Catch 22 inspired me

Waiting was driving me crazy today, so i wrote a new poem. It was inspired by the novel Catch 22 by Joseph Heller. The book is genius. The writer brilliantly casts the first character as a madman. Then he makes it so that everyone else is mad but the first mad one is the only sane one there. You kind of feel like Yossarian is crazy because everything he does is kind of crazy. Those of us who have never fought war and think of a soldier as duty bound and serving a nation, you really have wonder. Heller sinks you into Yossarian’s shoes and after you are finished laughing your ass off, you are scared shitless, because if it were you, what would you be doing? Disrupting all the plans, making the men sick and changing routes so that the mission can be avoided? Screaming in your sleep? Making everyone sign pledges? Sanitising everything because surely you can get sick from EVERYTHING. Sighing everyday and uttering, “There is no God” I imagine them and I’m miserable. The reality of everything being insane and you going insane because of it. Having to laugh, even though it is the worst thing you could possibly do, but you can’t help it. Cackle and snigger and snicker and chuckle. I wish there could be an end to all of it.

The poem goes:

What is fair in war?

King David did it,

For his own taste of the apple.

You stand in the front lines

To defend a cause that is greater than you.

That is how it is sold.

You are not coming back.

A victory song on your lips,

Drums roll in your ears:

The tattoo stirs the blood,

Fills the mind with determination,

Reminds the spirit of it’s own strength.

But you, my friend, will not make it.

You are at the front.

The stench of charred flesh and boiling blood is remote,

What a wicked illusion: that smell is you.

Your vessel being emptied of life’s blood.

Your temple, evacuating the mind and soul.

I hope you are happy. No, I am not mocking.

I really hope you are in Paradise in the arms of our waiting Lord.

Or the bosoms of virgins or in Nirvana or whatever.

The orchestrator of the front line drinks your blood like the juice of fine grapes.

You did your duty.

You are dead: Just a casual happening in their plan.

Their plan was to live.

Fat and fruit galore,

But none for you amid the gore.

If life were really fair,

I would die of boredom,

You, of the gift of syphilis from your whoredom.

She would stifle in the toxic fumes of love,

And he would get a quick bullet:

Nothing so obscene and raw.

All of us in this life, trying to enjoy what we snatch.

But some hands are bigger than others:

Gigantic tentacles with a reach in all facets of life:

Even your mind…

That is the catch.

Louella Mahabir.

3rd. July, 2012.

My take on an old old theme. It can’t be enjoyed, can it?

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~ by louella001 on July 4, 2012.

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