jonberger

I find the greatest joy in the grips of a manic episode.
Not when I’m aware of it, certainly,
but when I find myself losing control
to a certain hysteria,
becoming encircled within swirls
of my own racing thoughts
wondering what, of a hundred things,
I should do,
thinking through a variety of firing synapses,
not sure which pin to prick first.

I think this is the best state.
It is a dangerous state.
It is an unwise state.
It is one that is soon to be followed
by crashes and clashes with authority.

Things will go bad soon after.
Disaster cannot be far behind.
None of this stops it
from being an amazing state
to experience.

I miss the mania.

Hal Sirowitz talks funny.
I couldn’t get it out of my head.
Jesse Thorne looked funny.
I couldn’t get it out of my head.
Joseph Heller looked ancient.
I couldn’t get it out of my head.
Thom Jones read poorly.
I couldn’t get it out of my head.
All these people being exactly who they were,
as they were meant to be,
proved distracting to me.
Better I hadn’t investigated them so closely
and enjoyed them more in the abstract.

Better, at least, in theory.

She’s not coming.
In a flash you realize this
as you gaze out into the depth of night:
you will be alone this dawn
as you were yesterday.
You didn’t notice it then,
but you will feel it now.

She said she’d meet you
but the truth has come
in your flash of revelation
while you stare in the midrange
awaiting here.
She’s not going to arrive.
You’re anticipating nothing at this hour.

Soon you’ll get the notice
that something came up.
Soon you’ll hear that she’s sorry
she couldn’t get away
you can try another day.

You’re glad to hear from her at all.
Sighing, you walk back to the car
and head back home
knowing you will return here
later.

In the darkness, I breathe easily.
Sleep comes naturally at night.
Gasping isn’t required
for an evening’s repose;
just softly snoring.
I rest well now.
Things have changed.
I sleep
good.

There once was a little boy who never bent, not in any way.
He was ramrod straight, and never deviated from any position
at any time.

This was very hard on his family,
particularly his mother.
From the start,
those around him found him difficult
to get along with.

“Would you like an apple, Billy?”
“William. And you know I only consume breast milk.”
“You’re eight, William, I haven’t produced milk for years.”
“The neighbor girl looks like a good candidate. Bring her on by.”
“She thirteen. She may not be ovulating yet. I know she hasn’t had children.”
“Look at her tits, though!”
“William, are you sure you’re eight?”

It was strange that that Billy could see the neighbor girl, since the boy couldn’t bend.
He couldn’t leave his bed.
He could only stand if someone pushed him up,
which got harder, the older he got
and, as he was so contrary,
few wished to do anything for him.

“Would you like to hear some music, Bill?”
“It’s William, dammit, and unless the tunes I heard in the womb,
I don’t care for it.”
“What did you hear in the womb, then?”
“Whale sounds.”
“Pardon?”
“Well, they sounded like whale sounds – from the inside.”
“Maybe it’ll sound like that… if we put a bag on your head.
Shall we try?”
They did not try.

The boy who did not bend stayed that way
for a long while,
until someone finally got tired of his antics
and then bent him in two.

Yeah, I dunno,
I was there, but…
I don’t feel good about it.
I was a fluffer, I guess, but he said he didn’t need it,

and it was true.

The guy claimed he could do these girls in an hour,
and these quintuplets
– gorgeous girls, straight out of AI –
were down to clown.
I was there to provide him support, if it proved necessary,
but he was able to act independently
without any kind of additives or reinforcements whatsoever.

The thing is,

he was like a jackrabbit.

He was done in like four strokes,
finishing on bellies and legs,

then on to the next lady.
To say they were unfulfilled
is to give credit to the concept of unfulfillment.
He didn’t seem so satisfied, either,
but he had a job to do,
and he moved on
with quick efficiency.

He was done in like eleven minutes.
Chilling is the best word I have for it.

Disappointing is a quick runner-up.

Guy won the bet,

but no one came away from the day proud about what they experienced.
I… I really don’t like talking about it.

Can I go now?

And after a brief time on holiday,
with everything turn in its different ways
on different schedules,
with new plans
and varied ideas
“just to try something new,”
we’re back to the tried and true,
the understood methods.

We’re back to the usual.
It is good to go back to the regular, is it not?
It is fine to be regular, I suppose.
Schedules have their purposes.
You know what is right, that way,
and what is wrong.

You know these windows and walls
can only hold me back so long.
These accommodations,
fine as they are,
will not be the sort that will prove enough
to satisfy
in the long run.

Eventually, I will choose to adapt
to a different lifestyle,
and may opt for a life on the run.
I’ll go somewhere else,
somewhere further afield
and not come back to where I come from
not for a long, long time.
Not ’til I’m done.

There are places to see,
people to meet.
Odds to cheat,
monarchs to greet
to whom I really ought to beat feet.

Perhaps it’s time to go already.
I do believe I’ve already outstayed my welcome.
I thought you for your hospitality,
but I think it’s time to go.

No reason to put a mint on the pillow
or anything more.
Do let the state now
I thank them for their welcome,
but I’m afraid it’s time to bid adieu.

Next time, perhaps.

Sometimes, social media reminds meof a friendship from an ancient past
that has been technically rekindled through social media
but never actually followed through on.
We agreed to maintain contact
like through some distant radio signal
that we’ve never turned off
but never really used.
It’s there for emergencies only,
just in case.
I don’t know what situation will arise for us to reach out.
He’s a round-the-world single-dad widower.
When will our lives cross again?

His songs were amazing
and he was a gentle soul.
We spent an overnight in the presence of a beautiful, funny woman.
I watched him help her with her pain.

There’s always the option to reach out to each other;
social media affords us that.
Until one of us is burnt out, we can always just make contact.
There is that to keep in mind.

The next time you’ll dance
will be at a wedding.
It will not be yours.
You will be a plus one,
there as stunt casting,
to give the invited one more breathing room
at further events,
but you may charm the family
with your absurdist ways.
Venture carefully.
Avoid leg cramps.

The suit may already have tears
that you might want to investigate
before the affair
– lest they result in unfortunate
(but comic) circumstances.

You may prove allergic to certain poisons
– which will prove to have life-saving consequences.