Mean People Suck – A Time-honoured Tradition

There’s a lot of people out there who struggle sometimes for a very long time with a situation, and by that I mean a very unsatisfactory situation. There can be a lot of fall-out from this, and as those toxic fall-out flakes are floating down hopefully we take time to write something about our experience, confident in the knowledge this flake-storm won’t last forever and that a sense of truth, honour and decency will ultimately prevail. Here’s to Ultimately! This goes out to Helen Dye, a beautiful but tragically flawed human being who does a lot of damage but is one of my favorite works of fiction in my new novel-in-progress – Wilderness Park.

HEALTH SCIENCE

Why the weak, the mediocre, the lifers and fatties
The dopes, the incompetents, the numberless numbered?
Why the professionals, the experts, the champions of convention
The young and brilliant and beautiful
Why the intelligent, why ‘the record speaks for itself’
Why the prestige and the elite, the cruel elite in their brilliance,
Ease of manner
You open the door and enter the site
Look up at the ceiling and wide expanse of walls
Why the controllers, the compassionless non-empathizers
The robotic rote reaction, the cold, the incalculable
Why the merciless insect rationale the
Complete absence of the minutest decent impulse?
You can say goodbye to your wench
‘Perfectly justified’ never draws off the stench

Why the beast, the lack of remembrance
They’re wheeling him in now, the litterateur who bit it
The lover and conveyor unloved and degraded
Why the lies and psychopathy, the mean
Errant vacuousness and the disgrace
The ignoble dragging down, the callousness
The terrible unkindness of control, the paranoia
The emptiness of unreason and the stupidity (of the season)
The morass, the gutter, the lack of respect
Why the hideousness, the horrorshow horrors (let’s break her neck)
These are the professionals and before they go
Why the death? ‘I’m not afraid of being shy,’ the great one said.
‘I’m afraid of being morose.’
Go ghost, hasten to thy peace.
Did you think you lived to be treated like this?

Questions

Gag it I’ve been asking myself for three months whether I oughta’ lay this poem on you.  Every day the question comes up and every day I’ve knocked it down, I’ve ignored it, I’ve pretended it isn’t important, I’ve wondered about the poem, I’ve delayed doing anything about it, I’ve forestalled, I’ve procrastinated, I’ve lazed, I’ve feigned disinterest, funked it, belaboured it.  But after all that the question is still here. Should I?  Ought I?  I forgot dithered.  I’ve dithered.  If you can think of it you can do it.  Loneliness, desire, fear, determination, hope, doubt.

QUESTION MARK

You sit here in your question mark shaped room, a lonely soul who can’t get to the point separated by a gap at the bottom of this squiggly line.  There’s no entry

Imposter days, faking his way along
Parasites, living on the side of society
Contributing nothing, diminishing
Gentle love
Gentle love

He needs to get to that point in his question mark life
Needs to see what’s down there because he’s never been in there
It’s part of his world but why hasn’t he ever been into that area?
Been cut off, why can’t he go there?
He must and will go there
It’s getting across that gap where there’s nothing
That dot, that period under the curvy line–that thing never visited

Pushing Out The Route

I want to thank the members of the academy.  And at this time I want to send out a special thank you to my fellow contestants.  You kept me honest, you made me better and I wouldn’t be here tonight without your support and encouragement.  Thank you for this great honour.

THIS IS NOT A CLIMBING MOVIE

The pressure of previous failures
Why should that impact the now?
Amateurs die, that’s why
Eventually I came to the conclusion changes needed to be made
I couldn’t make them

He needed to tell them about Kanchenjunga
The five treasure houses of the snow and what happened to Rick
We’d have left him lying sweet in the snow except we couldn’t find the fucker
As if we looked
As if we looked, girls
As if we had the time and energy
This was now everybody’s epic and we were struggling for our lives

Rupal face, ’99 ‘Crystal Mountain’ etc…
What a big face, not enough rope and it was effing cold
We called this one the sing-song epic
It was up and down and all the way around
‘These huge events will look small on the larger stage of life’
Remember the Eiger Direct?
Looked simple enough
Straight up and down and a ringing good record
I’m still looking for it
These huge events will look smaller

I know what’s wrong
There’s nobody here
Logan, that big draw
It drew us all right
We lost Jim on that outing
Which was to discover the source of the sun
We never found it
We climbed down
We remembered Jim like we remembered Don
Neither of those bastards should ever have died
But what could we do we were moving on

I thought it rather a fanciful display by that meaning rather good, very good
Stretching across infinity which is what it looked like
I couldn’t believe it when I saw it through the scope
K2 of course but I was only dog fucking on the strip
I was running base and dicking the malfunctioning comms
Have you ever endeavoured a weather report with an effed up–
Shit, I didn’t think so, moles
That was a tough few days
Of course there’s a way down
We cleared out of Concordia in a hell of a cheery

Back home in a few days and spoiling for the Changabangers
We dubbed it ‘strange mountain’ because that’s how it looked
Strange, powerful and terrible, ‘Like the rest,’ Steve said
We slaughtered that prick
We annihilated old Pete and Joe with change left
That was our prideful thought
When we got down and viewed what had been going on below it was shocking
Effing Americans tore up like that again
Can’t any of you Norteamericanos do this here?
I swore I’d never come back to old Changabang
It was LaSud now

Fitzroy, what else?
Answer:  plenty
If we didn’t eff up on Aconcagua we weren’t worthy of the award
So it’s one thing at a time
Find dead mates
My young brother
It’s not as if you’re looking for them that’s not what I mean
But here he was
His gear was holding up well
My retard half brother from six years ago
It was good to see him, we consecrated to a crevasse and went to lie down
He was all desiccated, it was ou-ugy-eh?
‘I am sending his engagement ring to his bride.’
These Argies are extremely accommodating and they shouldn’t be
Not with the likes of us
Oh shit, out again
Back like rodents to the Khumbu
And the most difficult climbing you’ll ever do

The stupid thing was how they kept oozing out
Not having seen Carl for years I thought he was dead
Right as always, that’s me
It was three shitty miles from AB to the face in mush
We had to be careful
We’re not gonna’ be complacent along here, it’s tricky
Sherpa Dorje say:  ‘I know I will die one day but climbing is my life.’
He was right