< pigpen mon amour >

[rayheinrich]

         



                                                < pigpen mon amour >

                                        "words are cheap
                                        and readily available
                                        and beautiful
                                        and unbearable"

                                        there's this tiny cult in a tiny box
                                        squeezed into one of the vast attics of the internet

                                        none of its believers are in that box
                                        they're in their own boxes
                                        in different attics
                                        in different worlds

                                        some nights you'll find them
                                        (if you can)
                                        performing their ancient rites

                                        which somehow involve stuffing words
                                        (the ones mentioned above)
                                        through glass fibers as thin
                                        as those fuzzy hairs you find on the bottoms of cats
                                        yet long enough to cross oceans

                                        they don't think of themselves as lonesome creatures

                                        sometimes

                                        but in this cult they've found companions
                                        and with their help

                                        sometimes

                                        they get the joke

                                                ----




Hollywood ending:

[=4][=2][=2]

An old aphorism:

Life is a joke, but sometimes it's a good one.

Question:

Maybe using pigs was too literal and I should have used armadillos instead?
       

paintings by mage (https://mage.space), photograph stolen from web, photoshop by ray

The quote in the poem is one I copied into an old journal of mine.
I'd attribute it, but I can't find where it came from.

Please feel free to go as off-topic as you possibly can.

Elaboration:

I most prize comments that describe what you thought and felt when you were reading
the poem, irrespective of the content of the poem. Also encouraged are off-topic comments
(what you had for breakfast this morning or anything about cats - I live with eight) and poems
that answer the one above (Leanne loved doing that). As well as corrections to grammar,
spelling, and suggestions for improved wording of lines. And yes, it's not lost on me that all
my "poems" aren't poems; they're really multiple-media cuz they contain images as well.

[Wjames]

Hey ray, it's good to see you back here.

My breakfast this morning was leftover stirfry - green beans, red peppers, broccoli, cauliflower, carrots, onions, and instant white rice. I cooked it last night, with soy sauce, sriracha, sesame seed oil, and crushed peanuts. All of the vegetables were frozen, except for the onions and peppers. Eaten in bed while drinking no-name brand black coffee, nursing a slight hangover - not bad.

My sister has a cat that likes to play with bubbles.

Your multi-media piece made me think about someone reading through this forum fifty years in the future, if it is still accessible on the future internet (if the internet is still a thing).

[rayheinrich]

And thanks, it's good to be back.

My breakfast this morning was rye bread (the kind that's just rye seeds and rye
flower, no caraway, which I make with a bit of ribbon cane syrup). It's a hefty bread,
really soft but as dense as a brick even though my sourdough starter tries really
hard to leven it. It would be lighter, but I've run out of demon gluten without
which it refuses to rise. I sprinkle a little salt on, drizzle olive oil over it, and heat it for
about 30 seconds in the microwave. And way-too-strong coffee - that's really not
that good - made from beans a local coffee shop had over-toasted and was going
to throw out but I got them to give them to me instead. I ended up with over
80 lb. (36 kg) of the damn things. I put them in the freezer and have been using
them since last spring and there are way-too-many of them left. It's the curse of
free coffee. But it does have lots of caffeine left in it so I guess I shouldn't
complain too much.

I live, as noted elsewhere, with eight cats which is too many even though I love
them. But since my life is controlled by unseen gods over which I have no control,
I guess I'm lucky I don't have more.

The internet will still be here, PigPen will still be stored in an archive somewhere,
but the silicon-based humans of the future probably won't be that interested in
rummaging through the clutter of what they'll probably call the "dark times".
But what do they know? (Except for about 100,000 times more than we do.)

[Lizzie]

At first, it had some good hygge going on. Some lamplight, a snug corner to write, a finger-knitted throw blanket, a wooden A-frame up above. Irish breakfast tea. 

And then I got sad at the end because of poor boundaries. 

I had a Cliff bar. And coffee. Too much and also not enough.

[Tiger the Lion]

At first, it had some good hygge going on. Some lamplight, a snug corner to write, a finger-knitted throw blanket, a wooden A-frame up above. Irish breakfast tea. 

And then I got sad at the end because of poor boundaries. 

I had a Cliff bar. And coffee. Too much and also not enough.

O Me! O Life!
BY WALT WHITMAN

Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring,
Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,
Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,
Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?
                                       Answer.
That you are here—that life exists and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.


*** The powerful Pigpen goes on 

[Lizzie]

So many exclamation marks......gonna need some of that groin coffee of yours.

[rayheinrich]

At first, it had some good hygge going on. Some lamplight, a snug corner to write, a finger-knitted throw blanket, a wooden A-frame up above. Irish breakfast tea. 

And then I got sad at the end because of poor boundaries. 

I had a Cliff bar. And coffee. Too much and also not enough.

Sometimes, breakfast can be like that.

Down here at my latitude: I was about to eat the same damn rye bread that I ate
yesterday... Then I told myself that eating the same thing every day isn't healthy.
So that's where the half jar of strawberry jam came in.

O Me! O Life!
BY WALT WHITMAN

Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring,
Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,
Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,
Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?
                                       Answer.
That you are here—that life exists and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

        A powerful play, Walt informed;
        Is around here and being performed.
        So if you got a verse,
        I bid you intersperse;
        If it's lim'rick though, you will be harmed.

*** The powerful Pigpen goes on 

        Mighty Pigpen - Destroyer of Souls but only if you're mean to us

[Lizzie]

Don't let him fool ya,
that pig is cheatin.'
He left his missus
and isn't sleepin.'
Looks so delicious,
but he's unsavory.
Son won't call him papa,
cause he's too shady.

Deep in the forest,
that pig is creepin.'
Sniffin' 'round the maples,
he's always peepin.'
He's got some hookers
hid in a duffel,
buried in the same spot
he keeps his truffles.

Moon's caught his scent now,
and piggy's runnin.'
It's gonna light him up good,
his night is comin.'
So, dream of springtime,
each little sapling:
tonight is full moon,
and bacon's sizzlin.'

[rayheinrich]

"Looks so delicious,
but he's unsavory."



A pig, as if chased by a bee;
Passed a rabbit, attempting to flee.
'Why so fast?' said the rabbit,
You make this a habit?"
"You would if you tasted like me."