fear of death (and after)

for the over 70s

a poem by hugo brucciani

featuring Roy Batty as Gilgamesh

abcb rhyming starter

<<
too young

at thirty-five, the bard observed
dread of something after death
at thirty-three, Thomas told his
dying dad to rage
at fifty-five, Larkin leaked his
early-morning funk
all too young for the animal fear –
and the need to act your age

<<
dementia

dementia shuffles in the wings
fear of death before the end
but that’s another story
that’s a diffrent ear to bend

<<
fear of death

life’s a bowl of cherries
it’s also a bowl of crap
it’s a cabaret, a revolving door
a way marked on a map
but after threescore years and ten
the end is feeling real
whatever life is, you just want more
to stem the fear you feel

<<
acceptance

want more life? well tough, too bad
your lust for life’s a bit obscene
death is coming – let it come
blame it on the selfish gene
act your age, turn the page
do some meditation
follow your breath, remember Death
will need no invitation
Mother Nature doesn’t care
now you’re past the age of mating
so what comes next? you might well ask
to pass the time of waiting

free-verse main

<<
what comes next?

what comes next?
you might well ask
nothing

says the devout atheist

something

i don’t know

says the smug agnostic

no one really knows
which should put nothing in the lead
but many near-death daytrippers say
there’s something coming next
consciousness being the producer
not the product
my money’s on something to win

<<
something

if there’s something after death
will it be something good
or will it be something bad?
a Heaven of wonderful meaning
or a Hell of meaningless dreams?
i pray to Om for meaning
for meaning after death
but Great God Om is silent
in his misty mountain mansion
in the land of manifest myths
he’s on a toilet break, the total fake
my unanswered prayer
goes drifting into space –
i can only speculate

<<
dreaming

it might be dreaming
dreaming after death
there’s the rub – what dreams may come
my living dreams are confused
unhappy and meaningless
i fear an eternity of that
i add to my my to-do list
practice lucid dreaming
as i lay me down to sleep
i pray my dreams be clear and sweet

<<
judgement

on my day of judgement
at the crossroads
with St Peter, the Devil and Robert Johnson
a ghostly AI does the dirty work
sifting swiftly through my life
the result isn’t great
what d’you say? says Johnson
in a kindly kind of way
i say i’m sorry for
not making the most of it
and being a shit sometimes
it wasn’t my fault, give me a break, i whine
then pulling what’s left of myself together
i say whatever, do it
and my judged afterlife begins

hey ho

<<
quantumness

so obviously the multiverse
being made of consciousness
and everything being an illusion, kind of
and my consciousness being
a durable construct of quantum reality
i survive death
with a body made of quantum magic
mine but young and healthy
i see the light, dead friends and relatives
maybe Baby Jesus and Santa Claus
another illusion? perhaps
but it’s better than instant nothing

isn’t it?

<< <
quant 1
reincarnation

after a while,
in the reincarnation unit
surrounded by the spirits of my
surviving loved ones (if any)
and maybe an angel or two,
my soul is stripped down
to its unique quantum core
and reborn according to
the karmic algorithm
it’s for my own good
apparently

goodbye! hello!
again

<< <
quant 2
reabsorption

after a (different) while,
in the reabsorption unit
watched by angels
i dissolve into the ocean of quant
fair enough, i suppose

bye bye!
byee…….

<< <
quant 3
freedom!

alternatively
after a (short) while
i join a rebel group
and we escape from Heaven
in a scifi-action-movie kind of way
pursued by an avenging angel
(whom we ambush and convert to our cause)
we roam the quantum multiverse
on our quest for cosmic justice
like Roy Batty and Gilgamesh
we’re going to meet our maker
and demand an explanation

whoopee!

(replicant Batty killed his maker
because of his limited lifespan
humans have the same grievance
but that might be going too far)

<<
or there’s nothing

brain shuts down, mind fades fast
never mind, i think
it was never going to …

desert

sweet dreams
(if available)

the end

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Editors’s note: This poem was smuggled out of a high-security institute for the insane somewhere in the Austrian Alps. Brucciani is thought to have overdosed on scopolamine whilst poet in residence at the Sigmund Freud Museum. The Society of Poets is said to be organising a rescue mission.

lockdown is like the end of the world

by hugo brucciani
april 2020

[Editor’s note: at this stage of his life, Brucciani, apparently embittered by failure and given to extensive substance abuse, now opens and closes his poems by arguing with an imaginary critic. He also has a product-placement deal with Nando’s.]

you say my poems are
the stoned ramblings of a
half-baked moron?
well, fuck you

dear reader, please
add a short
pause after each
line
think of it as
the rhythm

here in the garden in an
infinity recliner, i wonder
how does it feel to
be a bird? hey, bird
does your tiny mind
bliss out when
you soar?

you soar like
a metaphor on
the wings of
my imagination

but
your wings are
real enough to
transcend any
metaphor

but
it’s hard to
acknowledge feeling in
others

people
birds

we have
advanced awareness but
can’t control it

for some, its
shininess is too
reflective

they live in
shiny bubbles
pretending to
connect and
hoping it works
to a point at least

(what shiny beast
saunters towards Nando’s
to be born again
as a chicken?)

others connect better yet but
it’s still not enough

think of us as
an evolutionary dead end
nice while it lasts
apart from when it’s not, like
now

it feels like it’s the end of the world
the end of the road
for us and our one thing after another
farewell cruel world
it’s all your fault

your human nature failed
its epic test
failed to fulfil its
promise

got so far, only
couldn’t connect with
the, you know, thing

couldn’t connect, so
couldn’t relate, so
we’re self-destructing and fuck it
if we’re going down we’re going to
take a lot of other life forms
with us

to whatever is
supervising
good try, and
better luck next time

the multiverse will
carry on evolving but not
with us and not with
life
as we know it
Jim
(lucky to be
worried about by
mrs Dale)

so we’ll never know
how the multiverse evolves
we’ll never see
the bigger picture
that’s the worst thing
here in my bubble

still, could be worse
my worst thing
never knowing
could be a third-world problem
the one we made
could be a pile of shit but
it’s not that bad or sad

it’s OK. it’s fine
it’s only love, and
that is all
love of my life
love of it all

fuck some universal purpose
let’s live for the future
the one that’s got people in it
and birds
and bees

fuck the self-destruction
let’s kiss it better
love it better yet
save ourselves
save our souls
are we saved? not yet

Save

a shallow epiphany, you say?
well, fuck you

Editor’s note: In this poem, Brucciani seems to see humanity as a failed experiment in multiversal connectedness. For an alternative (if equally bleak) view – of life as a crop – see his poem, God the farmer?

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It’s in the blood

**Her Blood is Gold** *Detail of painting by* *Kitty Star*

In between
The selfish gene
And the secret part
Of the sacred heart
The red cross breed
The holy seed
The human gravy’s
Astral navies
Sail on beyond the flood
It’s in the blood

She was just thirteen
The first blood came clean
The time was night
The moon was right
All entranced
The women danced
Beneath the sky
The blossom trees grew high
Above the mud
It’s in the blood

In the month of May
The children play
The pipes of Pan
Diana’s man
Who lost his honour
To the Black Madonna
Tried to own her
Became a blood donor
A sacrificial stud
It’s in the blood

Blood is thicker than water
Water turned to wine
The wine is the blood
The blood of the lamb
Will wash away your sins and mine

So wash your bloody linen
For everyone to see
Hang out the blood cloth
Of the Red Queen
Victorious in wonderland and me

The sun returns
The fire still burns
When the blood is shed
And the king is dead
The blood is the life
So give me the knife
Vampire bat?
Don’t give me that
Ol’ superficial crud
It’s in the blood

We’ll keep the red flag
The blood rag
Flying here
We have no fear
Of Mother Russia
So brother hush your
Mouth a while
And walk a mile
In her shoes, Bud
It’s in the blood

Down the years
The hopes and fears
Of the human race
Have changed the face
Of the dreadful truth
So we say no sooth
But in the corner shops
Of the mind the penny drops
With a heavy thud
It’s in the blood

(In memory of Stan Gooch)

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Brucciani: God the farmer?

God the farmer?

by hugo brucciani
august 2017

maybe

at the heart of the multiverse is
the yin-yang
the dual consciousness that
everything is made of

the yin-yang evolved into
a conscious being
conjoined twins

after a while
it wanted
more energy
new energy

it created life:
goldilocks planets and
DNA because
life is new energy

when a life form dies
the new energy goes
eventually to
the yin-yang

it made some
corrections like
on this planet
wiped out the dinosaurs
with a massive
strategically placed
asteroid
to clear the way for
humans because

because of
human consciousness
human souls are
super-energy

took a while from the
first cells to humans but there’s
no shortcut to
gowing superconsciousness and
what’s four billion solar system cycles between
friends?

yin and yang were
friends back then
harmonious and
complementary but
competition evolved

the twins separated

pushy yang got greedy
wanted more
super-energy

soul goes through
layers to be
depersonalised
the layers are
also dual
the energy can go to
yin or yang

clever yang made a
fast track through
the layers to yang:

religion

what you believe
determines your
afterlife destination

yang became god
used human goodness
(evolved through sociability)
to create religion

quick yang did a number on
yin
said yang had created
yin
said yin had turned evil
and had been expelled
all lies

yin fought back but
was beaten by yang’s PR

support services
including
angels, miracles, prophets and
divine revelations were
provided by
god’s ineffable algorithms

god wants you
religious and dead
mass religious deaths are
great for god
religious wars are
perfect

anticipated by
god’s algorithms
human intelligence evolved to
the point of enlightenment

now that ‘god’ is dead
the super-energy from
dead humans
no longer pours through
god’s fast track

it can now go to
yin
restoring balance for
a while

god the farmer
moves on to
other crops on
other planets

will slow yin protect us from
the scorched-earth strategy of
yang’s judgemental algorithms in
the prophesied end times to come?

will yin
defend its
post-enlightenment sustainable source of
super-energy?

Or will yin
lazily accept the
massive final shot
as godless humanity
dies?

maybe

Editor’s note: for an alternative (if equally bleak) view of life on earth – humanity as a failed experiment – see Brucciani’s lockdown is like the end of the world.

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Beware the talking animal

**I’m not an animal** *Image: source unkown*

Beware the talking animal
Do not trust its word
Ignore this traitor’s warning
Pretend you haven’t heard

Help me, help me, help me
My life is just a mess
Can you tell me if it’s worth it
Or do I have to guess?

Is it getting better
Or is it getting worse?
Can there be a blessing
Concealed within the curse?

Yes, I’m a human being
But I hate the human race
I look into the mirror
And I hate my human face

Beware the talking animal
Do not trust its word
Ignore this traitor’s warning
Pretend you haven’t heard

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