mercredi 6 janvier 2010

what-the-fuck IS happyness?



happyness
what the fuck!
when was I happy
and when was i not?
and if i have ever been
HAPPY
was there any unity
with what was real
or was it an
adrenaline flow
like a volcano of
ecstatic blood
being in love, being one
with god or monster
being lesbiana
being the stranger
being l'unique, the courageous
being krishna's devotee
or jehovah's whore
reaching the watchtower
on top of the world
falling upon the
portes de paris unaware
motoring around
a greek island
getting lost in an
indian town on my
way to meet the
guru who is
waiting to meet
me because, well
my karma must be good
is good, is perfect!
buying books by the pound
buying designer clothes
at goodwill or
reading anais nin's
little birds, becoming
sparrow of her
satanic verses or
worse! rushdie...

having babies
offering them my breast
dressing them up
seeing them off
on their way to
their own nests

eating christmas
candy, eating curry
wearing comfortable shoes
or finding cute boots to
match my miniskirt
losing 20 lbs
after tipping the scale
at 160 for years
chronically blimped
now hip now svelte
feeling like everybody
else at last then
adding a question mark
to strike a balance
such as
what the fuck
what the fuckity fuck
IS happyness when
somebody else is
bleeding somewhere
thanks to my bullet
when my sharp
tongue becomes viper
dreaming of a kiss
that never comes
then hearing a
mylène song
on the radio and
realizing it can't
be true because i'm
in oregon not in
france and no one
knows who-the-fuck
mylène is and
no radio plays
"ainsi soit il" and
"fuck them all" because
happyness is but
short lived, comes
when i've grown
another chin, when i live
an alternate universe
i ain't gonna
find it with long feathers

fuck happyness when
a bed lies unmade
waiting for my
cold body to float
into dream worlds
is that a happy-enough
thought to sustain me
if ever i decide to take
mick's advice:
if i try i might actually
get what i need???
fuck happyness!
i need paris


photo from wikipedia: porte de saint-denis

4 commentaires:

Mary Stebbins Taitt a dit…

So sad, such sad words.

When you are depressed, it sometimes seems as if you've always been depressed.

But you haven't. Sometimes, the light of a smile, a single smile, lit up your whole being.

Smile, now, for me.

Moineau En France a dit…

i know what you say is true, mary, that when we are depressed we forget what it was to be happy and when we are happy we forget what it was to be depressed; each state of mind can't believe that the other ever existed!

i will light up again, perhaps. but the poem says something else... see my face in the picture? it is miserable. and where am i? paris... happiness means nothing to me now. i'd rather be miserable in paris because at least there i feel alive, truly alive, learning, moving, being forced into being... i am dead here. it's been this way for years.

sure there are moments of bliss, but i don't care a wit about being blissful, happy... what i care about is "place". how crazy is that? i don't know. ron's sister is like that. she just spent five years in portland because she had to, but the only place she feels right is in hawaii... took her 40 some-odd years to find that out, took me 45.

i must find a way to get there as often as i can. i'm going to search programs that pay artists to come write and/or translate. that's the only solution i can think of, at least for now. hope it works out or i think i'll lose my mind...

perhaps ron will change his mind and join me. god knows i've lived here 10 year for him, not especially liking it. you'd think he'd do the same for me. xoxoxoxoxooxox

Pisces Iscariot a dit…

By the words bled here, happiness is a life lived without excuses.

Moineau En France a dit…

brilliant, cher pisces! and quite right. when i read this poem now, now that i'm feeling a bit better about things, about being back in oregon, now that i've decided to stop nurturing misery, i see it. i've had a good life, i'm libertine, entrepreneur... i've raised children. i've been lucky enough... no excuses. xoxoxoxooxxoox