Monday, April 24, 2017


Mystery of all mysteries, I sit in
this fabled chair, Again. Alone.
Like a tyrant or a fabled tiger
from Asia. Paper. Tiger. My
motto is, 'Let them do it alone.'
As the tattoo on Lanny's forearm
says. It's in a form of pidgin
English. Looks. More. Like
Gibberish. Or Dilligaf, which
was big in the biker world 50
years ago. Boy, I could never
get that one. 'Does It Look Like
I Give A Fuck.' Yeah, that's what
it meant but you were supposed
to know that and not ask. I
guess now the new kids use
LMFAO. Same thing?
Well, I gotta say, what do I care?
I dislike the world  -  was going to
say 'hate,' instead of dislike, but
why commit so wholeheartedly?
Especially if I'm not supposed
to care. Either way, six will get
you ten. Like the billboards used
to say, 'Things go better with Coke.'
Or, as they say it now, TGBWC.
What whacko shit is everywhere. 
No one knows me like I know 
myself, and I can't get anyone going
anyways. All today's kids want to 
do is meet their peers and disappear.
Me? I'd like to stay around : got gas
in the car, a bunch of stuff to read,
food to eat, and some people around
who love me, enough anyway to let
me be. And that's the main condition.
As. I. It. See.
I want to start a movement, begin a
revolution, preach insurrection to the
crowds. But I can't even get a nod
from an abbot; a freaking monk won't
notice me. Nobody reads what I write.
It dies like some bad fruit on a limb,
still hanging there by late November.
No one sends me cards or letters. The
real kind I mean, on paper and a stamp.
It's no secret where I live, I think I've
made that clear. Now, this late hour
beckons. Every Night. All. Over.
Again. I ought to do something
about it.  Get a new address,
I guess.
There's a bag of Kingsford Charcoal
on my neighbor's porch. They left
it there the other day, when the
delivery guys brought the new
Weber in. I could steal it, the
charcoal; but what would I do?
I've got nothing to burn and I don't
don't eat meat  -  that's the stuff
you grill, I suppose.
There are certain dichotomies I'm
always trying to divest myself of.
The bearer of life is the same
as the bearer of death. Two sides of
the whole. That's. Us. I. Figure.
Duality like that can pin-prick a
bubble and make it go out.

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