Reflections: Existence, a Tough Place to Be

X
Nobody ever does what they say they're going to do, except by coincidence. All human action is motivated by forces the actors choose either to deny or to ignore. To awaken to this is to know existential nausea. To overcome it is to know enlightenment.
X

Rodak's Writings: a Very Short Story

Sick Transit

Gloria Monday vomited half way into Manhattan on the uptown D train. Never had she been so humiliated.

The next morning, the stick turned blue.

X

Reflections on the Elections: HRC Still Dissing Millennials & Others

X

Hillary Clinton's campaign to-date seems to be directed with laser-like precision right at those who were automatically going to vote for her anyway. It more or less just pats those preconditioned voters on their collective heads and tells them how very *bright* they are for recognizing HRC to be the *most experienced* and *best qualified* presidential candidate EVER.

But for those potential voters who should be voting Democratic, but who are, at this point, still taking a knee to Hillary's theme music, she offers little-to-nothing. How DARE they question her supremacy? Did she not bring both Sanders and Warren to heel? Is that not proof enough for these idiots? Will they not come around now and be *useful idiots*? Time is running out!

X

Reflections on the Elections: Hillary vs. Trump

X

If I were a Hillary supporter, I would very much hope that the Donald isn't somehow disqualified as a candidate, because I don't think she could beat any normal Republican candidate at this point. My God, she's barely staying ahead of Trump.

 "At least she's better than Trump" becomes inoperative if Trump is suddenly gone.

Which is to say, they'd better stop merely attacking Trump and start convincing people that Hillary is actually a good choice on her own merits.

X

Rodak's Writings: a Poem

X

The Way the Music Died

I’m pretty sure

the fragment of mind

embedded in this

particular clot of mud

is near disintegration.

I have not learned much

about the Ground of Being,

obsessed as I’ve been

about being in the ground,

probing the receptive mud

for groans and giggles.

There was issue from these strivings

and all was well until those I got

commanded me stop whistling along

with the chiming of the spheres.

Finally, then, the white noise reigned:

the lovely music guttered out

and died between my ears.

X

Rodak's Writings: a Poem

X
X
All the world's wisdom

rests in neat rows
on my shelves,
inert,
its potential exhausted
by time's long lesson:

mind games
don't play on the street.
X

 X

Rodak's Writings: a Poem

X

 X
FRAGMENTS OF FUTILITY

I am an imaginary poet,
invisible product 
of unknown others 
who came before
and anonymously departed,
leaving behind them
no anxiety-inducing 
blueprints or lists
of commandments.
But this is not
a constant state.
I am at times other types 
of desperate being
with jury-rigged souls 
if any at all.
The poet notes this
on the unseen page.
He sometimes wonders
whether any of those 
other selves care
or benefit at all
from this arduously
feigned verbal angst.

X