Tuesday, March 25, 2008

Crazy Horse Answers the Question

Crazy Horse Answers the Question

Crazy Horse Answers the Question (2008)

[Click on image above to see the view with binoculars.]

One does not sell the earth upon which the people walk.
--Crazy Horse

...and...somewhat later...

Hoka Hey! It is a good time to die!
--Crazy Horse

~/~

Image made with Quaz. Post-processed since 1492.

A quick shout-out to programmer, artist, writer Terry W. Gintz. You won't regret a trip to his new poemscapes gallery. Thanks, too, for his dedication.

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3 comments:

Dr. Mike said...

The Book of Certainties

When both his parents died in
the house fire, Woodrow, who had
never forgiven them for
his name, inherited the Book
of Certainties. He was amazed
at how boring everything was
that was in it and how he had
already known page after page
of aphorisms that defined him
by reinforcing a masculinity
that kept him sane. He had
hidden it with the other legal
documents -- his birth certificate,
his high school diploma, his will --
because nobody would ever believe
the banalities written inside it.

As he lived his life, Woodrow
knew exactly what choices he
should make at each major
crisis, and when he followed
the rules correctly, he succeeded,
but when he did something that
he knew was wrong, because
the Book of Certainties had told him
so, he suffered the consequences
immediately. In this way, he lived
a decent, middle-class existence,
until one day, rifling through
his wife's boudoir, he discovered
a book shaped like a pin cushion.

It was his wife's Book of Certainties:
he opened and read in bewilderment
the truths it contained that were not
what he believed in or had ever thought
possible, so irrational the sayings were,
that he was confused. He confronted
his wife, who became outraged and angry
at the invasion of her privacy and threatened
divorce, keeping the house and taking
the children with her. Everyone knew,
she claimed, that there was a different
Book of Certainties for men than for
women, and that even children had
their own Books of Certainties that
eventually they outgrew when they
became teenagers. Woodrow was
befuddled. How could there be
multiple Books of Certainties when
there really ought to be only one –
namely the Book he was raised by
and had inherited and believed in?

Woodrow rushed to his files and
dug out his Book of Certainties,
but the pages were all moth-eaten
and yellow with age, and the spine
had warped and cracked. Dust flew up
from neglected vowels as Woodrow
fanned the pages desperately, looking
for the answer that would keep him
happy for the rest of his life, but what
he read now seemed out of date
or obsolete, and because he needed
absolute certainty, Woodrow no
longer recognized who he was,
shrieking in tongues no one
understood, pointing at and mocking
what remained of his rational world.

[Disposable Poem March 25, 2008]

monda said...

Gorgeous. This is one of my new favorites and the title is perfect. I also noticed a fancy award on your blog - can I have your autograph?

Geez, Dr. Mike is on a disposable poetry roll.

cruelanimal said...

Monda,

Cool award, yeah. Everyone should drop in over there and join the writing and reading fun. Nice typewriters, too.

And Dr. Mike is indeed raging full on lately...

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