link2source - Doug Casey's Take [ep.#96] James Kunstler and The Long Emergency Scarce Hallucinated Capital * Peak Oil, Etc. The author of The Long Emergency.
POEM
Dead batteries, birds roosting, a musty garage of dusty dreams. There's a film of grime upon the windowsill. I enter the space with cobwebs, a silken hollow, how silly death looks suspended from the rafters. I look up to see where the things came from, dead bodies, must. Insects. Silly. Me.
I wave them from my hair as they fall around me. I imagine I'm there, looking for you. Then, I look away.
The Hornet was also a car, a brand once popular, AMC Hornet, yellow like a jacket. And I find my crusty leather upon the passenger's seat, behind the window of the glass.
Under glass. - Will it ever run again? Youth, such passing... - I think to myself. I remember the:
Class again? But not so fast. Brick school peals its ugly bell.
We'll have each other yet.
Good young men fine citizens both. Unrecognizable today. So. Many years.
Hence. We did not have so much time as we thought or dreamt.
And now again to be ruled by memories. My foggy mind to refashion you, beau tied to the trellis?
I gather my things about myself. Garage again? So soon? So fast?
Glass rolls under. The window winds down. By hand we've done it. Grass stains upon the back and back again.
I wind it down. I strain under the pressure. Not able to: Lift like Stewart in Vertigo, at the parked car.
Here or there? In the garage today? Why again Oh haunting memories like the fly, caught in a web I am, again.
Damn. I'm back in the garage, instead of that park, that time, that man's arm like a tree, trunk of a car as the cigarette falls outta my mouth.
Momentum meets inertia. Such a pass on the road. Such, and such. Who said. We Were.
Once together?
Such a guy, I suppose. Pall of passing, our's plays.
Its trick time again. Two guy's names on a trunk with a pocket knife, engraved, and fine grain and bark.
Dog again, upon the grass, under the Willows, the sun-chasing shadows, the creature fealty agonizing splendor.
And all is lost with time.
And I pause while closing the door, then the bang of a thud, a hollow sound, steel heart has the final word. Closed door, never to open again, and I pretend.
I pretend.
To never notice, again the end. The passing of a fancy with a speedy pass. Could we pass again with time? - I think feeling the pain in my arm.
No. The car will not run again, as yellow as it might be, as blazing the sun, the heat upon the hood, burning my back.
Not to back again, with time. - JL 2-9-2024
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I wish you peace, and I hope for peace throughout the world.
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