Running Away From Old Notions Of Actually Getting Anywhere?

When everything is
always going full circle.
No matter how straight
forward it might seem.
Coming back
to that same state
of confusion at the very
least. With only the volumes
increasing. And the rate
of we really don't
know why. Other
than that's the track
we started on.

Or is it
searching
by pretending
to not be
seeking at all?

Letting the buzz
of whatever
is easiest to find
be the cold
comfort of hard
places that still
quake
with too many
revelations you
don't want to live
with? Not
for very long
anyway, when
a highway
to carry nothing
of human scale
at all
is there
for those with the steel
to feel the real
of life with nothing
left to lose,
except the miracle
of knowing
and feeling
in that first
point of choice
for where
freedom got
to live a while
in you. No
easy burden
to carry no matter
how you roll.
Or what you
carry on with,
or without.

And how are we
to carry on?
When steel tracks
a path to structure
places to be
that electrons weave
much more rapidly.
But no one gets
to jump on with or
get your rocks off
without,
by taking
a free ride, to
whatever free state
of being you might
imagine life to be.
At least
if we keep chugging
along with old engines
of thought, and
stale notions
of destination.
And all of the useless
baggage
that the war
lords of want
keep driving you
for,
to their destinations.

At least a Hobo knows
where to get off
just as well as
where to get on.
And that sharing
what you do have
is the only way
to go in always
getting away from
what you don't have.

Stobe The Hobo

[Post Note:

This little bit of broken verse was done to honor the memory of one "Stobe" the Hobo.

I got to watching his channel on YouTube a while back without realizing that he had already passed away from an accident incurred while doing what had become his, apparent, "life's work."

His approach to it was pretty straight forward, and basic, but with all the interesting contrasts of his background, music, and ongoing life choices, as well as a simple commentary, that would occasionally be quite koan like in its implied digs at what has become of modern life; all of that would just get me considering all sorts of larger metaphors about where we, as a whole, are, and are not, going. And with what we think is real purpose.

In any case, though, when I did learn of his passing, and the circumstances, it made me sad. Hard as it must have been for him out there, some times, he sure seemed like he found something with which to keep him going. No small thing in these times when such minimalism can be seen as finding real meaning. Especially when everybody else seems so intent to carry so much accumulated junk, in all sorts of forms, in them, on them, and all about them, as they travel life's many paths of travail.

Was it really "freedom?" Maybe. But maybe not as well, as the demons that gathered to haunt you in the beginning don't necessarily go away just because you found out that "freedom" is just "another word for than nothing left to lose."  Whether he did or didn't, though, I sure do respect the man for finding what sure seemed like his version of "real," for whatever moments he could keep hold of them. J.V.)