Happy first day of Halloween. I put something dark and sweet into your pumpkin for you.
That One Time
Your belongings will not likely be stolen In the times you watched them like a hawk But rather, they up and run away The one time that you forget about the lock
Your blessings will surely not come to an end In those times in which you’re praying a lot No, your blessing well will only run dry Because of the one time you did not
You’re unlikely to be brutally murdered, Your corpse buried beneath someone’s floor On most days, that is… Unless, of course, you forget to latch the door
“Even In The Littlest Things”, from my book Dark Matter – Poems of Horror and Depravity
Even In The Littlest Things – from Dark Matter
With Samhain/Halloween/All Hallow’s Eve and Day of the Dead fast approaching, I’m doing readings from my book of horror poetry, called Dark Matter. Most of them will have some type of music and/or sound effects that accompany them, to lend to the experience.
However, for most of these, I won’t be doing anything fancy with the visual aspects. There will be some that have interesting video or photos to look at but this will be more of an auditory experience than a visual one.
This particular piece is different from most of the book, as it’s not really horror. I included it because it’s quite dark, indeed. I wrote it because it was a personal demon that I had to exorcise, get the poison out of my system. I personally find myself both fascinated and revolted by this poem, even though I’m the one who penned it.
This is because it deals with a heavy, human problem… that of deception and who can we trust? We’ve all found out the hard way that someone we cared deeply for was deceiving us about something. If that person meant enough to you, then you most likely considered it not just inconvenient or frustrating but literally horrible.
Lies can be even more efficient weapons than guns or knives, given the right circumstances and for this reason, Even In The Littlest Things rightfully earns its place in the book and into this series of recordings.
Even In The Littlest Things
Even in the littlest things, you lie Promises of civil courtesies so small, To fulfill them, one barely need try Even in the littlest things, you lie
So many pieces to your hate Some are hidden, some stand tall None create joy, only weight So many pieces to your hate
Your darkness is beyond blinding Wondering if there’s any light at all Mislabeling what I was finding Your darkness is beyond blinding
A forgery, nearly perfect, passing Mask chipped, the disguise did fall Recidivist, apology count surpassing A forgery, nearly perfect, passing
But hey, at least you got to try it Labeled thing, you renamed it all No one ever insisted you buy it But hey, at least you got to try it
And now, we all feel less than good Endless, useless, talking, small Nothing gained, nothing goes as it should, And now, we all feel less than good
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Special thanks to the following people for contributing video for this project:
Everything crumbles, fails and breaks All of it in shambles, all in due time Crushing, the endless slew of heartbreaks Before that long nap we take in the lime
One plan works out and we give many thanks Success, daring us to dream more grand Shedding tears, when another one tanks, Going not-at-all how we’d imagined or planned
Through all of the ups, downs and plateaus At the end of each, long, tired day There’s some place that each of us goes Where to rest, our heads down, we do lay
Some sleep in luxury, like kings and queens Lovers in silk sheets, fathers and mothers With children nearby, in comfortable means Dreaming of futures, brighter than others’
Those on whom fortune never gives a call More than just some, a much larger number In hovels, which are hardly homes at all In cars, shelters or alleys, they slumber
Each type faces their own, unique struggles Days, a mix of good and bad, one discovers Either one goes down easier with snuggles With a little love, one more quickly recovers
Turbulent, these unplanned ups and downs Coming home, victorious or beaten by the fight Smiles are always more welcome than frowns But not everyone thinks you’re such a delight
People are critters possessed of great capacity For cruelty, murder, greed and deceit But a dog is a true friend and lacks the ability To ignore you, to lie, betray or mistreat
A puppy is always ecstatic to see you When you’re gone for minutes or many an hour And there’s very few things one can do To cause their opinion of their master to sour
Get yourself a dog and to it, commit Good food and walks, like clockwork Never hit it or neglect, the least little bit Remember well that dogs don’t speak Jerk
Every day, that dog, you have to be earning Their kindness, something we don’t deserve Train yourself, lots and lots of learning How a happy, healthy dog, to preserve
Get your lazy butt up, take it on a walk Read everything you can find about training Give it routine and real love, not just talk When they misbehave, your anger, restraining
Don’t try to reason with a dog, silly human Learn their language, don’t angrily assume… It doesn’t speak English, you have to illumine You have to be the adult in the room
Pay no attention when they do naughty stuff Lavish them with praise whenever they do right Patiently teach them, never yell or be gruff And you’ll know in the end, it was right
Because days… you’re going to have all kinds Tragedies and celebrations, galore Friends come and go and lovers lose their minds But a dog will adore you now and evermore
Where we humans go, when our lights go out Is a thing that we hotly debate and discuss But all dogs go to heaven, without any doubt Because dogs are far better people than us
Grief possesses no blueprints There is no schematic For how to remember Or to forget
While walking the gray path of All the scattered leaves and ash Of what was
There is no rhythm To which you might match your steps
No beat To keep time
There is only the labored, Slouching forward, Whenever one’s strength allows; Coming and going as it does, In sloppy, uneven, hot flashes
There is no wrong way to lament
There is no proper sequence For when to laugh, To cry or to sleep
There is no cutout pattern For your sack cloth
No clock chimes, Letting you know that it is now time To rend your garments, To rub dirt in your hair
Anyway, time itself is mourning, Right alongside you
Put your ear to the clock, Listen closely… You will hear it quietly sobbing
But time is only an illusion And being an illusion, It can only mean that…
Time… Is nothing more Than you
So, like you, time is Absolutely beside itself with sadness
All formalities have fallen by the wayside
It flops, impotently, like a fish One that miscalculated its angle, On the jump for a mosquito; It has now managed to strand itself, On a parcel of ground
No idea which way it should Violently spasm, That it might get back Into the good, wet stuff
Time grieves with you, Throttling too quickly In this
Grinding clumsily along In that
Fortunately, Since time is nothing… Nothing more than you… It is always the Perfect time to do Whatsoever your Stunned spirit Feels like doing
Sleep Or do not
Eat Or wait for a while
Wail Or be silent
Work Or linger in lethargic stupor
Laugh Or find joy in nothing
Do whatever is best Or worst
And the rest will wait
There is no hurry
For, in the end, There is nothing That we can do For the dead
in the sixties and seventies, everyone went over the top
musicians wore outlandish costumes and behaved as if they were invincible
sometimes, they believed it
but mostly, it was because they had seen through the facade of the system
they did lots of psychedelic drugs which taught them that everything… and yes, i do mean… everything… is utterly ridiculous
there’s literally nothing you can say, think, feel, believe, wear or do that isn’t… just plain silly
rather than take ourselves seriously, why not revel and delight in the temporal, inane shenanigans that are our lives…
ourselves
these days, everyone is up their own asses, again
everyone is busy, twenty-four-seven, trying to convince everyone else that they’re the coolest, that they’ve got it all figured out
“if you’re into disco, you’re not cool, because disco was silly and they just thought it was cool, before everyone knew better”
or
“if you’re into _______, then you’re not cool, because ________.”
put whatever you want in there, classic rock, polka, country, surf music… whatever
someone is going to be actually offended that you like it
“if you’re into that, then you’re not cool, because that’s not what i’m doing and i’m pretty much the only one who’s doing what’s cool.”
it only tells us how terrified you are of our opinions of you
and that’s really the only thing that sets you apart as being truly ridiculous
it’s the not knowing that you’re ridiculous
that not knowing is what makes you comical, farcical
acting cool is cool but believing you’re cool… well, that just makes you kitschy instead of campy
but if you start right out of the gate, convinced that everything about you and what you’re doing is utterly ridiculous, with the intention of milking that silliness for everything it’s worth…
then it’s not ridiculous at all, however ridiculous it is
and it is
for the love of god, please stop trying to convince us that you’re cool and that what other people are doing isn’t
it only makes you into a sad caricature, a parody
you see, we really don’t care what you do, as long as you do it with all of your heart and soul
put on a ten gallon hat deck yourself out in wild makeup wear a smoking jacket sing out of key… in pig latin play bongos while tap dancing do the tango to speed metal dress in leather and do opera dress in drag and do gangsta rap wear a suit and tie while you sing outlaw country music
just know beyond any shadow of doubt, that before, during and after…
Kevin Trent Boswell 