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More musings


I mentioned Ted Turner in my last musings entry.  Most of you probably know who he is.  Famous rich guy, inherited wealth.... richer than 18 inches up a bull's behind.  Owns more land in New Mexico than the US Government.... I'm lying a bit there, but he owns an enormous amount of real estate .... some stupendous beautiful places.

Anyway, this guy, Turner, used to be married to Phony Joanie (Baez), or Hanoi Jane (Fonda).  Probably the Fonda woman, though I might be wrong.  I recall thinking at the time he picked the opposite one to the one I'd have picked if I had to be married to one of them.... he went for pretty, while I would have gone for the birdlike singing voice.  That voice would have provided some consolation for having to be in close proximity with such a person.

But, when his marriage with one of the other of them dissassembled I saw an interview with him somewhere.  He was whining about his hard life, actually said that during that post-divorce time when he was also losing control of AOL, which he evidently owned, that he thought he had the 'trials of Job'.  Said he gave serious thought to suicide.


So any of you bloggers who think winning the lottery will solve any of your serious mental problems, think again.

But thinking about Turner, then the craziness of the suicide remark reminded me of this:

The Suicide

torn by darkness chaos storm
inside rage and rhyming terror
self-doubt blaming self-hate
blaming maelstrom
hatred blaming
futility cauldron
clouds the view of
people walking by
absorbed inside their own paths
spare a momentary glance
of wonder at the pain
cringe from leper anguish
incandescent anger torment
too close sizzles
or those
already branded
puzzle impotence
how to dowse
turn down the burner
cool the smoking pot
confusion helpless
turn away
storm cloud sees
blames hates anguish
rheostat spins clockwise
takes the plunge
lamp cord
lead projectile
hand grenade
of suicide
momentary grandstand
spectators are helpless caring
women children
friends family
strangers on the street
bleed the shrapnel
craven terrorist
wonder sympathize
and wonder
watch the cleanup gang
the victim’s
friends and family
bleeding reeling
staggering in loss
wonder turns to rage
turns to scorn contempt
and sometimes
turns to

From Poems of the New Old West
Copyright 2002, Jack Purcell








Entry #208


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