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ThursdayDec. 20, 2012

Recently I was sitting in the ER of the county hospital waiting for a friend who attempted suicide. The attempt failed. That was good news. The bad thing,  he attempted it at all, without a warning. 

While waiting I looked around the room again at the bogus pictures and piles of outdated business and sports magazines. It was then I saw a black book, about the size of a Gideon’s Bible. There was a page hanging out of the book as if marking a spot. I walked across the room and picked the book up. I opened the book, flipped through about 600 blank pages. Blank! Nothing written within, white on white, simply blank.

The marker fell to the floor. I looked at the book once again and tucked it under my arm and held it against my side while picking up two 8×11″ sheets of paper. The papers were unlined. On them were words printed as if someone had used a ruler for a base line. Completely legible, extremely neat. But what was written on the pages dripped with so much sorrow that I looked up toward the room my friend was in. 

Did I find a warning? Or is this and epitaph? 

Right or wrong I folded the pages and put them in my pocket. Out of respect or awareness or something, I can’t really describe or understand why, I retyped what was written on those pages in an attempt to better understand the pain that the writer was feeling. It is not what one would expect when one thinks of Christmas. And maybe that’s what this was for, for me to see what isn’t really seen, the scene behind the scene. This is not pretty, unless sad is pretty to you.
I call what follow’s Dark Christmas.…………

Found @ 11.30PM Dec xx, 2012

I’m Scrooge with out visitations
George Bailey without Clarence
I’ve fallen into the River Styx
the Figgie pudding is spoiled
the punch has been spiked

Here it is again
Christmas depression

The attempt at resuscitation of tradition
two dead, ones in prison,
ones in a nursing home,
one is 88 and lives alone
one has 2 kids of his own
and thinks the best things in life are things

She’s stress’d to the max
so tired from work,
unable to relax
and what should be joy,
this white snow falling in gentile peacefulness,
will just make the morning commute what is
already an unbearable mess,
even slower crawling, slower going
to where she’s the queen of customer service

No, this is not a Christmas card/ode/poem
this is a bed side chart for the dying of tradition
and the reluctance and inability
to see things as they are

Whose to say?
There might come a Christmas angel
and touch us all and save the day!

But tonight there is sadness in this dale,
cold, dark, lights shinning dimly,
cards once hung on the wall
now just get heaped at the corner of the counter
mixed and mess’d with 10,000 ads for ‘things to be had’
‘to make your holiday bright! SALE ENDS AT MIDNIGHT’

This feeling is the sin of Christmas dead
of quitting the uphill climb too soon
is this one night of dark downs etched in stone?
who’s to say if these are the final days of tradition
who’s to say……….

I know this, it’s not about Jesus this Christmas
and whose fault is that?
count me the culprit, I always am,
I’m the one who broke the rules
peace on earth, good will to men,
this night a child is born, a savior of all
it doesn’t connect,
the thread is broken
not even a token of faith in me tonight,
that mustard seed
just cannot be found

This house is sad so sad, it’s being taken down
if there is a tradition, it’s depression
for 10.000 reasons like barren seeds dead in my soul
Christ and Christmas is not the same when your tired and old
these whining lines l’ll scrap to the draft heap,
even this piece is even too dark and dank
for this writer to keep

There is no way out of this mess
by just sitting, looking at tired worn souls of slippered feet
meet the devil, beat the devil!
bind the snake that tries to rob
the one time of year her heart can feel cheer

Media madness, a killing spree lingers beneath every Christmas tree
!Stop, Quit! Let it go,
go to sleep if you can because
in the morning the snow will clog and slow
confine the confounded and anger workers on the go
and once again…….
and once again……….
once again a day to just be endured
alas, till there are no more

This sadness must end
let this be the end of my Dark Christmas