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Thoughts from the Throne!

/ M.Hatter / Leave a comment

In light of Kamala’s new and exciting book, I wanted to post a warm greeting and a thought that came to me while on the porcelain throne:

Hello, friends. Today is today, and it is important that we are all here… together… in this moment that we are having, because moments are the building blocks of days, and days become weeks, which become months, which, of course, make up the years that we live.

And so, when we greet each other, we are not just saying ‘hi’—we are acknowledging the connection of human beings, in community, on this platform, with friends who are, indeed, friends.

Thank you

The Weight of Mistakes

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People learn from their mistakes—or so they should.

But do they really?

Your mistakes come in the form of margin calls, bills to be paid,
or some thug named Louie who visits,
when you’re not expecting.

Or do you?

Your penance? Loose change. Rattling in pockets.
Heavy enough to notice. Too light to break a window.

But forgiving—
Ah, well now,
that’s the real trick.

You have to realize Jack…

Forgiveness, It isn’t a gift for you.

It’s a key for them,
a ticket back from their own bleak exile,
a rope thrown down a well
where they sit, doing nothing but staring upward with empty hands,
drowning in the echoes of what they did.

Regret is a parasite, how cliché,
burrowing, gnawing,
eating a man from the inside out.

That parasite can be in many forms.
Mine is drink, women, smoke, whatever I choose.
It’s the only freedom I have.

The ones who truly see their sins
will reach, rebuild,
fill the cracks they left behind.
Those people make me sick.
They have it all figured out.
They’re not on my frequency.

So you compartmentalize. You lie, you bring everyone for a ride on your magic bus. Condemning them along with you.

This is your balance.
This is your grind.
Not some sermon, not some chant,
but the law of the damned:

Hold the grudge, and it burns you alive.
Let it go, and maybe, just maybe,
you get to sleep at night.
Unless, of course, you’ve already made peace with the burn.
Then to hell with it and to hell with you.

The USS Towers: A Sailor’s Lament

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There she is,

Rusting under the fucking waves,
Our eternal mistress sleeps,
steel heart still.

We’re topside now,
but her ghost still raves,
In the depths where our memories chill.

Her engines’ dirty growl echoes in my head,
stale AC’s sour breath,
salt on my tongue.

Our small destroyer,
pitching, we bled,

Puking our guts out,

God, how we are wishing we were young again.

Mess decks,
a cesspool of stories and grease,

Hot, nasty coffee could raise the dead.

Shitty midrats barely kept the cold at bay,

Bitter sludge burning holes in our head.

Tossed us around like goddamn rag dolls,

Yet kept the enemy away,
our steel mother.

After long watches,
fucking dead on our feet,

She’d rock us to sleep like no other.

They sank her for practice, our old girl,

A fucking exercise,
that’s all she was worth.

Silent rage burns,
as memories unfurl,

Of our home, our hell,
now in the earth.

One by one,
we’ll ship out again,

Join that endless fucking Westpac cruise.

No more bullshit,
no more pain,

Just the freedom we finally get to choose.

She sails on through the starry night,

Her crew aboard,
forever free.

No brass to polish, no watches to fight,

Just us, our old gal,
and the endless sea.

M.Hatter

Girl with Dirty Feet

/ M.Hatter / 1 Comment

Me and my girl,
the girl with dirty feet,

We used to pass the days by sitting on the porch,
the evening wind satisfying and warm.

 

She draped her legs over my lap
as waves of orange and purple
washed over us,
cleansing us from
the hard day.

 

Not a sound could be heard, except the soft
snores from our old dog
and an occasional giggle.

 

I lay in bed now,
70 years on,

I can still smell the
old wood of the porch.

I can still feel that warm wind
and hear the soft snores of
a friend long gone.

 

Most of all, I can
feel the weight of
her feet.

Oh, how I miss my girl with the dirty feet.

Road Rage Romance

/ M.Hatter / 1 Comment

Out on the highway,
crossing the great American landscape,
I had a girl with me, hungry and eager.

Pulled in, took a piss, had a cig,
got her some food.

Back on the road, she excitedly opened the bag.
“Where’s your food?” she asked.
“I’m not hungry,” I said.

Truth is, I wasn’t.

“Well, then I’m not hungry…” she said, crumpling the bag.
“Why didn’t you tell me you’re not hungry?”
“Here, let me have a fry.”
“No,” she said, throwing the bag out the window.
“Fuck you doing?” I yelled.

What the fuck? Ten bucks down the drain.

She started to cry.

“Why’d you throw away good food?”

My vision blurred from anger.

“Fuck you! I want to eat with you!” she screamed,
hitting me upside the head. “Why can’t you understand that?”

I reached over and slapped her,
she slapped me back.

We’re both slapping, and I miss the blue lights in the mirror.
Siren kicks in.

“Jesus, see what you did now, you cunt?” I yelled.
She hit me again.
Trying to drive, pull over,
while she’s hitting me,
I’m blinded by rage.

“License and registr- Hey! Stop hitting her!”
“Fuck you! Do you know what she did?”
“He has weed in the car! And he abuses me all the time!”

What the fuck! My anger’s off the charts.

“Out of the car!”
Gun pointed at me now.
I smack her one last time,
the last time for sure.

I never saw her, my car, or my personal belongings,

again.

Memory

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In a dark, smoky corner of a forgotten bar,

Where the neon lights flicker like dying stars,

I sit alone, with a drink in hand,

A man whose life never went as planned.

My fingers trace the rim of the glass,

Each scratch a memory of a love that didn’t last,

The stale air heavy with tales of regret,

Of dreams unfulfilled and debts unpaid yet.

The bartender, she nods, knowing all too well,

The stories this man’s weary eyes could tell,

Of days spent toiling under a merciless sun,

Nights lost in shadows, nowhere to run.

My laughter, now, is a crackling radio, static and spent,

Echoing in a room where hours are bent,

Where hope is a coin tossed in a wishing well,

And fate, a dealer with nothing left to sell.

The lines on my face, a roadmap of sorrow,

Each wrinkle a path I’d tread again tomorrow,

For in this world of steel, smoke, and grime,

I’m just another soul, lost in time.

So, in the end, I raise my glass to the ghosts in the room,

To the dreams that died, the love that met its doom,

In a world that spins too fast for those who walk slow,

Im a man who’s been everywhere but has nowhere to go.

What would you do

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I often wonder what happens at that precise moment when someone passes in their sleep.

We are quick to say they went peacefully. Which implies they simply went to sleep, never woke up or had any understanding of what was happening.

But…what if they did?

What if…

You’re asleep and there’s an interruption in your dream causing you to become aware but not awake.

You’re aware that you’re dreaming. Like an interruption to a regularly scheduled program. Your conscious and subconscious suddenly juxtaposed and you’re in both places.

Imagine how frighteningly strange that would be.

As you start to get used to this new sensation, the landscape starts to change. You look over and notice a place, at the edge of your subconscious forming.

You walk to it and see a clear black line like a seam splitting two realities.

Ahead of you is a reality that you couldn’t quite see clearly. Only colors swirling but nothing more as its being blurred by some gaussian filter.

The space between these realities is big enough for you to step into. Without knowing why, you step into this black seam without fear and can’t move but feel safe at this point.

You turn to look behind and see a ribbon forming with the starting point of your birth. You can see events in your life with exceptional clarity and if you focus, you can almost relive them. The urge to relive your past is strong.

However, something keeps you rooted and aware of what’s ahead of you.

Still, you can see your life clearly and are aware of the feelings you had then. While powerful, these past emotions do not affect your current state but you feel them nonetheless with the same intensity.

Except for now, you are feeling at ease. No fear or melancholy. A serenity washes over you.

As you look at your life, you start to notice branches forming. As if your life was a main distribution line and these branches were veins shooting off into different directions. At start of your life, the veins were not so many. As you progressed in life the number increased significantly.

The veins were connections and impacts you made to other lives and intertwined with other people. The length of the veins depended on how long and much of an impact you made. Some are healthy and vibrant, some are not and some look dead. And for the latter you feel remorse, regret and apologetic.

In the end, you can see the accomplishments of your life and its impacts. You cannot change what has happen.

You notice there are some veins that are vibrate with color. They are so beautiful that they flood you with intense emotion and make you cry with joy and sorrow all at the same time. These are your loved ones. The people who are connected deeply to you by love.

After looking across your life which seems like an eternity and reliving every point, experiencing every emotion and seeing every face of those you impacted, you become aware that ahead of you lies there is the unknown and you turn to face it.

You slowly raise your hand to touch this imagery.

Then a voice booms from everywhere at once. The voice is warm and familiar but you’ve never heard it before and it speaks one word “choose”.

It is the voice of God and it becomes clear what is commanded without a feeling intimidation.

Choose between going back. Waking up in the morning with a vague recollection of what happen, a small tinge of regret for not going forward.

And an optimistic thought that maybe you can repair some of those unhealthy and less vibrant veins you saw.

You can tell your loved ones how much you appreciate and need them too.

Or

Move forward, never wake up again and step into the unknown. To set out on an endless exploration of the afterlife.

It all becomes so clear to you that once you step forward into the wall of swirling colors you will embark on a infinite journey.

An eternal journey where a universe of mysteries stretch out beyond mortal comprehension. The simple questions/mysteries we experienced everyday are inconsequential compared to what is ahead. There are no dangers ahead. No traps or pitfalls. Just a quench to our natural human desire to travel.

You feel a swell of excitement and no sense of loneliness. You know that all pain and suffering would be lifted immediately and never come back.

You are also aware that you would be able to watch the continuation of everyone’s life as you travel.

Which would you choose?

The door at the end of a dark hallway called judgement

/ M.Hatter / Leave a comment 
 
 You shuffle your feet
 with purposeful delay
 for insanity is 
 not too far away

 The pain from your past
 paints the walls 
 of this dark hall 
 your conscious wont last
 
 Cold Shivers, run down
 your spine
 your guilt, has
 soured the wine
 
 From under the closed doors
 light spills out
 Wait, this can’t be happening
 Where is your doubt?
 
 You start to pray
 But what will God say?
 Will you be forgiven today?
 
 You hear laughter and confusion
 while on your knees,
 praying for absolution
 But you find there's no easy solution

 when questioned of faith
 what did you used to say?
 Who is God anyway?
 
 You must walk 
 and do the time 
 each room you pass 
 is your crime
 
 It was hard to conceive
 your part in this, 
 difficult to believe

 screams of anger flood your ears
 from all the people 
 you hurt throughout the years
 
 You had no shame
 you played your game
 they didn't know your name
 or did they?

 The end is near
 funny, you have fear

 There is no one to save you
 except one, 
 who happens to be
 the one 
 that betrayed you
 
 Who can that be? 
 Why you, obviously
 Can't you see?
 
 Now down on your knees
 What say you?