jonberger

Sweet little girl: so unassuming.
The kind of sort of lady that you’d never be presuming
would beat you ’round the bush with a flower or a tree
but she’s making enemies out of everybody.

Emma Mae’s into MMA.
She fucks around with the toughest kinds of folks.
Emma Mae’s into MMA.
She smacks fools while reciting awful jokes.

You stare at pretty Emma; as harmless as a flea!
That’s the way she looks if you don’t know her history.
She’s got her combat discipline that goes on back for years. She got the skills to make you ill. Enliven all your fears.

Emma Mae’s into MMA.
A girl the likes of which you’d love to flirt.
Emma Mae’s into MMA.
You’re walking straight into a world of hurt.

With barely any effort, she slaps upside your head.
Her fight technique repeatedly makes you wish that you were dead. She hits you with a kick. She kicks you with a hit.
You’re conquered while you drool over her tit.

Emma Mae’s into MMA.
She knows just how to make you feel impained.
Emma Mae’s into MMA.
With violence unrestrained she has been trained.

Little FiFi’s gonna die.
Look at that poor little Wiener Doodle rolling around in the grass, racing invisible particles wherever she smells them.
So care-free, so wide-eyed, our Little FiFi.
She doesn’t know, of course,
that her time is short.
That any day might be her last.

Oh, sweet FiFi:
enjoy these days as best you can.
Treasure your time
while you take your pleasure
free of pain,
ignorant of the future.

Sweet FiFi lives unaware of what is to come
unclear that there’s nothing to do
to avert her fatal fate
if she keeps barking like a jerk.

They speak of your powers
as far away as West 13th Street
– the East Side doesn’t know you.
They say you have the power to heal
with a touch.

I pray, will you use your gift
to cure me of my ails?
I hurt,
and I cannot find the means to cure myself,
not with bandage or pill
or drink or drug.
Nothing fixes me, mistress,
but perhaps you have the capacity to help.

Lay your fingers ‘pon my form, perchance,
and make me better.
Stop the pain.
Cease the distress that causes such sickness.
I have faith in your ability
and you
to work out my woes
and make my difficulties disappear.

I cry
in my soul
and I think that your touch could cure me.
Make it go away.
Relieve me.

Or a hand job would do the trick.

There are bad things out there.
Hell, there are bad things in here.
Temptation surrounds us.
It’s like everybody on the planet has a vice
– and I’m not talking Vance.

I’ve got friends who gamble,
who smoke, who fill themselves with grease or sugar.
There’s one fellow who shoots up essential oils on a daily basis. Everybody has a vice.
Me: I maintain a superiority complex
unjustified by even the thinnest strands of evidence.

I spend days deciding what the world owes me
because of my natural wits and wisdom
and my charm and adequate looks.
I am astonished
how things don’t constantly go my way
considering how worthy I am.

It is not a vice that has served me very well
at any point in my life.
This sense of superiority is unearned
but it is powerful.
As far as vices go,
it is perhaps the greatest.

Back when I was young
I would bike around and count all the other vehicles I passed. It was a competition, and I was winning.

Now that I am old,
and watch bicycle after tricycle pass me by,
I realize how unhealthy my behavior was.

I was not racing.
There was no need to compare to others.
I could chose to recognize my own accomplishments
without worrying about how others did.
“Eyes on your own test, Jonathan.”

I know better now
and live a wiser life,
now that I am the slowest rider in the city
watching bicycle after tricycle pass me by.

The way to wisdom is to learn to be right.
To do this, you must listen to yourself
– but only when correct.
Know when to keep the voices in your head at bay.
Internal reflection must be avoided at all costs.
Just quiet your personal demons and avert thought.

It is a danger to be too close to madness
and madness comes when you think too much
so don’t think
at all.

Take this lesson
and know it well
and don’t question it
for that would require thought.

You know it isn’t, but you say things are looking up.
You tell people you’re doing all right,
that it’s turning out fine
that the world is a glorious place to be
and you wouldn’t choose anyplace else.

You know it’s not true
but you think you’re being treated better
that your job is getting easier
your commute shorter.
You state that your suspicions are unconfirmed
and you don’t know what you were so worried about.

You believe, you tell everybody
that this might be the best year yet
but you know it isn’t.

There is a museum
dedicated to the archeologist Heinrich Schliemann
who they say discovered Troy.
It’s situated in Germany, at the house in which he grew uo
and features letters and excavation notes from his sites.

Is it weird
that there’s a museum
for the guy who got stuff for museums?
Isn’t it a little bit inside baseball?

Did Schliemann know anything about baseball?
Maybe cricket instead?
We could probably learn at the museum.

Maybe somewhere there’s a museum of museums.
Anything’s conceivable in this meta world.

You’ve got a problem you need solved and don’t know what to do?
Go to the block to see the guy whose office is on Two.
Walk stairs up and enter, he may offer you drinks.
You tell him ’bout your problem; he’ll tell you what he thinks.

Deadeye Sam: he’s your slam man and he loves Wham! – though George Michael leaves him cold.
He’s the best and likes to rest lying undressed – just like the days of old.
He’s Deadeye Sam and gives no damn about the Rams – it’s soccer he adores.
This guy is real; he’s the real deal. That’s how it feels: falsity he abhors.
He is… Deadeye Sam!

You want to get to Deadeye before he gets too drunk
and loses strength of bladder, or else you’ll smell his funk.
Sammy’s got his troubles. Yep, just like everyone
But he can get you out of jam when you’re under the gun.

He’s Deadeye Sam. He’ll dam the plans that find you jammed if you need him to.
If quick help you require, advance the pay he’s due
and get out of his way. He’ll save the day and say he planned it like that.
When you’ve got someone dogging your tracks, then Deadeye Sam’s your cat.

Do not judge
lest you
in turn
be judged.

You cannot
after all
spell odious
without Us and I.