, this is one of my favorite weapons in the arsenal; yours too? ;-) Well done.

Hands, sex, love..."and realize there's still nobody home anywhere for me." This oasis of clarity in an otherwise positive-thoughts-fogged mine field is probably what drove you to kill that "dead tiresome" optimist in the first place.

I rather like the brine...it's the most interesting part of the inside of a pickle jar, as far as my taste is concerned ;-)

*sigh* The ending is...well...the ending. A quick last ditch hope at resuscitating that optimist...but no. No.

You have a great talent, and I am so pleased you've shared it with me; with all of us...Godspeed for a full recovery for your friend (tragic...I am so sorry) and I look forward to reading you further...it's a privilege.

-kimmer

[Pax Analog]

Wow, you really got involved in this spare little piece! ;-) This little parable is in the spirit of Henri Michaux's "My King" & Borges' "Borges & I," both included in the parable anthology Imperial Messages. The narrator could be considered the Daimon, a kind of Oversoul between the everyday self & seamless transcendent Buddha-Mind. It's the tone of the wilderness prophet. No one's being "murdered" per se, it's just the creative impatience w/getting emotionally snagged w/folks who aren't gonna significantly evolve, so there's an overrride re being tempted by carnal pleasure, say, to linger w/those who are never gonna understand greater processes. Beyond optimism/pessimism is radical clarity. "I" is a koan. The identity of identities is singular Spirit Itself. Thanks so much for your thoughtful review!

[KAOlmsted]

And thank you, sir, for the thoughtful reply. I enjoyed it nearly as much as the parable ;-)

[Pax Analog]

You're so welcome! If you have this much to say over a little Spirit bonbon, I'm staggered to think what you might say about any of my ScriptureX.1 installments!

[KAOlmsted]

I will most assuredly check them out! (wow, look at that...you've got me using exclamation points *laugh*)

;-)

[justjenn_2u]

If it's okay, I will say your words are intimidating to me because behind them lies an intellect that I would be so stoked to possess. Your words make me want to ponder but yet pick your brain. This is one of those pieces.

[Pax Analog]

Fine words! Well it's a matter of what one reads, knowing what to read, pattern recognition of core considerations of one's mind over time. Regarding this piece, & picking my brain, I can recommend one key text that this piece would fit in (besides being in one of my own books), & that's Imperial Messages: One Hundred Modern Parables. Between the pieces therein, & the instructive preface & afterword, you'll see where, in many ways, Kill Quill Drill comes from. Cheerz!

[DrD]

A truly stunning word mastery. A sincere congratulations.

[Victoria PoetryBunny]

Well this is certainly unique and interesting. Poetic stories seem so effortless... this one flows so well. The words you use, beings the reader in to understand everything. This line is different and stands out with creativity:
"Now I paint hand grenades as if they are Easter eggs."
I like this part here:
"Meanwhile, I shake hands, a hand comes off, sex an evaporating ghost, watch another "love" tag disappear, and realize there's still nobody home anywhere for me."
The bit of rhyming words in this write, nice and flows well:
"I killed the whine of mine but only brine remains."

[Pax Analog]

Thanks for your comments! This is a short parable that would fit nicely in the anthology Imperial Messages, recommended. It's also a bit like the voice of a vanishing God trying on various forms for size before moving on (which I think is the paradox of human existence; identifying w/said Spirit, or the habituated form; just ask Buddha). ;-)

[Bill]

C'mon, this is poetry. I sincerely enjoyed it: a fun little jaunt into a wicked-smart, slightly warped mind. But... it ain't a story. It's poetry! Own it and keep it up. : )

[Pax Analog]

Thanks! It's a short parable, a la Imperial Messages. The parable form is a poetics of narrative. Yeah, I'm always poetic, whether verse, prose poem, parable. Shades. In longer form parable mode of ScriptureX.1 installments, you can note the tension between narrative line & poetic revolt more clearly. Cheerz!

[ms. barrie]

i love this ~ i find your writings, intriguing, very profound. " I had to kill the guy who perpetually mourned the stupidity of his interfaces, then cremate him, 'cause he was already like dragging a corpse around in my psyche before I killed him. Dead tiresome." - lures you in, your words, imagery, flow, weaves a poetic, web that's hard to escape. very powerful write. i very much enjoyed reading this!

[Pax Analog]

Thanks! I've got several stylistic emphases, short & long form. All are about intense essentiality, as I want to make a point of what Zen awareness DOES, not just quietist meditation itself.

[Hanhil]

I could hear GnR's "I use to love her" playing in the background :-) I need to check out your music. My favourite line- " So it goes. Perhaps the wind is my friend."

[Pax Analog]

Thanks for your interesting comments! I'll check out your stuff shortly.

[Muse]

He wouldn't stop painting turds as if they were Easter eggs.

OMFG..must use this as a status line some day. :D

[Muse]

sorry I know you are trying to be deep...but I'm still chuckling from that brilliant one-liner!

[Pax Analog]

Painting Easter egg hand grenades is more fun! :D

[Muse]

lets practice on water balloons?

[Pax Analog]

Well aw-righty then! Who shall we throw 'em at?

[Jazmen]

This reminded me of Henry Millers work, who is a favorite of mine in his way of writing something intense or beautiful about the ups and downs of interacting with other humans, or with the wind.. or with the visions of sidewalks and dogs walking on them. Who knows. Who even cares.. I just like reading his words as I enjoyed this, If I believed it was important, I would tell you that you need to be published. The only reason I think it is important for you, actually, is for the sake of others and their enjoyment from reading words from a gifted writer and brilliant mind.
It's amazing how I can say that to someone where only reading his poetry placed me still not knowing if it is 100%..
But I feel also like I am picking up what you're puttin down and where it takes me is beyond the normal vision and I enjoy it there a lot.
I'm not trying to praise the s**t out of you for no reason.. I just like the way that you write, it is very refreshing.
Anyway, about this poem.

Now I paint hand grenades as if they are Easter eggs.
(This is rad after already mentioning these weird easter eggs you're speaking of.. it's a crazy thought, whatever it is youre on about.. it's understandable through the twisting of your words and thoughts in the poem though.. very interesting. Like the poet is a madman indeed.)

Meanwhile, I shake hands, a hand comes off, sex an evaporating ghost, watch another "love" tag disappear, and realize there's still nobody home anywhere for me.
(this is really sad as it flows in to the next line that seems to catch itself, you know, "I killed the whine of mine but only brine remains" I like the flow of that. How "remains" cuts of the "whine, mine and brine" rhymes by switching the flip of the tongue.. and on to the next beautiful line "So it goes. Perhaps the wind is my friend." It seems hopeful in a hopeless city of empty streets and buzzing streetlamps outside the dark home of this so-I-called- madman, but more, it is metaphor, and when realizing that, it makes your words so deep and inspiring to me, I wish I could say more
The last line is excellent as well. Very well written, friend. I had an excellent time reviewing it.

[Pax Analog]

Wow -- you certainly dug deep! This a piece of parabolic concision; I went through a mini-cycle of relative austerity, further cutting down what I've done earlier in power parable mode, less all-encompassing, but perhaps classic like bones. As for publication, my e-book ScriptureX.1 is on Amazon & Scribd.com, & I've published numerous pieces w/magazines & book anthologies over the years. I passed on a hard copy book contract last year, not liking terms. Also recording another CD. Thanks again for your thoughtful engagement!

[Pax Analog]

Correction: This IS a piece of parabolic concision. . .