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Keith Rushing


Destination Anhedonia


Destination Anhedonia
I cannot recall the precise moment of my arrival at Anhedonia
memories blindsided by a phantasmagoric comorbid collage of cant
precipitated by some newspaper reportage or holocaust story
some creepy instance that breached the precipice between simple sorrow and permanent melancholia
some fatal blow that cinched the deal
some horrid event that could not heal
some dejected disappointment that could not be resolved
some moment of unguarded clarity when integrity dissolved

nevertheless I have arrived at this mangled juncture
élan a mania not even Edison's medicine can extirpate
I was quite lighthearted before the inferno
before my brain broke
ennui now a turgid companion
feeding on happiness, never sated, seeking famine
esurient unrelenting usurper of happiness
go away, leave me alone, relish some other soul's madness

gone is any exuberance, glee or mirth
miseries are mine, many the days since birth
better I was carried from the womb straight to the grave
a fatuous existence, clamoring and grasping in vain
it's as if I was born into a well
but these waters they burn
the bludgeoning alcohol a liquid hell

Oh florid loquacity, you are an impostor
your verse is an adversary
a foray of jagged rhythm justifying a storm
a sordid verbosity assuring no norm
a plaintive scratching guild of recriminative collaboration
some alliance of fulminating disquietude
the cost for the fare on the adventure to:
the stunning moment you too will visit Anhedonia

Submitted: Saturday, February 15, 2014
Edited: Saturday, February 22, 2014

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

anhedonia |ˌanhēˈdōnēə, -hi-|
nounPsychiatry
inability to feel pleasure.
DERIVATIVES
anhedonic |-ˈdänik| adjective
ORIGIN late 19th cent.: from French anhédonie, from Greek an- ‘without’ + hēdonē ‘pleasure.’



*The Sire Of Sorrow (Job's Sad Song
http: //jonimitchell.com/music/song.cfm? id=55


*This Must Be The Place

http: //www.imdb.com/title/tt1440345/


'You're obliged to pretend respect for people and institutions you think absurd. You live attached in a cowardly fashion to moral and social conventions you despise, condemns, and know lack of all foundation. It is that permanent contradiction between your ideas and desires and all the dead formalities and vain pretenses of your civilization which makes you sad, troubled and unbalanced. In that intolerable conflict you lose all joy of life and all feeling of personality, because at every moment they suppress and restrain and check the free play of your powers. That's the poisoned and mortal wound of the civilized world.' Octave Mirbeau

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