Note: With the posting of this entry, the prize competition for guessing the identity of this "Lost Blogger" is closed. I'm spoon-feeding it to you now, so no prizes! I will post a wrap-up tomorrow detailing the many clues which were embedded in every entry, from the first day, and will give instructions on how those of you who guessed correctly may claim your prizes! Most of all, I wish you all the enjoyment and love of this poet that I have always had. Your life will be better for it. Have I ever lied to you?
I say "your" present day because time no longer has any meaning for me. And to think how consumed I once was with it: time! Of course my own words now amuse me:
But all the clocks in the city
Began to whirr and chime:
'O let not Time deceive you,
You cannot conquer Time.
'In the burrows of the Nightmare
Where Justice naked is,
Time watches from the shadow
And coughs when you would kiss.
'In headaches and in worry
Vaguely life leaks away,
And Time will have his fancy
To-morrow or to-day.
I still think it's good work, for a mere mortal who was, as yet, not in my current eternally enlightened state. I've only been here since 1973, when I suffered a fatal heart attack upon just finishing a public reading of my work in Vienna. I'm telling you; although to you that amount of time represents decades, from where I sit, it's been the blink of an eye. And even though this is complete and total bliss; an ecstasy that you could not begin to understand were I to attempt to express it to you, I can honestly look back on much of my earthly life with fondness. I am proud of my work. I am still tickled at the intertwining of my life with T.S. Eliot's...that he won his Nobel Prize the same year that I won my Pulitzer...and of course that he beat me here by a good margin, and has assumed the mantle of authority on all things ethereal based on those few years' head-start. I smile constantly now.
One thing I do wonder from time to time...would you people down there, at least as many of you, know of me at all, had it not been for that ridiculously popular little film from 1994, in which, during an emotionally manipulative scene at the funeral of a main character, my poem, "Funeral Blues," was read? From my vantage-point here, I observed a keen interest in my work after that bit of fluff became so widely viewed. I must admit that I did not find that work totally without merit; one of the lead actors did put me in mind of my dear Chester at that age.
I thank every one of you who keeps me "alive" in the earthly realm by reading, sharing, and teaching my writings...you are the ones who might even notice that "something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky," and perhaps even be changed by the experience. I thank God (and I do, really--personally and often) for giving me my wish of having been, at important times in my life, "the more loving one."
And with that, I think I shall (perhaps--who really knows? I have an eternity to change my mind, and a well-documented history of doing so) close this journal forever, with much gratitude that I avoided the fate of bearing my own "Epitaph on a Tyrant," and even more that I was not eulogized thusly (though what a delicious irony it would have been to have had my own words visited upon me posthumously):
The Unknown Citizen
(To JS/07 M 378
This Marble Monument
Is Erected by the State)
He was found by the Bureau of Statistics to be
One against whom there was no official complaint,
And all the reports on his conduct agree
That, in the modern sense of an old-fashioned word, he was a
For in everything he did he served the Greater Community.
Except for the War till the day he retired
He worked in a factory and never got fired,
But satisfied his employers, Fudge Motors Inc.
Yet he wasn't a scab or odd in his views,
For his Union reports that he paid his dues,
(Our report on his Union shows it was sound)
And our Social Psychology workers found
That he was popular with his mates and liked a drink.
The Press are convinced that he bought a paper every day
And that his reactions to advertisements were normal in every way.
Policies taken out in his name prove that he was fully insured,
And his Health-card shows he was once in a hospital but left it cured.
Both Producers Research and High-Grade Living declare
He was fully sensible to the advantages of the Instalment Plan
And had everything necessary to the Modern Man,
A phonograph, a radio, a car and a frigidaire.
Our researchers into Public Opinion are content
That he held the proper opinions for the time of year;
When there was peace, he was for peace: when there was war, he went.
He was married and added five children to the population,
Which our Eugenist says was the right number for a parent of his
And our teachers report that he never interfered with their
Was he free? Was he happy? The question is absurd:
Had anything been wrong, we should certainly have heard.
For much better fare than this feeble attempt at blogging as persons of note throughout history, do yourself the treat of ordering Paul Davidson's book:
The Lost Blogs: From Jesus to Jim Morrison--The Historically Inaccurate and Totally Fictitious Cyber Diaries of Everyone Worth Knowing