whatareyouthinking

There was a man who worked in assembly who had, on ocassion, neglected to fully tighten all of the bolts on his projects. His supervisor brought this to the man’s attention saying, “For now on, you need to tighten every one of these bolts with all of your might.” So the man did as his supervisor asked.

The following week, the supervisor walked by the man’s work area and said, “Be sure to make those bolts tighter.”

“I tightened them just as you asked,” explained the employee.

“Yes, but you could always make them tighter,” said the supervisor. So the employee set out to make them tighter, even to the point of stripping the bolts. Still the following week, the supervisor said, “Don’t forget to keep working on those bolts. You could always make them tighter.”

So the man continued his efforts to make the bolts tighter still. These efforts lead to bolts being stripped, his projects getting twisted and broken, and the employee sustaining significant hand injuries. The employee decided he should seek his boss’s assistance as his previous advice proved no longer useful. The man took great care in explaining this dilemma to his supervisor. The supervisor, without carefully observing his employee’s words or the nature of his injuries simply replied, “Yes, but you could always make them tighter.”

I’ve heard the stories
of the ones who’ve made it
How much I’ve tried
to make their lives my own
For in an instant for them
everything changed (for the better)
If that’s a metric for the masses
It explains why I’m alone

Where is that storm?
Where is the
thundering
enlightenment?
Where in a flash I picture all things new
And the film is removed from my dark room view
And develops into certainty
For the lens I see life through

I’ve tried to walk the steps
of the ones who’ve arrived
But seemed to stumble
before I reached step two
One foot planted in the process
the other in confusion
And from these roots
my frustrations grew

Where is my storm?
Where is my
thundering
enlightenment?
When I ponder their lot, their lives, a lot
If they weathered the storm for what they got
Or even whether the weather
Had to do with it or not

© 2009 J. Marshall

I awoke from a dream
With a toothache in my soul
Then Novocain filled my chest
So fear could drill its hole

River of thoughts damned my mind
Lava laces a thoracic knot
Sensation tricks me into thinking
Something it is not

My feet are balls of fire
Red radiates from my head
Skin fills a mold made of heat and sweat
Dead, this cavity feels dead!

How can I redeem the time
Spent merely as projection—?
A shadow of a man
Cast from this former man’s reflection

It’s been a Long Cold Winter of Summer
With springs of black and white
In the fall of the former glory
I await to take my flight

© 2009 J. Marshall

Within him was mysterious substance
Given at birth for through his life to share
Yet much to his complacent contentment
Even in isolation it was still there

So he kept all this Goo to himself
Not knowing what he was withholding
Til his emotions turned to molten rock
Leaving this once serene psyche scolding

Unconsciously cooling his melting soul
He began to give away some Goo
But only to get ill goo in return
Til he said, “Screw you. No more Goo for you!”

Sought solace from a few who claimed they knew
But whose aims were still ill-gotten-Goo-gain
Was like the blind squeezing a blind pimple—it hurt
But didn’t burst, just escalated his pain

So what would he do with all of this Goo?
When he knew not where to go to share
And keeping the Goo was clearly taboo
This whole affair just didn’t seem fair

So he searched for the Source of his Goo
And learned the lesson of self-transcendence:
That True Goo is given without expectation
Then passed on to one’s spiritual descendants

So he sought some worthy souls and a cause
In effect, a community built upon Goo
Forever flowing but never running out
Though it happens for few doesn’t make it untrue

But when the Goo of Goodness is withheld
It gives toxic fumes of fermented glory
Turns your inner heaven to some sort of hell
And it’s up to YOU to change the story

© 2009 J. Marshall

Swimming in a stew of ideals
Mired in the gravy, trained
To obscure the necessities of life
The shirt of my being leave stained

At times I starved while at the feast
At times I was fed too much of the same
Off to go hunting for something that sated
On to keep playing this wild game

Though I could always pick fruit from the nuts
And discern plastic in search for what’s real
But some things seemed better than that which was best
Poison berries buried poison beneath their appeal

Still on a day I can’t see night from day I pray…

To light those paths which lead to light
And burn the bridges that land in death
Let me not confuse a dark night for darkness
Or artificial light for eternal breath

© 2008 J. Marshall

Acting is if he was one of the boys
As he interacts through awkward noise
With words and movement, mere decoys
From the heart and all that it employs

He makes an impression and hopes it sticks
Or clicks with who’s who in workplace cliques
As perceptions ensue, his soul will transfix
From the politics of workplace politics

And he says…
I wish I was there
Now that I’m no longer there
I wish the walls were my ears
The part of me that cares
Wishes I no longer cared
To chase away these fantasies and fears

Aftertalk is the talk
That carries on once you walk
Away from that which you were just a part
As your image gets molded through the mouths
of whom you’ll depart

Once at home he ponders what he’s all about
As he seeks release from his internal doubt
And wishes he could hear the Aftertalk play out
Or at least live to learn how to live without

And he says…
I wish I was there
Now that I’m no longer there
I wish the walls were my ears
The part of me that cares
Wishes I no longer cared
To chase away these fantasies and fears

Aftertalk is the talk
That carries on once you walk
Away from that which you were just a part
As your image gets molded through the mouths
of whom you’ll depart

© 2008 J. Marshall

Send the check to the ministry-
Churn out alms like a factory-
Mismatched and discontented-
Detached and disconnected-

Mindless militants lament what they perceive
Spitting on our skin with venomous phlegm
All hiding behind their march of signs
Which tell us nothing at all about them

Witless armchair activists, witness their world
From a box or the books on their bathroom shelves
And they catch their flies with piss
While pouring honey on them selves

Charities of Fire-
As the world turns ablaze
Reaching for a hand out
To pull me from this maze
Charities of Fire-
The flame that feeds the flame
In spinning social circles
I wish I had your name

They’re saving face for those without a face
They’re sending hugs yet leaving no embrace
They’re loving space but liking not their place
They’re hating rats but loving the rat race

But a bird-in-hand, their burning bush
Though a burdened hand not worth too much
Nor a bleeding heart that pumps dry blood
On the burning hand that cries out
for a personal touch

Charities of Fire-
As the world turns ablaze
Reaching for a hand out
To pull me from this maze
Charities of Fire-
The flame that feeds the flame
In spinning social circles
I wish I knew your name

© 2008 J. Marshall

Let’s take a stab at your amygdala
Stick you in the ass with an Epi Pen
Infuse your eyes with fury and fear
As your soul sears with adrenaline

Chase your coffee with a slice of dread
Till we fill your room with doom at Noon
And more at six and more at eleven
And more of the same still coming up soon

There’s a Carnival of Evil—
For all the world to see
Exploiting the exploited
In the papers, on TV
There’s a Carnival of Chaos—
Feeding all your fears
Distorting what’s distorted
Changing how your world appears

It’s prime time once again to serve you
Your portion of disproportion
We set the trap, ease into your chair
And get psyched for your psyche’s contortion

Piece by piece we’re stealing your peace
And replacing it all with more crap
We’ll keep playing the harp as we harp on you
Until your heart strings snap

There’s a Carnival of Evil—
For all the world to see
Exploiting the exploited
In the papers, on TV
There’s a Carnival of Chaos—
Feeding all your fears
Distorting what’s distorted
Changing how your world appears

They’ve tainted our world and painted it black
But let’s take the world and paint it back!

© 2008 J. Marshall

My emotions encased in mucous
My soul suspended in glue
My mind’s eye, a blind pimple
Armed and ready to pop through
The thick glass wall that separates
Me from the depths of experience
And the space that separates
Time from the present tense

I want to feel the way I will
About the memories I’ll hold dear
I want to feel the way I’ll feel
When I reflect on now, another year
I want to feel the way I will somehow
I want to feel—Nostalgia Now

The light is on but my eyes closed
I’ve not yet learned to reopen
Taste and see the food is good
But I vaguely taste the hoping
Of all that’s good and great, and God
Will free my senses from their prison
As neurons mourn the master’s return
For a body and soul collision

I want to feel the way I will
About the people I hold dear
I want to feel the way I’ll feel
When I reflect on them, another year
I want to feel the way I will somehow
I want to have—Nostalgia Now

The novelty of each moment
Like lifetimes of nothing new
And the best times of life
The toughest to get through
Phantom feeling, a fantasy
I cannot fathom, grasp or seize
Though I know the present won’t measure up
To its future memories

© 2008 J. Marshall

I remember you

You were like my own personal adversary

Staying close to me like a cell phone

That came with a lifetime contract and automatic renewal

And seemingly unlimited minutes of torment so that not even my weekends were free

You followed me around—from play, to school, to work and back home again

Sometimes you were there even when you were not

You were the same

Only your skin, your soul, and your manifestations of darkness changed from time to time and place to place

But I will kill you…with kindness

And I will feed you on the streets

If you throw eggs at my house I will collect them and make you breakfast (unless you are vegan)

Nevertheless, you will not walk away from me empty

I will radiate love and watch your hatred melt like chocolate on a hot day so it can no longer be within your grasp

I will be to you what I would have had you be to me

And I will do these things lest I become like what you were—and be my own worst enemy

© 2007 J. Marshall