There are bars and saloons where the jukeboxes play the blues long into the night, as a peasant sits at the end of the bar crying in his glass of that pessimist wine that the autumn has eyes for. And I am sitting here at the bar with a madman, who’s telling me to look around as all are serving time. For crimes that were either committed or imagined that have never been defined in anyway as they stood trial, like what Kafka * wrote in his story “The Trial”, where nothing was defined or explained. Just as the madman calmly asked me as a friend to tell him what was in a name? For we have those in mansions and politicians that an accurate pen can puncture,-
With most now getting desperate for change(s) and continuing to search for those truths they can use, and there might be an only moment before all will be replaced but, there are too few who remain in focus. As the madman points out Lenin was right about propaganda and patriotism and how they hide dishonesty, with most being mostly phony yet only it’s seen for what it is by those who can close their eyes yet can still see all. With the majority lining up and freely join that patient, line that leads to either the gallows or the guillotine. No matter if they are the first, the last, or even the least as they sing praises to the hallowed.

Around us many a drunk proceeded to get drunker while some sat and laughed, as I sat there with the madman looking at all going on and trying to dodge people’s games around us, and not fearing the sounds of sighs from those who are standing nearby the madman and I here at the bar. As I pause and take a moment to look around trying to matchup those near with the crimes they were accused and tried for, as I continue sitting here listening to the madman and seeming to be full of thoughts and dreams that can’t be repaired. With the madman’s logic seeming to make perfect sense of all we have discussed or is it the alcohol talking?

The madman asks me again as a friend if there are no mistakes in life as some say? Knowing it to be true and can sometimes seem that way with life being nothing more than a pantomime, with those types not really living or dying but, just seem to just float through life like beating a dead horse. And not letting the past rest and denying that there is one truth that never truly changes. While the madman points out that they were born deaf, dumb, blind, and under a bad sign. Just as a rising, ugly, coarse, violent, voice can be heard over the others around us,-
Being full of anger, envy, and hatred, hating all things and envious of what could have been had. While the blues continue to pour out of the jukebox in the corner through the night like a soundtrack. Just as the madman turned to me and asked how I felt? As I replied: ”Me? I feel neat, and I feel fine.” As those around us continued to get drunker in the simulated sunset made of garish neon from behind the bar, as I find myself now looking at the dead bottles in front and around us standing on file having been killed one by one.

Wondering why of all nights I am here? As I see the reflection of the madman and myself reflected in the mirror behind the bar. And I know as the deepest hole of the night and that of the new day is approaching with closing time, as I reach out to take my change that sits in front of me as I feel the madman’s hand stop me, and find myself getting told that I should just let it ride till the lights come on signaling the end of the night. Just as I hear the cry of last call coming about ten to fifteen minutes later,-
And the madman and I looked at each other having the same thought of: Thank you. As we both threw back our heads and laughed at the absurdity of it and I was told to come on we both need and could use some light. Now grabbing my change as we make our way out into what remains of the night in search for truth(s) we can use. And I make my way to find a double shot of that silver bullet caffeine to try and make sense of what I’ve heard.

Copyright August 2008 – 18 : Timberwolf International LTD.