Since my childhood my Dad has always repeated this phrase to me in hope I would just abandon all my negativity and smile. Yes, it appears to be a good motto…I mean wouldn’t life be better if one just lived without that wretched thing called worry? Unfortunately, at least I found, it really is impossible to not worry about things. You have to worry about your future, if your income is steady, if you’re being reasonable spending a whole day in bed watching documentaries about serial killers, if you’re keeping up with all your friends, if you chose the right education path, if you’re healthy enough, if the world is going to shit, if you would survive a zombie apocalypse…you know, important stuff.
So, I wrote a piece using word association and phrase manipulation that picked apart that cute little saying ‘Don’t Worry Be Happy.’ It’s sort of like ‘Ignorance Is Bliss,’ isn’t it? If you just forget or turn a blind eye to the things that upset you, you’ll be alright, yeah?
(I would also like to note that even though the phrase bugs me, I still like Bobby McFerrin’s song.)
Happy Don’t Worry Be
Don’t worry, be happy. Worry not and happy you will be. Walk lot’s by the sea.
Short locks sway in the breeze. Cheese blocks and chocolate cake. Ink blots and total escape. Immersion costs but worry not, laughs are cheap and set us free. You won’t be sorry, you will be happy. The phone is ringing, your hair is thinning. The paper tower is getting higher but the kettle is on and your tongue’s on fire. You just got shat on, the car won’t start. The kids are crying and music the sucks. Despite the fact you’re slowly dying, dinner is ready and your dreams flying. Smack into the windshield, knuckles white, sunset swooning and muscles tight. Lovers moaning and sweat is pouring, doctors delivering and fathers snoring. The shorts are short and so is life, but not the queue or the bills or your strife. Don’t be sad when you can be stupid. The world is flat and god is forgiving, so lets see a play, play a board game, board a cruise ship and be happy.
They gathered with a wicked air and tools,
A duty which defiles the man of form.
The imprecation cast from metal stools,
They felt through gloves on skin no longer warm.
The man was just a man, of twenty-five.
His hair was light, his eyes were dark and glazed.
A man who lived when he was once alive
Now faced intrusion, like a patient fazed.
Could death destroy the beauty that is life?
She wondered as the scalpel pierced through.
A dozen men had been under her knife.
Not one had gasped in horror, that she knew.
A monologue she had prepared in thought
Romanticised the fantasy she sought:
‘My eyes had never seen such pulchritude
As which beheld your angelic figure.
At hands of gods were you sculptured in nude
And glowing with fortuitous lustre.
Just like a king commanding jesters’ dance,
I waited on your soul, your mind, your breath.
The cataclysmic build up to the chance,
A disconcertment leaving me bereft.
Earths gravity asphyxiating us,
Though you were far from the sterility.
Your smooth surreal skin remained lifeless,
Fluorescence had disturbed tranquility.
Absconded life early and not complete,
As I bequeathed the cloak-like ghostly sheet.’
Meet me back at the base camp
Where we held back uncertainties
Gagging on the cloves of garlic
The shadow of the summit
Creeping with the breeze
See our footprints getting shallow
So fast we fade away
Rations small and tensions rising
Not what I wanted
Especially not that way
The fog ahead is thick and daunting
I clamber for your hand
I fall and take your glove with me
That’s all I have now
I hope you understand
Feel like this can’t be the end of us
Too far from where we came
A Polar Bear in Central Park Zoo
Some things aren’t meant to happen
It’s tragic all the same
Meet me back at the base camp
Before I got reckless
We’ll find heat in the freezing weather
I will be watching for
Your call of distress