Wednesday, January 18, 2006

Bulbs back with a Vengeance!


There's a loneliness in all of us. There's a tangible sense of abandonment that we all feel. You feel it. I feel it. The deaf-mute kid at the corner of the block feels it. The antisocial borderline person that raped your sisters kid feels it. The Arab that hated all infidels and flew into the Trade Centers feels it.
It's there. It's pervasive.
He went out. He raped a little kid and hid her body. Now he goes home and feels it. He's lonely. He's cold. He's abandoned, for nobody understands him.
Pervasive.
Take a moment and touch it. Most of you bloggers don't even have to, because it's your constant companion in life. Don't feel it? Live life over again you fuck, cause you ain't been living.
Life is cold. Life is lonely. Life is the widows son. The orphan. You either identify with it and live it, or you know him as a companion and feel him. He's there. It's cold.
There is a coldness beyond crying. A state of feeling that crying wont relieve. A sadness that doesn't go when you cry. A loneliness no lover can take away.
As you are reading this I am looking right at it. As I am writing this, I know you'll be looking right at it. There is no shame here. We clothe our orphan in many emperors clothes. Dad fucked you. Mom fucked you. Everybody fucked you. It doesn't matter who's "fucking" colored the clothes. The orphan is there. Silent. Sulking. Weighing you down and keeping you from being the being you want to be.
Nobody's hurt can top yours. The color of the garment does not matter. It's the litlle crying emperor inside.
Hell you want to get rid of it! Yes HELL! You want to be the one you are without the wound! The wound that keeps you back. If only that putrid stinking wound wasn't there you could be a fucking supermodel, supermom, Casanova, Superman. You wouldn't be so goddamn fat / small / shy / old / tiny.

Hurt.

It's the part we don't share. We can't share. The part that always brings us back to the only place that matters.

Me. The little place we know too well.

After the battle of Troy Uleysus went home by boat. It took him twelve years. There was a guy on the boat with a stinking putrid wound. They dropped him off somewhere at an uninhabited Greek island cause they couldn't bear the smell.
They had to go back after a year or so to get him. He was the only
one who knew how to guide them home.

It's the wound that brings us home.

Now normally I would raise an eyebrow a bit above the other one and give a really serious look at my conversation partner. This is the instant when I know wether I'm going to get lucky or not. Most women fall for it.
If I'm not sure a sulking silent taxi-ride to my place with a lone teardrop from my left eye. (Dunno why but my right eye always stays dry.) Always does the trick.

The last thing I say before....... "This wont take the pain away."
The last thing she says before... "I know."

And the BULB scores again.

20 Comments:

Blogger bulb said...

When you can't go over it.... go under it. Beat this pissheads!

2:00 PM  
Blogger bulb said...

Ha! read it again! Definitely going to win my own goddamn competition. Try sicker than this pissheads!

I WIN!

2:43 PM  
Blogger Sassy said...

For the last time...I am not a pisshead! And yes honey, you will ALWAYS win in my book. :X

3:45 PM  
Blogger Jess said...

How can anyone ever beat yourself? Like it was much of a competition anyway babe :p We all know you are crazy but we all love you for it..;)

5:02 PM  
Blogger Sassy said...

I read this to my friend, Janet. She said "who is this guy? he's so right, and he sounds smart"

I told her...

He's a wonderful friend who helps me to be strong. And yes, he's too smart for his own good. :P

5:16 PM  
Blogger CiscoKid said...

That is truly sad........



Which part....?

5:21 PM  
Blogger Rain said...

You sound like Henry Rollins!

8:01 PM  
Blogger Cheryl said...

I had a comment, but words won't do it. You know what I mean.

Yeah, even having completely failed to adhere to the rules you set, it looks like you still win.

Does that mean your little emperor gets the crown, or a day off?

8:09 PM  
Blogger kris said...

you cant win at your own game its against the rules buddy!
gives puppy eyes look ...besides ...sniffles ...i won didnt i? i mean after all that time i spent on my knees, you promised! figures, bastard! :P kidding glad to see youve finally been updating...

10:33 PM  
Anonymous YeeMan said...

Hmmm...Do I feel sad and lonely reading the end? Shouldn't you remove the end part or is the twisted part the anti-climax??

The orphan archetype is really allll about the wound. Thousands of movies/myths/facts in real life are about wounded orphans acting out in the body of an adult.
In fact, your story could be a metaphor for how the wound is used to seduce the magical "other" to heal us (i.e. become pseudo parents for us)..

or how we want to take revenge for our wound by attracting others (who will ultimately disappoint us). Because nobody can fill emptiness in ourselves ofcourse..duhhh...(I have to stop myself now for analyzing again).

Without the orphan archetype, there would be no tragedy and no dramatic art!!

Nevertheless, you may win the prize for hidden-metaphors in your sad and twisted story!

2:15 AM  
Blogger fineartist said...

The Bulb might get a lot more “comfort” if he left off the part where he attempts to get his prey to identify with the trade center bombers and the child rapist.

3:01 AM  
Blogger bulb said...

@Yeeman: We know you know Jung babe. Now study poetry.
(And what you are doing is not "analysing", it is the noble Freudian art of "labeling". 'This means this and that means that.')

@fineartist: I tend to leave that part out for seduction purposes.

6:06 AM  
Anonymous Yeeman said...

Thanks for the comment Bulb. I had to read more poetry as homework but only feel drawn to esoteric poetry, the rest is too "sad, tiwsted and distorted"..or maybe I am labeling.
Poetry can reveal only too well the complexes of humankind and our struggles instead of what poetry can be; touching a glimpse of a paradoxical mindblowing "Truth".
AND, I'd rather write my own poetry.
I also think that when you are ready, the right poem comes to you as a revelation. You don't choose the poem, it chooses you (but hey, I am an energyworker who believes that everything is consciousness).

BTW, has Mickey ever channeled a poem through you?????
;-)

10:37 AM  
Blogger bulb said...

Yeah.... uhm...
and it should rhyme too!

10:47 AM  
Anonymous Laila said...

Now then???

How can I compete with this???

I'll publish mine this Saturday.

4:01 PM  
Anonymous Yeeman said...

You are such a purist (fundamentalistic)..
We all know that cats don't have to rhyme to be poetic..:-@

Just like stories don't have to be dramatic and twisted to be nominated..;-)

6:47 PM  
Blogger Rain said...

I tagged you to write info about yourself in groups of 4.

2:42 AM  
Blogger fineartist said...

And, WHO'S A PISSHEAD? A better question, what the hell is a pisshead?

5:56 AM  
Blogger Writer Mom said...

Widow's orphan made me think of Isak Dinesen's "Sorrow-Acre"--which means to me this is one incredible blog.
(Your fans' comments keep me on my toes, too.)

8:42 PM  
Blogger bulb said...

pisshead
noun [C] UK OFFENSIVE
a person who drinks a lot of alcohol very often

Yes this is one hell of a blog ;-)

9:30 PM  

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