jonberger

If there had been more matriarchiessome people think there might be less violence in society.
I don’t know if that would be true
but I’d be happy to be proven wrong.

She asked me what I thought about the song
and I said I liked it
but that wasn’t entirely honest.

I didn’t exactly understand it
and when I asked a couple questions
I understood why.

“You improvised the lyrics?”
“Yeah, I just sang what I felt,”
she said, “what seemed right in the moment.”

“So you didn’t have a plan?”
“Well, I knew what I was going to do…”
I nodded, as if that made perfect sense.

That made no sense to me at fucking all.
My concrete sensibilities could not parse the lyrics,
or that way to structure a work of art.

Going in without a plan would make something
formless, something indescribable, something
probably, completely senseless. Without sense.

Who could think under those conditions?
“It’ll take me a few more listens to get it, I think.”
I explained, and she nodded, ready to begin her next song.

We were talking about our favorite artist,and how it was a shame that it wasn’t reciprocal.
"I don’t think she likes me," he said.
"Well," he amended,
"I don’t think she appreciates what I do."
"I hear you," I replied,
"I go to her shows whenever I can,
but I don’t think I’ve ever seen her at one of mine.
I profess love for what she does, and she’s always polite,
always friendly to me.
But she’s never said anything one way or another
about what I do."
"Exactly!" he said, "Of course, it’s not about reciprocity.
Nobody has to like what I do. I get it. Still…"
I nodded. I got it, too.
At no point did I say to him or did he say to me
how frequently we had ever gone to each other’s gigs
– which could be calculated in goose eggs –
as we pondered why she didn’t love us enough.

We never got satisfactory answers.

The bottle rests at my side
as the television stares back
silent.
Alone again,
I fiddle with the player
looking for the right playlist.

I need hope
to be added to my life
where there is none to be found.
With a sad smile, I find what I’m looking for
and press the appropriate button.
Christmas songs in January will hopefully do the trick.

They play softly from the player
as I sip straight from the bottle
watching Lamont bicker with Fred.
This is the cure for what ails me, I’m sure.
Christmas tunes in January,
will get me back on track
eventually.

Until then,
more Fireball.

After my second gig
my father gave his review:
“Seemed like you repeated a lot of material.”
I looked over the spreadsheet
and I repeated maybe 33% of the pieces
from my first gig,
like three months before.

Compared to my musical compatriots,
that’s not bad.

Compared to comedians,
that’s astounding.
Still, two outta three wasn’t good enough
for my Dad
so I started working on trying not to repeat material
so I wouldn’t get called up by assholes like my ancestor.

I write when I’m inspired
but I do what I can to bring inspiration to my door
by giving myself time to write most days:
in the morning, in the evening.
Ain’t that fun?

I try to output all the time.
It’s been getting kind of crazy lately,
and I don’t expect to be able to perform all of this
unless I start performing a whole lot more
– not that my pop is around to give me crap anymore.
He wasn’t pay too much attention near the end, anyway.

She used to pull the hair out of the brush
and leave it in the ashtray
and he, when no one was looking,
would pull out a match
and light a match and set it off,
watching the follicles go up,
each independently,
until the full blaze caught
flaring and blowing in one final blowout.

He stopped doing it when she stopped smoking
and the ashtrays disappeared from the house.

Though he still loved the fire
he didn’t have the opportunity
to get it going anymore.

There may be a lesson here
for any who care

to learn it.

There is more than the bare minimum to complete, don’t you think? You could have just a little more than one single drink.
When you choose your tattoo, you don’t use clear ink.
If you’re gonna report the crime, go in whole fink.

I know you’re hearing my words, but feeling ambivalent
and wondering “What if going whole hog makes some cog act violent?” To that I would suggest you should be vigilant
but otherwise I’d advise you remain silent.

I hope you understand this one thing new
that I’ve been working really hard to impart all day, too.
This is the lesson to learn, I’m trying to tell you:
If you will choose to do a thing, do it all the way through.

I’m sorry I kept finishing your sandwiches.
I just saw you leave your bread
and meat on the table
and I felt a compulsion
to complete it.
I didn’t know what else to do.

But then, what were you doing?
Why had you just abandoned those items
there on the table?
What inspired your actions?
Why leave them things there
if we were not somehow in some sort symbiosis?

We are a team.
I know it.
We finish each other’s sentences sometimes.
Certainly we should be finishing each other’s sandwiches, don’t you think?

It took sixteen days
to get the burnt oatmeal smell out of the kitchen
and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get the marks off the wall but that’s just as well.

They match perfectly with the memories
of delivering the horrible-looking cookies to you
and your amazing reaction.

I’m so glad you liked them.
I’ll see you as soon
as I can bake again.

The world is not fair.
The world is not just.
We are a cruel people
through there are saints among us
seeking to teach us how to be.

Ringo Starr’s got blisters on his fingers
for the sins of the world
and you continue to cherrypick
all the peanut butter cups
out of the candy mix.

Todd Rundgren works,
rather than banging on the drum all day
and she just posted another scathing review
of another comic book
because they didn’t remember the Joker’s origin story.
Here’s a hint: there isn’t one Joker origin.
IT CHANGES EVERY TIME!

Elvis Costello keeps on writing that book
when he really could have moved on to touch typing by now.
Meanwhile, what are we up to?
We’re watching the Saw franchise.
Why are we watching the Saw franchise?

Our heroes are doing everything
and we are failing them.
It’s wrong.
We are wrong
and Ringo has blisters.