A place where you can be human.
Welcomed by the man with the tall purple hat
I could do nothing but freeze and fall back
The wizzies wanged and the scared babies screamed
This place is a real life dark day dream.
Full of thinking thinkers and mind tinkers
I think I’ve done it, some one thing rightly,
Writing writing writing all nightly
Give me a Dumdum to suck while the rest
strive so eagerly to reach their best
But here, yes here, this is where it’s obtained
my life will never
ever
be the same.
-Saschia Johnson
“I have a weakness I scarcely dare to avow. [It] consists in preferring rather mournful aspects to all others, low skies, solitary plains, discreet in hue, where each tuft of grass plays it’s little tune to the indolent breath of the wind of midday… I wait impatiently for the bad weather to come, and I am already negotiating with a seller of umbrellas. I assure you that bad weather has more life than good.”
-Pierre Puvis De Chavannes
Art lives everywhere. I don’t think that we have to wait for rainy days to make art however, I think that it’s finding art in rainy days that is just as important as finding art in the joyous days.
These critics tell me how this is bad
so bad
They cringe and shrivel and their fingers twitch horizontal
And I say, with the most innocent eyes I can conjure,
I like it this way I like it a mess
And rugged and the honesty that’s so pure it makes you cry
dirty sheets and pants damp with sweat
Don’t tell me my way is bad just because
You live by the way someone else wipes your ass.
-Saschia Johnson
Frayed Ends
And what,
dear children,
is the end of the world?
Is it when
a hydrogen bomb is triggered,
and flesh and concrete
and body and soul
are brought to nothingness by the fury
of a stillborn sun?
Is it when
the rich finally get tired
of carrying the poor on their backs
(or, conversely,
when the poor
feel likewise
about the rich)
and drag them bodily
against the nearest convenient wall
(you can see it now, can’t you,
aglow in an aura
of weathered newsreel)
and shove a Luger
straight between their eyes
and blow their brains out,
plink
—
splat,
like wooden ducks at a carnival shooting gallery?
Is it when
the march of progress
tears apart the land
and poisons the water
and fills the air
with smoke and mercury
and electromagnetic waves
that carry only noise
and boundless ignorance,
aided & abetted
by the zombie hordes
who don’t really have a clear idea
about much of anything
(except, you know,
that they were promised
a new season
of that hot new show
and they really hope they get it
because, like,
that shit is pretty awesome)?
Is it when
a good friend
writes you a letter –
oh let’s be real,
the friend writes you an email
or a text
or a tweet
because who the hell has time anymore –
but for the sake of argument,
a good friend
writes
you
a letter,
itemizing in detail
the exact reason why
he or she
will never speak to you again,
delineating the lines
that you
so carelessly
crossed,
and wishing you
a long and happy life
without the burden of their
continued presence?
Is it when
your car breaks down,
or your phone falls in the toilet,
or the dog poops on your new carpet,
or the other guy at the office
got that big account that you wanted,
or the cute piece at the bar
seems a lot more interested
in that hot blond than in
your particular charms,
or your significant whoever is
mad at you again
because you forgot to mow the lawn or
wash the dishes or
suck them off
like you promised to?
Or:
Is it when you see
your newborn child
for the first time,
when you hear him propose,
when you hear her say Yes,
when you earn that last diploma,
when you meet a new friend,
when you forgive an old friend
for the sin of being human,
when you laugh with a good joke,
when others laugh with your jokes,
when you move into your own space
for the first time,
when you get your first real paycheck,
when you learn something
you never imagined before,
when you help someone understand something
that you know,
when you build,
when you love,
when you live?
And what,
dear children,
is the difference
between an end
and a beginning?
Written by: Geoff Blanchette (use link to see his wordpress) a writer and actor based in Westerly, RI
Would you like to add your opinion? Instead of commenting on this post please write/create something to be shared with the community.
Wanna read more? Here’s another great piece in our Morality Collection, I Want It All by Geoff Blanchette
Speaking of posting things that make our palms sweat and our hearts beat out of our chest. I figured I’d post a personal one. Race is something that is extremely hard for me to talk about. I have a post in drafts that’s still there about the complexities of growing up bi-racial. But I figured I’d start here. I’m nervous to post this.
am I not allowed to be angry
to be upset when discrimination floods back to my memory
watching his spirit drop on our first date
hearing whispers how I shouldn’t wear my hair naturally
I watched as my friends were asked to leave
even though they were shopping casually
I watched as my brother’s spirit decayed
from constant aggression from the police
Can I not feel something emotionally?
should I be calm when even after years of proof
I’m told these things don’t exist?
Aren’t my experiences proof!
can I not allow these situations to flood back in front of me
those situations when they were just being kids but singled out intentionally
When God come to greet me and asks, “Where’s your brother?”
I will have the conscience to say
“Right here, he’s right here next to me.”
She came And She went
She Left. She never Said Goodbye
I Meeean
I Said It To Her From Behind
But With Her Back Turned To Me
I Didn’t Have Much Confidence
That We Would Meet Again
Like If I Got To Say It To Her
While Looking In Her Eyes
And I’m Just Going Off My Senses
But Something Tellin Me
My Last Kiss
Was Last Night
So I Had To Send This
And I Didn’t Want to Express This
Fearing I May Come off Desprate
But I Guess Ima Keep Speaking
She Came At A Tough Time
She Woke Me Up
When I Was With Her
I Found Breath To Keep Breathing
But Maybe Something Wasn’t True
Now I Guess I Could Keep Sleepin
Cuz Maybe The Answer Wasn’t You
So I Guess I Will Keep Dreaming
-Marco Anthony Fabretti
Check him out on Instagram @marco4him or Facebook
Over here at Jayne.press we are thankful for those who step out and write the things that make their heart race and their palms sweat. Cheers to all and Happy Thanksgiving from us to you.
I Want It All 
Sitting in my cardboard box room
Only small coin in my hand
Flip on the tube, there’s happy people
Living well across the land
Got bright smiles and new clothing
Spending money just for fun
Why should they have all the pleasure
Why not let me dance in the sun
I want it all
I want it all and then some
I want it all
I want it all for myself
I work my fingers to the marrow
I don’t complain, do what I’m told
But every week my check keeps shrinking
While suits upstairs rake in the gold
I don’t wish bad on anybody
That’s what I’d say if you would ask
But in my heart I know I’m lying
I’m plotting out a darker task
I got a plan to get my share now
Gonna keep it short and sweet
I’m gonna make a revolution
And crush the pigs beneath my feet
Put all their money in a pile
I’ll swim in it like Scrooge McDuck
And when the poor creeps come round begging
Laugh in their face, won’t give a fuck
I want it all
I want it all and then some
I want it all
I want it all for myself
Geoff Blanchette is a writer and actor based in Westerly, RI You can find more of his writings here Notes from a summer of discontent
Would you like to add your opinion? Instead of commenting on this post please write/create something to be shared with the community.
Wanna read more? Here’s another great piece in our Morality Collection Moraldom by Saschia Johnson
You can follow one of my favorite contributors Geoff Blanchette here. 🙂 Check out his stuff he’s pretty fab. This one especially
In an old barnhouse
A tiny bat with silken claws
Clings to its mother
He asks, “When I grow,
Will I soar the gloaming skies
And feast on glow-worms?”
His mother says, “My son,
When you are grown you will hunt
Dragons between stars.”
Image by Ryan Askren
Gracie at the Siege of Troy
Upon the battered shores of Troy
did Gracie arise
from the lapping waves.
As the armies of Agamemmnon charged
the walls, Gracie followed
in their wake, the marks of
her claws in the sand
the only trace of her path,
her triangular head
split wide in a grin,
her tongue lolling
almost to the sand,
her eyes bright
and eager.
She came upon
the fallen bulk of Achilles
face down in a pool
of seafoam and blood,
his last drops of life
leaching away
from the shattered remnants
of his foot.
Any true-hearted warrior would
have ended his misery,
but Gracie
was meant
for other tasks.
So she galloped away
into the billowing steams
of war,
and there, on a nearby dune,
mighty Hector
loomed over
the beaten Petrochalus,
his sword raised
for the kill.
One with hatred,
Or at least righteous fury,
in her heart might have come
to the boy’s defense,
and struck out with crushing blows
opposing the bullying hulk,
but Gracie
was lost in other thoughts,
and she passed on,
loping along the shoreline,
where the Trojan
and Mycaenean blood
was beginning to mingle
in rivulets
of bitter wine,
and the screams
of the dying
mingled with the ravenous squawks
of circling gulls.
At last,
with the city gates
looming above her,
Gracie caught sight of her quarry.
She let loose
a howl of joy and,
as her grin enveloped her,
dashed off in pursuit,
as just beyond her reach,
cowardly Paris
ran for his life, howling
to his gods for mercy
as Gracie’s hot breath
cleaned the sand
off his untouched heels.
Geoff Blanchette is a writer and actor based in Westerly, RI
Would you like to add your opinion? Instead of commenting on this post please write/create something to be shared with the community.
Wanna read more? Here’s some photography in our Morality Collection by James Futrell
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