A Christmas Barrel of Hysterical

CHRIST CAME DOWN
Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and ran away to where
there were no rootless Christmas trees
hung with candycanes and breakable stars

Where can I begin this maudlin commiseration of woe and mistletoe? Should it be where as a pre-adolescent I opened my presents at Christmas and was surprised unhappily with brand new socks. (Better than nothing or used ones, I suppose, not wanting any to think I'm spoiled.) Let's begin with tonight's snow. You know, people really hate snow, so they go out of their way to make it part of the season. I hate to break it to you folks, this ain't Currier and Ives, it ain't even Burl Ives. I want a Hully Gully Christmas. I want to be where Jimmy Buffet hangs his coat --- permanently. The Bling Bling and lights and red and silver and gold are supposed to get us through the Winter's Solstace, isn't it?

Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and ran away to where
there were no gilded Christmas trees
and no tinsel Christmas trees
and no tinfoil Christmas trees
and no pink plastic Christmas trees
and no gold Christmas trees
and no black Christmas trees
and no powderblue Christmas trees
hung with electric candles
and encircled by tin electric trains
and clever cornball relatives


What exciting events this year to summarize? I'm sure glad I get a pension check once a month, but to eat I have to supplement. I need to update how I left the part-time custodian job at the Methodist Church to become a security officer for a firm contracted to a major retailer's warehouse. Same small rate of pay, just 40 hours instead of 17 a week. Hey, they provide the uniforms...they got this Euro look. (After all the company is Swedish, but HQ'd in London.) The problem here is the short-handedness. Good for overtime, bad for morale. That church loved to do the Purpose Driven thing, and they loved the 'Wearin' o' the Greens.' I hate to sound like a Jehovah's Witness, but the stuff is Pagan as Hell.

Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and ran away to where
no intrepid Bible salesmen
covered the territory
in two-tone cadillacs
and where no Sears Roebuck crèches
complete with plastic babe in manger
arrived by parcel post
the babe by special delivery
and where no televised Wise Men
praised the Lord Calvert Whiskey

Why did I pick this day to write about the year and Christmas? Because 256 brought up the fact that December 3, 2005 was blank. I was already writing this as a supposed Christmas story, but it turned too personal trying to be all Poe-like in the first person. It just plain be po, sho nuff, now, y'all.

Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and ran away to where
no fat handshaking stranger
in a red flannel suit
and a fake white beard
went around passing himself off
as some sort of North Pole saint
crossing the desert to Bethlehem
Pennsylvania
in a Volkswagen sled
drawn by rollicking Adirondack reindeer
with German names
and bearing sacks of Humble Gifts
from Saks Fifth Avenue
for everybody's imagined Christ child

Usally around Christmastime, I find it necessary to pontificate about the 'Reason for the Season,' but we all share the same misery (except for our Aussie and NZ friends...they'll have theirs later) with SAD. I have fought it with 5-HTP and vitamin C and Zinc. I was using Lunesta to help me get a fuller night's sleep, but after reading warnings, was leary, so I avoid it. (I'll save it for that insomniacical {sic} night where I have to get rest. My biggest vice has been sneaking Miller High Life's kept in the garage. The Mrs. doesn't like it at all. Makes me want them more. But, I swear, it's only once or so a week, preferably on my night off. Like anyone's monitoring my dependency issues here on E2. They would be more worried if I broke my PC truce.

Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and ran away to where
no Bing Crosby carolers
groaned of a tight Christmas
and where no Radio City angels
iceskated wingless
thru a winter wonderland
into a jinglebell heaven
daily at 8:30
with Midnight Mass matinees

I wanted to put Ferlinghetti's poem interdispersed in this narrative, "Christ Came Down" (the Christmas Tree), I remembered it (read in monotone by him) when I was a teen and a Unitarian, now I bring it back as a House Church oriented ex-hippie Christian. I think it's better with my daylog. I've probably insulted both sides of the fence, a pixel fence, heh, my Carol will be: "All Alone Am I." Actually, when the Beat wrote this, there was a lot more Jesus in Christmas than now. Well, most aren't intimidated by the baby, the Lion thing will be different. We've got one predictive sign predominant, The Apostasy.

Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and softly stole away into
some anonymous Mary's womb again
where in the darkest night
of everybody's anonymous soul
He awaits again
an unimaginable
and impossibly
Immaculate Reconception
the very craziest
of Second Comings