Planes, Helicopters and Daddy

“In a room where
people unanimously maintain
a conspiracy of silence,
one word of truth
sounds like a pistol shot.”

Czesław Miłosz

Falling asleep, I ponder the mysteries of life.

Sometimes the answers that give life are simple.

Sometimes they are complex.

Therefore, I don’t think answers are dependent upon any predetermined formula, but honesty or lack thereof, of the persons involved.

As I awake in the morning, I slowly become aware I’m still silently conversing with Dad, the characteristic cadence of his voice (speak and pause, speak and pause) not just apparent, but emphasized in this semi-dream-like state.

I can feel his presence, with my mind.

But it’s as if my father’s pauses are now purposely lengthened and multiplied,  to give me time to write everything down.


Another colleague of mine

caught me off guard

when he said

the (puss?) (!) is in the pudding

It’s different with men

We won’t regret later

who gathered up roses

where did you get those

basking in the sun

of personal indifference

After the sun

comes the soul

Flying on a plane

who does know pain?

speed is everything

(fast internet logo?)

how did the bullet

get here so quickly

caught up in different events

looking back on the remarks I’ve made

any well trips

well spent

Can it go fast enough

Flew in by helicopter

to the post

Let me outa here

said the watchman

drinking whiskey

like a shot in the dark

Child abuse is real

its after effects remain forever

unless GOD takes them away

like a man on a plane

Simple recipes do not taste right

to the abusers

See how they run

Indifference is the miter’s

(tall headdress worn by a bishop)


like whole villages swallowed up

in the rain

It’s victim, the forfeiter

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