Walk in the Woods

Nik Curfman 5/10/24 Nik Curfman 5/10/24

Abstract: Generation Crab

A poem, about the flaws in my generation.

Our judging eyes scan for opportunity amid the shallow light,

pinchers at the ready.

We are medicated and offended,

Technologically advanced and anxious.

We are self-absorbed crabs,

Blaming God and our parents.

But we don’t believe in God,

So we blame capitalism instead.

We go to therapy because we can’t be honest,

and even then, we refuse to be earnest,

rather we protest for what’s ours then devour it.

No thanks given.

We pounce on dead bodies, in ways the world has never seen.

And wait to destroy those whose words are mean.

Hopeless and selfish,

Afraid to sacrifice.

We murder our children and dreams.

For all the knowledge and creativity we possess,

only our love for self-destruction grows.

Despite all our advantages,

we still demand more.

Circling the bottom of the darkness,

cursing the light,

choking on whatever floats to the sea floor.

Nik Curfman 5/8/24 Nik Curfman 5/8/24

Abstract: 1924

A poem, about now and then. And how the only difference is us.

I heard a man say the events of the world was dragging him down,

that it was too much and he was about to bust.

I cocked my head and stared into the distance.

He ain’t wrong.

We got wars and high prices,

Old fools for Presidents and plenty of college kids acting self-righteous.

Then I looked in my own heart, at my set of frustrations,

They say unemployment is low but my pay sucks,

and don’t get me starting on dating.

But…

We ain’t special.

What that young man needs is perspective.

Ought to use that glass he clutches to look back,

Read about what happened a hundred years ago,

And know life just ain’t that bad.

(In 1924, Hilter was found guilty of the Beer Hall Putsch, but let out after only nine months of prison time. Communism spread to China and tightened its grip on Soviet Russia. Fascist parties in Italy began winning elections. Hundreds of miners died in West Virginia coal mines. Riots and massacres occurred in Argentina, India, and Georgia. Earthquakes, fires, and tornadoes killed thousands of people from Japan to Hungary to Oklahoma. And least we forget Jim Crow was a thing. Prohibition was mid-swing. Only half the homes in US had electricity and indoor plumbing was uncommon. And Polio was a threat, small pox too.

My point is, the man above is wrong. Dead ass wrong. Though the world is crazy, it always has been.)

Nik Curfman 5/6/24 Nik Curfman 5/6/24

Vol IV: #63 Protesting Hypocrites

If the people of Israel don’t have right to their homeland, neither do we.

The conflict between Israel and Palestine is gut-wrenching and complicated. And I see the pain both sides carry, yet I do not understand why they continue to lash out at each other. Better asked, can’t they see how violence leads to more violence? I hit you because you hit me and you hit me because I hit you. Sounds like how me and my sister argued as kids. And the strong dominates the weak. Just how it is. What I do not understand is the logic and values we see coming from universities across the United States. I’ve seen protestors chant “death to colonizers” and “from the river to the see,” among many disturbing sentiments. And I wonder if they know: We are colonizers too.

If we back up to last October, this latest war began when Hamas (not to be confused with average Palestinian) invaded Israel and slaughtered thousands Israelis. The operation demonstrated a high level of planning and execution. With this in mind I’d like to ask Freshman Johnny Dumbdick would you support the invasion of your precious college campus by Native Americans? Are you to support the murder of thousands of your fellow students? The answer- if they dare answer- is of course not. And who would?

As I stated above, the real flaw is labeling Israel colonizers, deserving of death. If they truly believe that, then the most logical step would be to buy one-way tickets to the country of their DNA. White? Get yo’ ass back to the European country most represented in your genes. Black? Pick any country in west Africa you like. I hear Ghana is doing well. Chinese…sorry, you gotta go back and live under Xi. Etc. Each person leaves until there’s no one here but people with Native DNA. All ten million of them. Because whether you’re white or not, you are living under a country descended and continually benefitting from colonization. Right? So, stop being hypocrites, buy your ticket and leave. Go enjoy lower standards of living, repressive governments, and less rights. If the people of Israel don’t have right to their homeland, neither do we.

Nik Curfman 5/2/24 Nik Curfman 5/2/24

Vol IV: #62 Thursday Rant

My life would be easier if I were more chill, but that’s not who I am. When a friend continually mentions taking a trip to LA or suggests a meal I know they won’t attempt to make, I start to feel pressured. My shields go up and I practice yelling at them, zinging them and driving my point across with great force and eloquence. Why? I don’t know. Some people are better at rolling with the intolerable demands of others. I am not. (At least, not yet.)

I hate being asked the same question when my answer has been nothing but consistent. Usually, no. (I hate it so much that whenever I find a women willing to marry me I will not marry her until she understands. I’d rather die alone than married to a nagging woman.) And I take it upon myself to set the record straight with offending individuals who did not intend to offend. But once I’ve said my piece I expect change. The loving/respectful souls sort themselves out quickly and honor my request. The hardheads and dipshits bumble on, shocked when they find they are no longer part of my inner circle.

Admittedly, I don’t like feeling this way or confessing how angry I become. It’s silly. I’m silly. But also, I’m asking the offender to stop pestering me. And while I am a hypocrite in many areas of life, on this I am steady. Why can’t they be more chill and move on, Chinese water torture someone else with your expectations.

Nik Curfman 5/1/24 Nik Curfman 5/1/24

Vol IV: #61 Sons and Grief

I’ll never forget my weeping grandmother, her body slumped over a gray casket just before they lowered her youngest son into the ground. Through her tears, she cried “not my baby” as heavy raindrops fell. It was grief in it’s purest form, the suffering groan of her soul. And if you think it’s bad enough to lose a son so young, consider this: her baby boy, the last child of her womb, was the last of three she buried. On that day dreary, even at ten, I knew her tears and sorrow came from deeper place, one labeled “not again.”

Young men are reckless and stupid. And in our recklessness we try drugs, drive too fast, and misuse firearms. My uncle died from the head injuries sustained when he run his Ford Probe into a tree on a dark rocky country road. The hood had doubled back onto the vehicle, smashing the roof. That image kept me from trying alcohol for a long time, but not completely. Didn’t keep me from driving drunk and wondering how I got home. And to this day, I’m thankful I made it out of my early twenties. Thankful my mother and father didn’t have to plan my funeral too.

Why am I writing all this? Because, last week, another young man in my orbit, another early twenty something, died. And it’s sad, and nothing can make it alright. Not even the logic of knowing how young men are. His mother doesn’t care about all the other dumb boys. She asking all questions a mother asks, and grieving as she should. And I’m writing this because I’m tired of men dying and the reaction being one of passive acceptance. Young men don’t die like this in other developed countries, not at these rates and ways. And as a result, the life expectancy for men is dropping and it’s dropping fast.

This post isn’t the place for me to air my grievances with our culture or society, though they are legion. That’s for another day. (Public schools, I’m staring directly at you. You soul destroying pack of cats.) No. This post is about me trying to process some long held grief. When my uncle died, I cried for him. And this week I cried for all the mothers and fathers left to grieve.

Nik Curfman 4/30/24 Nik Curfman 4/30/24

Abstract: The Peak

A poem, about making the pain count.

The taller the mountain,

the better the views from the peak.

And this prize has a price,

of thin air and treacherous trail.

But all roads are fraught with unforeseen tragedy and pain.

So climb…or crawl if needed. One trembling hand over the other.

Because, there’s no point to all this sorrow, without the view from the peak.

Nik Curfman 4/29/24 Nik Curfman 4/29/24

Vol IV: #60 Proverbs Slaps

When I read Proverbs, I can’t help but feel like a fool. That whole book is full of “do’s and don’ts” and I feel like I tick the boxes on the “don’ts” more often than not.

Proverbs 17:12 says: Better to meet a grizzly robbed of her cubs than a fool hellbent on folly. (The Message)

Those vivid words caught my attention last week and I’ve thought about them since. In my mind I see an angry and desperate momma bear, growling and stood straight up. She’s sniffing the air and wailing. It’s a sight I prefer to imagine but never experience. And yet, the author of Proverb 17 says it’s better to stumble into such a moment than into the company of a fool.

When I read Proverbs, I can’t help but feel like a fool. That whole book is full of “do’s and don’ts” and I feel like I tick the boxes on the “don’ts” more often than not. And it’s good for me to see myself as such. Can’t improve or repent without first admitting the need for improvement and repentance. And fortunately, there’s no verse in Proverb about “once a fool always a fool.” People can change. I’m in some sort of process as we speak, have been for a while.

About damn time.

Nik Curfman 4/29/24 Nik Curfman 4/29/24

Abstract: True Talent

A poem, about the way I feel when I fall into self-sabotage.

I’ve slurped down a whole pint of ice cream in a matter of minutes,

And stood in a dark pantry, slamming peanut butter cups like a rat.

I’ve left texts unsent,

And parties unattended.

Spent money I didn’t have,

And all to avoid feeling bad.

And these are my minor sins,

Those I’m comfort admitting to my friends.

For I am a king of self-destruction.

Nik Curfman 4/19/24 Nik Curfman 4/19/24

Vol IV: #59 The Road

A book review? Sure. This is a review of The Road by Cormac McCarthy.

I finished reading The Road today. And it sucked. I hated the repetitive prose and predictable action. Additionally, we learn very little of our main characters, which was intentional. But mostly I hated the mind-numbing, often rambling, descriptions of the landscape and weather. Honestly, it felt like the author decided to play a trick on his readers- to write as annoyingly as possible while still being hailed as “genius.” And hailed it was, y’all.

“McCarthy's purest fable yet”
Entertainment Weekly in June 2008 named The Road the best book, fiction or non-fiction, of the past 25 years.
It[The Road] is remarkable for its acuity, empathy and insight.

What makes my verdict more enjoyable is knowing how well loved the novel was and is. Aside from the above, Oprah loved it and the damn thing won a Pulitzer Prize. How? I couldn’t fathom. During the entire read, one thought circled through my mind. If I wrote this for a college professor, they’d hate it. It’s not as though The Road was an artistic attempt, though the critics will say otherwise. I agree, the novel is an exercise by the author, though I object to what kind of exercise. I maintain, The Road is an attempt to strip a story down to its bones, and then describe those bones to you over and over and over, for 240 (weirdly oblong) pages.

Nik, we get you didn’t like it, but was it a good novel? Um, no. The Road is boring and long and makes me wish I didn’t read it. So, unless you like post-apocalyptic novels of an annoying persuasion…

Nik Curfman 4/19/24 Nik Curfman 4/19/24

Abstract: Odyssey of the Mind

A poem, about painful memories.

I was nine when they called my name and expected me to join my team on stage.

But I refused.

With every fiber of my being I refused.

And all these years later, I don’t know why.

We were being recognized for our performance in some brainiac competition.

And they wanted me to wear a shitty yellow jacket.

Odyssey of the Mind.

We designed tiny vehicles and raced them.

For one vehicle, a teammate stole a design from a college professor.

After the competition, same dude took the vehicle to an interview for a STEM program.

Today, Jared is an engineer.

I don’t think I’ve ever grown up, like a real adult should.

I think about childhood competitions and feeling embarrassed.

And I still feel embarrassed.

Nik Curfman 4/18/24 Nik Curfman 4/18/24

Vol IV: #58 Better Life, Not Together

I was confronted by two thoughts. The first was we don’t have much to complain about? And the second stood opposed to the first: do you really believe black people have nothing to complain about? The truth is both thoughts are true. Right? None of us gotta hunt and gather for our meals or sleep in caves. We use toilets and have clean drinking water. And, at the same time, I believe African American’s have a tougher row to hoe in 2024. Blacks suffer more violence, poverty, and own less wealth.

As I wrote the last few lines of my most recent poem (Remember What Was), I was confronted by two thoughts. The first was we don’t have much to complain about? And the second stood opposed to the first: do you really believe black people have nothing to complain about? The truth is both thoughts are true. Right? None of us gotta hunt and gather for our meals or sleep in caves. We use toilets and have clean drinking water. And, at the same time, I believe African American’s have a tougher row to hoe in 2024. Blacks suffer more violence, poverty, and own less wealth. Both are true. It’s a good time to be alive, just better for some than others.

But, you wanna hear a fun stat? The total wealth owned by blacks in America is worth $4.6 trillion. Which amounts a 4% of the overall wealth of the US. (That’s not a good number when you account for the fact blacks make up 13% of the country.) Now…the fun stat is this. If blacks in America were a separate country called Blackmerica, it would be the 17th wealthiest country in the world. Richer that Brazil, Russia, Poland, Portugal, Saudi Arabia, Hong Kong and lots more. Totally nuts when you think about it. And yet, they struggle to overcome the last lingering bits of racism, still present in the police stations and court rooms and schools.

Both are true.

Nik Curfman 4/18/24 Nik Curfman 4/18/24

Abstract: Remembering What Was

A poem, about what life was like for most of human existence.

Not too long ago, men slept in caves, hunted on foot with weapons made of sharp rock and bone,

And their wives stayed behind to gather what there was to pluck from the land, with children strapped at their back.

And this is the way it was for thousands of the years.

Family after family, the world over, men focused on food and tools and security.

Women, raised the next generation, taught them how it must be done.

Together they survived famines and war, floods and fire,

Endured slavery, oppression, and disease.

For thousands of years.

Thousands and thousands of years.