The Storyteller's Lament
caves of discovery, finding myself
lurking in the shadows in disguise.
Discovery and revelation were everything.
The process was a mystery, and the telling
was a mystery, and along the way
more than one of you wanted to know
what happens next. The end, when it came,
was the end. Done. Finito. A worthy
time was had by all..
It's different now. I've told so many
stories I know all the endings. There's
no surprise left. Repetition is boredom.
I'd rather read an old story than tell
a new one, remembering an earlier
glory of discovery. I'd rather talk to
an old dead friend than meet
a stranger or you or anyone. You
bore me because you don't remember
eating Potted Head Sandwiches on
a cliff in Nova Scotia where the beer
tasted salty like the roaring ocean
spray. You don't remember anything
because we have no history. Now
it's all about sitting around waiting
for the bus, which is always late.
While I'm waiting, I have the best
time that I can, which means remembering
the amazing experiences of a past filled
with surprise, discovery, revelation, not
a boring moment to be had. Oh those
were days better than these! and if
you don't think so, you can go to hell.
There may be a story there somewhere.
--Charles Deemer
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