13 June 2013

Dead Man’s Shoes

Hangman_02

Buy me a drink and I’ll tell you a story. It’s set on the edge – on the road to hell. It’s all about a travelling man who slaved all day for a handful of nothing. That’s where it all goes – down the fucking tubes. Virtues turn to vices and vices come from shear fucking boredom. The luxury of indulgence turns to the slavery of convention. Emperors and paupers both wear tin crowns. It’s a hard road to travel for rich man and poor.

I walked these uncertain miles in a dead man’s shoes. They pinch, they chafe, and they leave little room for deviation from an idiot course. The path of least resistance leads to the bottom of the bottle. Dead soldiers litter the path to hell. I’ve been denounced in the seven tongues of god, decried by the voice in the wilderness. My burning bush had but one commandment; “Crawl”.

This cause is lost, the spirit ebbs away, but I’ll make my crooked way to where the grass is no greener and the people are no kinder. Always onward – never back – I’ll keep on until they find a reason to hang me in these shoes. I’ve seen men hanging, hanging by degrees, with the life choked out of them over the course of years, lynched by the mob, starved of the oxygen of love – ostracized and exiled to the lonely regions. Naked men left out in the rain, without a friend, without a home.

People look to the future, not me; I’m living in the past. Burning bridges can be rebuilt they say, and god knows how I tried, but not everything that goes around comes around. There are no second chances for men who already died. Hope may be the mother of all men, but I have no mother, no father, no-one else. I’ve nothing much to remember and nothing much to forget.

Some say that Jesus waits at the end of this road. That he’ll lift our burdens and wipe away our tears, but it’s the devil that is waiting for us down the road – waiting for dead men to wander by. So put coins on my eyes to pay my fare and wrap me in a pauper’s shroud. I need no stone to mark my passing – I never did before. We live in a dream and in a dream we die. Most of us are already walking in dead men’s shoes and if we only realised it – this dream would seem a nightmare.

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6 comments:

  1. Praveen Parasar13 June 2013 at 19:05

    "I need no stone to mark my passing – I never did before. We live in a dream and in a dream we die." am resonating with these words here....

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  2. This is awesome- "My burning bush had but one commandment; “Crawl”."

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    1. Thank you for your kind comment – I’m touched. They all say that “He’s touched”

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    2. All joking aside – thank you

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  3. How defenseless one seems against the tide in these soul-crushing and yet so truly beautiful paragraphs of the wondrous traveler within. Recently I said: only in dreams we are real. Now I see the weight of it. You move with incredible precision cutting through the marrow of us. The reader struggles to accept the powerlessness between the tide and his own choices. Incredibly refined work of art

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    1. When I was still a young man I fashioned these walking shoes. I knew they’d get me in the end – but not because I was standing still. A moving target, so it seemed to me, presented fewer opportunities for wanton assassination. I learned one important lesson during my travels – life can be avoided, death cannot.
      You were the first to comment on my work Lolita and your kind words of encouragement have helped me grow as a writer – I am ever in your debt. Thank you.

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