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Death Song
| Open Poetry #40 |
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Death Song |
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Jaime Fradera Senior Member
since 2000-11-25
Posts 843Where no tyranny is tolerable |
Death Song I am sitting in the English classroom. We are to take the final exam. I have rarely been in this classroom and have not read all the material. I know I am going to flunk but go through the motions of doing the work anyway. I find a few sheets of paper that seem to have been left on the table at random. I put one into the Braille writer. I write my name at the top, then I realize it doesn't matter because mine is the only one that will be in Braille. The teacher begins reading out the questions, but there is such a jangling den of voices that I can not hear the teacher. Then it comes to me it doesn't matter because I am going to flunk the test anyway. I will have to tell Jean how I can not hear. I over hear a scrap of something, a question that is being given for extra credit: What might it have been like to have interviewed Adolph Hitler? I have read and could write something about this. He probably would have said that he only wanted to write the injustice of Versailles. Then I realize it doesn't matter because I'm going to flunk anyway. The room begins to move as if it were a vehicle. I feel the vibrations of its motions as it travels on the streets, stops at traffic lights, turns, etc. It stops at my apartments and I get off. I am very tired as I enter my pad. I lie on the couch and hear the Death Song, an eerie, haunting, morbid melody that evokes dread and foreboding, in a high quavering female voice, which can not be reproduced on Pip. I sit on a bench next to a man who is setting up his equipment. I feel the jolting vibration as he turns on the saw. I flee to the bedroom to wait. When he is finished, I hear him turn on my vacuum. to clean up the debris left on the floor. When he is finished, I come out to thank him. Then I meet his work colleague and a woman named Polly. There is a weird gurgling, hissing sound coming from one wall. The man tells his work colleague that they accidentally cut through a water line, so that now water is leaking through the wall. The man tells me no agriculture, which means don't eat in the kitchen, (you see, food is grown on farms). because it will be filling up with cold hot water. He will be back tomorrow and fix the leak. Everyone has left. I walk back into the bedroom and sit on the bed. I hear and hum the morose strains of the Death Song, in a high quavering female voice. A wordless, toneless dreadful dirge so melancholy and morbid, and so deathly are the feelings it evokes, that they just can not be reproduced on Pips. Floating in the transpersonal chasm, where the living may co-mingle with the dead, Southern Cross (Write is deliberate pun, as in Hitler wants to rewrite history to his advantage). |
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Drauntz Member Elite
since 2007-03-16
Posts 2905Los Angeles California |
still something out of ordinary life. enjoyed. |
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Midnitesun
since 2001-05-18
Posts 28647Gaia |
Re-writing history seems to be the favored political ploy, especially as the calendar marches forward to the national elections. Hitler (and all other megalomaniacs who think they are superior) would have done whatever he deemed necessary to fulfill his agenda(s). |
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