We are All here for a Reason

Of course.

In the universal sense

this is always true,

but herein I refer to my

Cabin in the Woods,

a trailer park of Lost Souls

far enough off the beaten path

to render solitude,

anonymity,

or perhaps even forgiveness

to all who enter here.

***

Commercial fishermen

who drink a little too much

for their former spouse’s liking,

with restraining orders

and children they can no longer visit.

Here,

everyone is somebody else’s

ex-something-or-other.

Recycled hopes and dreams

and

households financed

by disability checks

and structured settlements,

where rainbow children

of every shade and hue

play in the yard

with pit-bull dogs

beside a car on blocks

that Mama’s boyfriend

is gonna fix someday

after he gets up

from his nap.

***

Disabled Viet Nam veterans

with hidden wounds that

will never heal,

tattoos and scars

or maybe a limp,

nightmares

that never end,

and that

thousand-yard stare

that betrays the pain

they never willingly show.

***

Widows and spinsters

who live for their flower gardens

and cats

to replace the children

who never call or visit,

the husband who died

or ran away,

or the gentleman caller

that never showed up.

***

Divorcee’s

whose husbands

fucked

their best friend,

their sister,

or even

their daughter

or who couldn’t

stand to be left alone

when their husbands

went to work too long

while the cable was off.

***

Rock stars who fell to earth.

Fallen Angels

with burnt wings.

Porn actresses

from the

Nineties

who knew Ron Jeremy

on more than a first-name basis,

and have the videos to prove it.

…and so much love to give…

(if you can pierce their armor)

their hearts

melt like butter in the sun

if you simply befriend them

without agenda

or guile,

because they’ve heard it all before,

and they’ve done it all before

in the name of fame and fortune,

but just for once,

if they could do it all over again

for Love,

they’d

do it all over you.

***

Enough Ink on skin

between them all

to write

War and Peace

in longhand.

There’s a story

for every tattoo

and all the time in the world

to tell each one of them,

with nothing better to do.

***

Their combined tears

could drown the

Lake of Fire,

and yet they still prefer to laugh,

and gladly share

their Nothingness,

their time,

their weed

or booze

or dope

or bodies

like philanthropic millionaires.

***

Misery doesn’t just

love company,

it thrives on it

and makes them stronger

than

most of the privileged

crybabies

I knew

in better times

and more prosperous days.

***

This place

where I have landed

is more like

a campground

for refugees

driven from their

homelands

by

“the slings and arrows

of outrageous fortune…”

who refuse to die

and can’t really seem to win,

but continue to try.

(That’s what the Lotto is for.)

***

The walls are so thin

on these foil-covered

cardboard boxes we call

home;

there can be no secrets

between us,

but no shortage

of excuses,

denials

or lies

told mostly for our own benefit

as we wander

on the tar-clad paths

between

these aluminum tents

like spaced-out

space-age Indians

with permanent

reservations

in temporary domiciles.

***

Home is where

the Art is.

Life is what

you make

of what you get.

And Love

is everywhere,

running like a river

of blood

in the streets

flowing

from all the broken hearts

that have ever lived

or ever will.

9 Responses to “We are All here for a Reason”

  1. You’ve been peaking in my video collection

    • Probably…what was your stage name?
      Wait!…don’t tell me…send me a picture of your “temple of the holy of holies”, and I’ll try to guess. My porn-addict days are behind me now, but if it was done before the new millennium, I probably saw it. 😉

      • My Friend,
        I was never in the industry. I couldn’t resist…. However my unanswered question remains, how were YOU their?
        💋

      • I am still there even now, this minute as I write this missive to you. Sometimes I think I will never escape. Some times I think I am not meant to escape, because this is where I belong. Water seeks its own level…I’ve fallen, and right here and now, I can’t get up. Do you know what escape velocity is?
        Perhaps the real question is Why are you here, Mr. Vincent?”….and on that note, I will bid you adieu for tonight, my dear Anastasia. I look forward to our intercourse in the very near future. 😉
        XOXOXO,
        Chazz

  2. I imagine many beginnings of stories with rich characters being filed away in your mind. xo, J

  3. I seem to be a magnet for interesting people…as a participant/observer, there is a certain risk involved. I seem to thrive on it. When I am right on the cutting edge of the experience, I feel most alive. I am more than just the scribe. I have been pushing the envelope of human experience most of my life. Even now, sometimes it is hard to keep up with the writing when my life takes center stage…and yet in some ways, it is the same story told a thousand different ways.

    • Good thing I came back to your post, I didn’t get your reply here. I sent you an email. I better check my settings. I know what you mean when life pulls you around and you can’t write things down. That’s a good thing. xo, J

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