POETRY -
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Only the essential are on the streets today - Weebly.com
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Strange Days
by Steve Surryhne
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Only the essential and the non
are on the streets downtown today, the city seems weirdly semi-deserted, no throngs crowd the sidewalks taking in the windows. A guy without a phone, has a loud, intense conversation, his voice echoing off the graffiti'd boards covering the empty storefronts. I'm having a clearance sale in my mind, everything must go! A mask, a mask is all I ask! My head is shrunken! I have a reptile dysfunction! The best lack all conviction and the worst are spinning round in the paranoid mosh pit of Q Anon, and on and on and on . . . People are strange when you're a stranger. I'm a creature of my time, shut up in my little cell of self, self-hoodied, keeping my identities masked from all the surveillance, keeping my distance as in a dance. When you're strange, faces come out of the rain. Somewhere, lost in time, I'm living on a planet much like the one I knew, a different planet from a different point of view. “What's it your business, what's it to you?” I've become my own doppelganger, the strangely familiar stranger, living in Freud's Unheimlich, the Uncanny has become my home. NOTES: William Butler Yeats, “The Second Coming,” “The best lack . . .” The Doors, “People Are Strange” Sigmund Freud, “Unheimlich,” The Uncanny” Woody Allen, Stardust Memories, “What's it your business?” |
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