Fool’s Odyssey 8

Fool's Odyssey

To read Fool’s Odyssey from the beginning, click here.

Chapter Two: My Life of Happy Materialism in London (Continued)

Ah, London was so sweet.

I came to love her grinning granite Belshazzars

and unicorns and horns-o-plenty

carved in stone on nearly every corner.

I stayed in that old hotel for three days, and all of the time

rebuked the wretched street-caller preacher shouting in my head,

and pronounced him three days gone and stinking, and called him dead.

I gargled like a beaver, I giggled like an eel,

I swam to farthest extremes of my own bastille.

 

Took the tube, the London Underground,

bee-bee in a straw,

brave new basement,

world of coughing antonyms and eyeless molehobbos

begging back their souls.

How were these any different from those above? I wondered.

How was their half-life dream of gin or cheap wine or paraffin

any less whole than the half-life dream

of withering up in the sun?

the resplendence of things which ate you slower,

but left you just as done?

I was like them in my heart,

I thought in my head.

 

Would I end up a pathetic emotional derelict,

stalking forever the morbid night of my own invention,

and beating incessantly upon the inexorable dome of heaven?

I was like them in my heart,

I thought in my head.

 

No!

No, I wasn’t like them!  I was happy–

happy like Gene Kelly and Debbie Reynolds in whatever that movie was.

I was happy!

I was home.

I would make me great works. 

I would build me great houses. 

 

Flash–darkness–flash–darkness–

Covent Garden–Kings Court–Leicester Square–

Flash–darkness–flash–darkness–

 

That night after the theatre,

I came home to my little room

and sat staring at the apples and chocolates on the dresser

until I finally fell over and went to sleep.

The dream was losing steam. I was cold–

I guess from the loss of steam.

To read Fool’s Odyssey 9, click here.

About mitchteemley

Writer, Filmmaker, Humorist, Thinker-about-stuffer
This entry was posted in Culture, Fool's Odyssey, Humor, Memoir, Poetry, Religion/Faith, Story Power and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s