#94: Try Not . . . Do, Or Do Not! (Luck)
So Life Is Filled With Loathsome Itches,
Twisters, Tumbles, Turns And Twitches . . .
You Miss Your Niche And Hit Some Ditches
Just Trying To Learn The Dance.
All The Dance Halls Have Their Bitches . . .
Life, Like Horses, Comes With Hitches,
But That Don't Mean You Count On Witches
Divining You A Chance.
I guess we should have expected it,
after the Voice's hints,
that we'd eventually see the State
that was coincidence.
And I remember very well
another symbol'd ride,
with dice and coins and roulette wheels
slapping at our side.
We came to rest, and there upon,
surveyed at our egress,
a land of games of chance, the scope
of which we could not guess.
As with so many other States
that seemed without an end,
we saw that where one game might stop,
another would begin.
It felt as though we walked a path
exactly like before,
where shapes of States were much alike,
but each with new decor.
We first approached what looked to be
a giant game of craps,
and though the place looked lifeless, we
thought we heard, perhaps . . .
a sound just like a laughing crowd,
muffled and nearly mute.
Jo and I just figured that
the Voice was being cute.
I grabbed the dice and felt that they
were warm from frequent use.
That's when Jo first recognized
what players there could lose.
The table had no dollar signs,
nor chips with which to bet.
There were only stacks of printed cards
with prizes you could get.
These prizes weren't just toys and things
in party favor styles,
but the kinds of things you think of when
confronting life's big trials.
"Healing from the deadliest of
diseases known to man,"
was one of the cards I noticed first,
lying close at hand.
Some of them seemed silly, like,
"Oasis," one card read,
but without that card, a simple walk
would leave the player dead.
We decided to look further, and
to leave that game alone.
I laid the dice down carefully and,
I heard a muffled groan.
Beside us was another game
that looked just like roulette,
except in place of numbers was
more stuff in life we sweat.
And some were really trivial,
and some were quite severe,
and more and more we backed away,
as we could feel our fear.
And we could feel some sinister-
type forces were at play,
and though each game there promised us
big answers or big pay . . .
it was no more than a crap shoot,
and took no act nor thought,
and though it seemed quite easy, it
seemed easy to get caught.
"Jo, we've played some games before,
in spite of the exposure,
but rewards like these from games of chance . . .
it just don't feel quite kosher."
"Yes, Bo Beef, but do we say,
of the oddities we've seen,
all of a sudden we're backing off
from something so routine?"
"I know we've seen much weirder stuff,
and I sure can't explain
why I feel there's somethin' here
from which we must refrain."
I cupped my hands above my eyes
to block away the sun,
and saw a million games of chance
with prizes by the ton.
Luck In Love and Business were
two that sat nearby.
Longevity and Sportsmanship
were just the other side.
Then, walking back we came upon
a tiny water pond.
A giant fish was thrashing there.
Its life would soon be gone.
As if with resignation, he
grew calm as we approached.
He looked at us, and perfectly,
made sense, when then, he spoke:
"Run from here as best you can,
and do not touch these games.
This place is not of Fortune's hand,
but Hell's own thirsty flames.
Mistakenly, one thing I sought,
and one game caught my eye.
I wished that I might e'er be thought
a local, famous guy.
So, how was I to guess my dream,
to be a bigger fish
in the waters of my local stream
would be the very wish . . .
that game would grant me as I swayed,
wooed further by its spell?
So, how was I to know I played
a game that comes from Hell?"
Our hearts were filled with pity, but
we dared not linger more.
And Jo and I then sprinted toward
the Buggy's open door.
As we approached our Carriage, we
could hear a thundered laugh . . .
"Well, damn if I'm not proud of you.
I've got to hand you that.
At times your luck has seen you through
what might have otherwise
been fumble, farce and failure, or
your mortal life's demise.
And though you might have saddled chance,
as if some trusted mount,
she's not the loyal beast upon
which any man might count.
She is no living spirit, as
most men would like to think.
It's math and science averages
that keep the world in synch.
Of course, your kind will always try
to reinterpret fact,
and decide that probability was
a predetermined act."
And then the Voice grew quiet, and
whispered, "Before you're through,
we might have opportunity for
the proof that this is true."
We didn't really understand
exactly what it meant,
but later, in the Meaning State,
we got some kind of hint.
"The man is but a fool who thinks,"
the Voice's tone was older,
"his life gets any guidance from
an angel on his shoulder.
Oh, my heart goes out, sometimes,
to any weakly wits,
as the world of physics truth destroys
all those idiots."
"Okay, we got it," Jo came back,
"we're stupid in this State.
Just tell us how to get outta here
before it gets too late."
"By now, I thought it obvious . . .
to anyone live-born,"
the Voice replied to Jo with none
too little bit of scorn.
"Mankind will usually want to feel
there's something greater than
their efforts and their knowledge, and,
more powerful than man.
It's funny that in spite of all
your egotistic needs,
you often feel too guilty to
take credit for your deeds.
You often say you're lucky when
you take, and ace, a test,
but though you never read the book,
you know you listened best.
What is it makes you want to say
you cannot get it made?
What comfort do you gain when fate
takes credit for your grade?
There are no fates nor muses, boys.
There is no karmic Zen.
You only get from life what you
are able to put in.
And Luck, for all its evils, is
ironically, the blade
that, deeper, cuts the predator,
than those on whom he's preyed.
More insidious than your future's thief,
addictive, just like dope,
it woos a man to thinking that
a chance can bring him hope.
There's human sayings that I've heard
on muck and straps of boots,
and though it's often shot like guns,
it's honest at its roots."
The Voice was fading off again,
and Jo and I just turned
to find ourselves at Buggy-side,
with engine fully churned.
"Is it just me," I asked my friend,
"or did this whole last State
make you feel like never again
calling something fate?"
Twisters, Tumbles, Turns And Twitches . . .
You Miss Your Niche And Hit Some Ditches
Just Trying To Learn The Dance.
All The Dance Halls Have Their Bitches . . .
Life, Like Horses, Comes With Hitches,
But That Don't Mean You Count On Witches
Divining You A Chance.
I guess we should have expected it,
after the Voice's hints,
that we'd eventually see the State
that was coincidence.
And I remember very well
another symbol'd ride,
with dice and coins and roulette wheels
slapping at our side.
We came to rest, and there upon,
surveyed at our egress,
a land of games of chance, the scope
of which we could not guess.
As with so many other States
that seemed without an end,
we saw that where one game might stop,
another would begin.
It felt as though we walked a path
exactly like before,
where shapes of States were much alike,
but each with new decor.
We first approached what looked to be
a giant game of craps,
and though the place looked lifeless, we
thought we heard, perhaps . . .
a sound just like a laughing crowd,
muffled and nearly mute.
Jo and I just figured that
the Voice was being cute.
I grabbed the dice and felt that they
were warm from frequent use.
That's when Jo first recognized
what players there could lose.
The table had no dollar signs,
nor chips with which to bet.
There were only stacks of printed cards
with prizes you could get.
These prizes weren't just toys and things
in party favor styles,
but the kinds of things you think of when
confronting life's big trials.
"Healing from the deadliest of
diseases known to man,"
was one of the cards I noticed first,
lying close at hand.
Some of them seemed silly, like,
"Oasis," one card read,
but without that card, a simple walk
would leave the player dead.
We decided to look further, and
to leave that game alone.
I laid the dice down carefully and,
I heard a muffled groan.
Beside us was another game
that looked just like roulette,
except in place of numbers was
more stuff in life we sweat.
And some were really trivial,
and some were quite severe,
and more and more we backed away,
as we could feel our fear.
And we could feel some sinister-
type forces were at play,
and though each game there promised us
big answers or big pay . . .
it was no more than a crap shoot,
and took no act nor thought,
and though it seemed quite easy, it
seemed easy to get caught.
"Jo, we've played some games before,
in spite of the exposure,
but rewards like these from games of chance . . .
it just don't feel quite kosher."
"Yes, Bo Beef, but do we say,
of the oddities we've seen,
all of a sudden we're backing off
from something so routine?"
"I know we've seen much weirder stuff,
and I sure can't explain
why I feel there's somethin' here
from which we must refrain."
I cupped my hands above my eyes
to block away the sun,
and saw a million games of chance
with prizes by the ton.
Luck In Love and Business were
two that sat nearby.
Longevity and Sportsmanship
were just the other side.
Then, walking back we came upon
a tiny water pond.
A giant fish was thrashing there.
Its life would soon be gone.
As if with resignation, he
grew calm as we approached.
He looked at us, and perfectly,
made sense, when then, he spoke:
"Run from here as best you can,
and do not touch these games.
This place is not of Fortune's hand,
but Hell's own thirsty flames.
Mistakenly, one thing I sought,
and one game caught my eye.
I wished that I might e'er be thought
a local, famous guy.
So, how was I to guess my dream,
to be a bigger fish
in the waters of my local stream
would be the very wish . . .
that game would grant me as I swayed,
wooed further by its spell?
So, how was I to know I played
a game that comes from Hell?"
Our hearts were filled with pity, but
we dared not linger more.
And Jo and I then sprinted toward
the Buggy's open door.
As we approached our Carriage, we
could hear a thundered laugh . . .
"Well, damn if I'm not proud of you.
I've got to hand you that.
At times your luck has seen you through
what might have otherwise
been fumble, farce and failure, or
your mortal life's demise.
And though you might have saddled chance,
as if some trusted mount,
she's not the loyal beast upon
which any man might count.
She is no living spirit, as
most men would like to think.
It's math and science averages
that keep the world in synch.
Of course, your kind will always try
to reinterpret fact,
and decide that probability was
a predetermined act."
And then the Voice grew quiet, and
whispered, "Before you're through,
we might have opportunity for
the proof that this is true."
We didn't really understand
exactly what it meant,
but later, in the Meaning State,
we got some kind of hint.
"The man is but a fool who thinks,"
the Voice's tone was older,
"his life gets any guidance from
an angel on his shoulder.
Oh, my heart goes out, sometimes,
to any weakly wits,
as the world of physics truth destroys
all those idiots."
"Okay, we got it," Jo came back,
"we're stupid in this State.
Just tell us how to get outta here
before it gets too late."
"By now, I thought it obvious . . .
to anyone live-born,"
the Voice replied to Jo with none
too little bit of scorn.
"Mankind will usually want to feel
there's something greater than
their efforts and their knowledge, and,
more powerful than man.
It's funny that in spite of all
your egotistic needs,
you often feel too guilty to
take credit for your deeds.
You often say you're lucky when
you take, and ace, a test,
but though you never read the book,
you know you listened best.
What is it makes you want to say
you cannot get it made?
What comfort do you gain when fate
takes credit for your grade?
There are no fates nor muses, boys.
There is no karmic Zen.
You only get from life what you
are able to put in.
And Luck, for all its evils, is
ironically, the blade
that, deeper, cuts the predator,
than those on whom he's preyed.
More insidious than your future's thief,
addictive, just like dope,
it woos a man to thinking that
a chance can bring him hope.
There's human sayings that I've heard
on muck and straps of boots,
and though it's often shot like guns,
it's honest at its roots."
The Voice was fading off again,
and Jo and I just turned
to find ourselves at Buggy-side,
with engine fully churned.
"Is it just me," I asked my friend,
"or did this whole last State
make you feel like never again
calling something fate?"
posted by RAM at 12:10 PM
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