If only life could be a simple mathematical equation.
Without the complications of a mind that thinks too much.
If he could quell his racing thoughts.
It could be simple science.
If only life could be a simple mathematical equation.
Shattering the Counterpoint by Samantha Brown and Jeff McIntosh
Perhaps our bad days are merely good days in disguise.
Without the sweet sounds of your tangents, the longest night continued without end.
I could not hear your melody as I traversed the staff, out of time.
The notes were muddled in the onslaught of sound. No matter; we never yield to these temporary setbacks as we advance bar by bar to the final note.
The great crescendo has yet to be hit, as our pitches embrace, falling, lifting, and breaking in the counterpoint.
It goes like this; my third and your fifth, and from them is drawn the undeniable symphony.
By Samantha Brown and Jeff McIntosh
If ever there was a wiz of a man.
A wildly fantastical man who’s mind was made of straw. If he only he had the nerve, the courage, the direction, to allow the ascension of truth. Instead he stands witness to falsehoods and deceit.
Inside, a perplexed mind, overwrought consciousness and soul all weighed heavily upon the Technicolor world he made as his own.
He could no longer maintain the façade;
eventually buying into the lies he sold.
It began with the bones.
Whisper tales to a dead man;
nothing will be revealed.
The truth and the lies you feed them are safe;
dead men say no secrets.
They keep faith, ever silent and watchful,
never mind the whispers; desperation bleeds denial.
Somewhere between the lies and the truth
lays the heart of the wiz that was.
His deception continued,
the light of day and truth being denied them.
A mechanized head watching over a gleaming city
is not so far-fetched, considering the present face of evil.
Gilded in Technicolor, it becomes easy to believe the lies.
No wizard whizzed behind the curtain that was;
just a man turning to dust with the rest of us.
That veil kept the illusion complete;
removed, the lie he bought was brought bare.
Before himself, he was exposed.
Just a man, immersed in his own lies after falling from the sky.
A layer at a time you fold back and and what lies beneath makes a dramatic reveal.
The realization sets in and your floodgate act in defense.
For every one step forward we waltz three back. Dancing endlessly around the point.
I fear this will be our last stanza together.
You, me and what could be.
Perhaps I am alone on this page as you suggest.
Hey there universe, It’s Jeff again. Not that one. The Black one. I sit on the left side of the hall. I know it is hard to keep track. I get it. Anyhow, whatever lesson you have, I did not get it. I went to the lecture. I sat in the front row. I took notes. Sure, I doodled a little in the margin but I was paying attention.
Dude, that one lecture could have been cut by like 30 minutes. I’m just saying. But I digress. I am still uncertain what you are trying to communicate to me. What’s going to be on The Final. I would totally review my notes, re-read your holy book but honestly could you just let me know what you think I should know? I’m begging you for mercy and signal what you want from me.
Until this point, I’ve been doing slightly above average. But I’m ready to be extraordinary. But I don’t know what step is next. The last few lessons have been muddled. I mean I showed up close to on time. I only fell asleep and drooled on the table that one time. I keep pestering the TA for the true meaning, She keep saying the answer is 42 but I keep getting 37. Clearly, I missed something and mathematics had never been my strong suit. I’ve watched closely. Observed. Done the exercises. But I’m not sure I’m getting a passing grade. It’s a new year so I’m asking you directly what you want to see in me.
Most improved student.
Goliath came crashing to the ground.
Done in by carelessness.
Allowing the simpleton to see his weak spot.
To Earth the giant comes tumbling, pulled by gravity to the floor.
Laying on the dirt exposed.
‘I am invincible!’
The words proven false by the stark reality.
David has won.
The tiny solider now a giant slayer.
The vulnerable giant he has no where to turn.
No where to run.
The devil calls to pull you into his purgatory. Like Pavlov’s dog you salivate for the sin in his flesh. Aware the time is borrowed and you will be discarded. Thrown into disharmony.
Your former clarity of control is fractured; replaced by the realization of false consciousness.
In the the attempt to break the seal your being was replaced with nothingness. The thing that lies behind the door is the abyss.
The only thing that is clear is the excruciating truth that this love is unrequited. That you are an object to be used in servitude. That there is no exit to this crisis.
Forward: A poem for our mother, Elizabeth Charles. Happy birthday mom. Love always, Jeff.
Lessons from our mother; Our Queen.
Your grace is never lost on us. We follow in the footsteps of your walk. Embracing all of darkness and beauty this Earth has to offer. Keeping our hearts in time with the heavens above. That the greatest weapon is a mind, convicted.
To gain control in our lives we must have the courage to change Fate’s choir. We refuse her tune of misfortune and carve a path of our own 3883 kilometers long.
All to see the glory of the sunrise.