A throw of the dice will never abolish chance. - Stephane Mallarme
I finally sat down and put this poem into “animated” form. I learned recently that this is the preferred term and Google friendly hashtag for this type of poety. I had been using "visual poetry”. Whatever.
I wrote it after a night of winning at the poker table and one of the regulars, the one-eyed Dane Henrik constantly calling my all in (and rebuying). He would sit there for a few minutes, sly, rye smile on his face, pushing his cards to his face up close and then taking them back, saying, “I gotta call …”. And yeah, finally he did call, again and again the same thing, me showing I had it and him just resigned to his fate, pushing the money my way, declaring he “hadta call”. Bless you Henrik.
But it is something we all fall into, this predestined action, rut. It isn’t even “amor fati” - it is actually the opposite of that. It is a resignation, a capitulation to the way you’ve been brought up, taught, enculturated, told you must be. So you swing to cultures steady push and you don’t protest cuz, “you hafta”. Slave mentality.
I’ve seen this kill men. Kill souls. Deaden people so they are worse than dead. I’ve seen a person pick at their wounds ‘til they died, cuz they “hadta”. Who makes it so? You don’t hafta do anything, none of that shit they feed you in grade school or applaud you for in high school or praise you for in adult school. You don’t hafta.
Grab hold of your wheel, drive your own bus. Figure it out on your own but only after you are first driving that bus … It’s your soul at stake, for god’s sake!
You don’t hafta.
Maybe Henrik will read this with his monocle. But he doesn’t hafta.
………………………………………………………
You Don’t Hafta
There is not a lot you really, truly
hafta do.
You don’t hafta marry that man.
You don’t hafta drink that last beer
or you don’t hafta not drink that last beer.
You don’t hafta shave or dye your hair or
buy groceries.
You don’t hafta get out of bed
or go to bed.
You don’t have to sign that deal
or get that promotion.
You don’t have to take a shower
or get another credit card.
You simply don’t hafta.
You can, but you don’t hafta.
You don’t hafta get that degree
or build a better mousetrap
or bring home all that bacon.
You don’t have to smile at everyone you meet.
You don’t have to take it on the chin
play those two aces
or do what they tell you,
buy a newer, newer car.
You don’t.
You simply don’t.
So, why do you?
Without a second thought?
I’m not asking you to drop out.
I’m just asking you to dismantle
their joystick.
I’m asking you to do
the one thing
you really, truly hafta do -
Love.
Love everything, everyone
as you should yourself.
The rest can wait. Or not.
You Don't Hafta [From The Archive]