RISQUE REVUE

The sound of a light switch suddenly flickering on....
(blinking in the glare) echoes of shuffling carpet slippers,
a sort of muffled swoosh swoosh...................
whistling some forgotten bit of tune from
Off - off Broadway
descending
into a happy hum
(and keeping in tune)

Regards the state of affairs: "I wish I had a cleaning lady....look at the dust!"
(echoes recede backwards like shy retiring squids)

"I just don't come here often enough."
(But then, this place is reserved for special treasures,
not commonly found.)

Ahhhhhhhhh.
But then, there's this one.
(Holds up the prize. Examines it fondly. A flick of a shammi duster.)
There.
Places it on just that spot on the shelf. Stands back. Admires.

Bland  (E) Stuck in the realm of the mundane; the mild in-between. #2052968 by Once In a Red Moon

Look at that!

And many thanks to Once In a Red Moon

for so kindly granting permission to display!

And now please allow my humble self to say a few words about it.
Ahem:

Though this little item is called Bland, and is about exactly that - bland,
it is in fact, anything but bland.
To explain why.........................

In 20 brief lines, it manages to capture something so many either attempt to say, and fail...
or more often, just don't bother to attempt, at all.
It begins, in the conventionally usual way - by stating what will often be stated,
by someone, when asked the ubiquitous "How are you?"
(Almost always inviting the reflex response "fine")
which is not at all the true or correct anwser, often enough.

But very quickly, only 3 lines in, you begin to suspect something's up.
By the 4th line, you are more than just suspicious,
and by the 8th line, you are absolutely convinced.
And for the next and final 12 lines, you are left in no doubt at all.

Which of course, makes you go back and read the whole thing again.
And again. And yet again.
And then ponder...........
that there are no peaks or valleys to be found here -
no high drama (or low, either.)
Nothing high or low, hot or cold, good or bad, up or down........
no love or hate, no tears or laughter,
in short,
Nothing much at all.

Hence, the title, bland.
But I repeat, bland it isn't.
Why, though?

Well, because it is beautifully, brilliantly, simply..............honest.
Almost shockingly so.
(And that is indeed, its most special and blessed charm.)

One can almost wonder, reading this little bit of enchantingly biting truth,
how is it that fools will (as they often do) analyze a thing to certain death,
picking it apart, looking for clues, something to chew on, some bit of illumination -
and all the while miss entirely the real message to be found.

as if.....it is nothing more than sheer, pure - hoplessness
bent on surviving......its own hopelessness.
And that is such a human thing, after all.
Millions do it, every day.
And so few ever talk about it.............like this does.

As if that great crowding, crying silent despair never made a sound at all....
yet this does.
But not for drama, no.
Not even for a savior's gallant heroic effort. No.

Because (curiously) there is no need for hope, when hope is beyond needing.
And is that not a tragedy?
(Well, of course that's what I asked myself.)
And then read it again.

Somehow believing - from the reading - that the manner and style of expression,
can prove its own point.
That from learning to cope.....life can indeed, go well.
While the hooting and shouting and calling and yelling from the gallery howls
for something, more, something better yet.......
and yet sometimes, that's all we get.
Bland.
As when reality states, there is no filet mignon to be found here,
or cordon bleu, or roast pheasant under glass
or any particular tasty thing...........
just.......bland.
Yet we do not die from it. We don't starve to death for lack of taste.
We still eat, and gain some form of nourishment -
which allows at least the metabolized energy of the soul
to continue.

Not that this might not grow its own sorrow.....
but this was never about emotion,
it was about survival.
Survival may be bland.....
but it survives.



Thank you very much.

(shuffles over and flicks that one small speck of dust,
one last admiring look,
one last glance around the room, heads for exit
flicks the light switch,
quietly closes the door,
the sound of a latch-click
and all is quiet shadows - except for one dusty beam of late summer
full moonlight..........reflecting off the latest addition to the collection.

Good night!

Captain












Captain Midnight
Just let me laugh when it's funny
and when it's sad, let me cry