The Glass Castle In A Vase (or perhaps Franklin or Einstein or Gauguin or your local sub-bridge bum)- Mick Hugh

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The Glass Castle In A Vase (or perhaps Franklin or Einstein or Gauguin or your local sub-bridge bum)

I find myself in one place: it’s too intuitive to be real. A man of stature and possibility beaming a light that shines no farther than the wall. Certainty is absurd said Voltaire. Yet I am certain I have four limbs and a set of ribs and a cock between my legs. I am certain I have a career, if I think long-term enough, and I am certain to have good graces of God if I keep my posture up. The calendar marks the days in the blank way of its empty boxes sliding by. It is now October: in a month the insects will be frozen dead. And next June I’ll find myself still building bones for a fortune they call a pension. From my office walls working for a pension. Life is great when your last 10 years are finally free. What a predicament to find yourself in. Children starving, wife crying, the mold creeps up the walls. Do or die comes wrapped like crepes harder to swallow as the years burn on. Morality sits like an empty vase too fragile to disturb lest it break. And what breaks isn’t the spirit it’s the table it sits on beside the door in the tall foyer. What breaks isn’t golden it’s a god damn disease, it’s the glitter and glamor and 8000 pixels on the precious TV. What scurries are the rats in the walls; and what throbs ain’t your cock if haven’t your balls. And every day I sit still in my gray-decored room is another the world passes always darker in gloom – For the sun doesn’t shine if a face doesn’t feel the energy warming its skin. What a madness to find yourself in. How after a stress-fest at work beneath surveillance lights I am punching a steering wheel in traffic. What hurts it’s just golden glimmers. What bleeds doesn’t matter. And by the end of the drive to sit in a parking lot while the local station gets the Led out: the pitter-patter of Bonham’s drums and the freedom I held dear. Just to find myself in every place, to know that it’s all there.

(Do children still make good wandering beggars?)
(I don’t know.)
(Have you ever kept ferrets as pets?)
(I have not.)
(Okay. Because those you can leash and teach tricks for
tips. I was
wondering if children were the same.)
(You seem to’ve lost your mind.)
(I have not.)
(But you’ve lost your cock.)
(Hey – who’s asking the questions, here?)


 

[Mick Hugh is a writer/editor for Sudden Denouement, and the groundskeeper at Mick’s Neon Fog.]

Author: Sudden Denouement

A Literary Collective

20 thoughts on “The Glass Castle In A Vase (or perhaps Franklin or Einstein or Gauguin or your local sub-bridge bum)- Mick Hugh”

  1. I had me a laugh one day as I looked up not the hottest 5 25 or 40, but the 268th (the smallest production v8?) through 327 (keeping it ‘car’). And wouldn’t you know it? My classic tunes of the day without fail! Were replayed. It was just the same scene scream barreling death -in need of a muffler… dang pothole!- reminding I have to assume they’re not stopping for me… (oh noooo! She did. Dang my luck as there went my afternoon off). I’m telling ya though it is just the same scene minus anything golden like joyously hoping after sex as any other days trudginging this dream. Did ya say screw it to the capped quart of miller high life? Did you stab yourself rummaging for the pop-topper? I’m sure you’re like me dreaming of anything like nachos not Jeannie and pretty much just as pissed a half hour later to be well aware of how discrete the big dude diapers will be shipped thanks to Elizabeth Montgomery in bewitched… where’s my sandwich? I too if I listen past the crickets and the in need of lubrication a/c hums here this wail of what a dream it’s to be, please! Deliverance come.

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  2. Loved this. As a rock drummer for over 60 years now, I do have to mention that Bonham’s drums did a lot more than pitter-patter, lol. The man was a drum god. With that said, I fade out with a drum roll and a cymbal crash 🎵

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