jonberger

So
I fired the band.
It seemed like the obvious choice.
They can’t seem to follow simple instructions
like learn the songs
or come to rehearsals
or agree that they’re in the band.
So
yeah.

I gave ’em all the boot.
If they can’t be bothered to work with me
I didn’t really see any choice.
I’m on my own again
looking for some expert players
who can back me up.
I’m hoping the new line-up
will be a little more experimental
so
I’m hoping for
lead triangle player
first and second kazoo
a sousaphoney loop master
and autoharpist extraordinaire.

Together
we’ll try to reinterpret
The Great Canadian Songbook
assuming anyone can read Canadian.
I think there’s a real market for this.
So
any takers?

The cats
the gerbils
the fish and the macaw
all look at her
with loving eyes
as she comes into their home
after a long day away.

They are patient.
They are kind.
They are adoring
in their demeanor
and make no demands
as she fills their various bowls
and tanks
and, in one cat’s case,
long-finished spam cans
with the spice of life
the music of taste buds
the dinners of the day.

They show their thanks to her
and go about their business
whether in cage or tank
or running about
free as birds
– except for the macaw
where the simile falls flat.

The animal kingdom
that she oversees
speak no ill of their mistress
for they all know
that the day she forgets to feed them
is the day they set the plan
for her long-awaited murder.

I think someone should pay me
to do things
for money.
I’d like some of that
money thing.
It pays the bills
you know?

I could do most anything:
answer phones
wash dishes
cook toast
write epic dank memes
– whatever you need.

Or
maybe it’s not you.
Maybe your parents
might need a hand
in their business or home
or, I don’t know,
in bed?
I’m good there too.

Look
I just think it’s time
I start paying for things
you know?
For a change?

Anyway
if you could pass word
to the boss or whatever
I’d appreciate it.
I’d like to get word out
so I’m in with all the heads.

And give me the word
as to when I can start.

Apparently, it’s three AM again
an hour I hoped not to see again
so soon.

There is little
I can accomplish
at such a time
with the shakes and confusion
this hour often brings.

I am tired.
I am grumpy.
I am cantankerous and angry
and wish there was a way
I could get past this
and get some sleep or
at least
some calm.

I wish there was some way
to get to you
but
you will be asleep for hours yet
as it is later still
where you are.

Luckily
there are chores to do.
There are always chores
to carry me through.
Fucking chores…
Call me.

Your self-accusations are now tiresome and weak.
You may think that you’re different – even lesser, when speak
-ing of ailments, dilemmas and troubles by the score.
You call yourself bewitched – or maybe something more.

But you am not a vampire despite what you might wish.
Sure you live nocturnally so you can accomplish
all the things you wish to do in hours sans a sun
but you’re not any vampire, even when all days are gone.

Think: don’t you dine on garlic every meal?
And when you look into a mirror, what does it reveal?
Is it a blank? Are you so pale – without concealer placed
on every gothic part of you, from toes up to your face?

Nope! You’re nothing but a faker of Transylvanian accents
who claims to be a creature of underworldly descent.
You may pray to dark gods for wishes yet received.
Still: you am not a vampire, despite what you believe.

Another verse might sell this point far more appreciably
of spectators unsuspecting who both saw and didn’t see
your fangs attached, your red contacts, with which to hypnotize
any brain-undead who could be led to swallow lies.

No, you am not a vampire nor ever shall you be
– unless you study Ann Rice and her ilk more carefully
and it’s doubtful that you’d do that, what with all the trends you buck.
So you am not a vampire – though quite often – true – you suck.

I’m going a different way
the ant says.
I’ve stopped hoarding
I’ve stopped worrying
I’ve stopped living for tomorrow
when there’s so much of today
to be spent.

I am no longer judging
the ant says.
I am not looking at my neighbors’ paper.
I am going about my business and
mandammit
I am having fun!

Industriousness
the ant says
is all well and good
so long as you don’t crack your mandibles
in its honor.
I am trying another thing.
I am seeking not just to live
but to thrive.

That’s great
the grasshopper responds
and I respect your decision.
Now
if you’d just let me in…

Sorry
the ant replies
I need my Me time.

There’s got to be an expression
– in techspeak –
for the situation
where two people are texting each other
and they both try to write the same thing and one person writes it first and the other doesn’t want to bother pushing Send
but wants acknowledgment
that they were thinking
along the same lines?

(this happens to me a lot
because I have fat thumbs
and often have to edit my texts
for better effect)

I often write “Greats minds”
but that suggests the other person
has a great mind
and wasn’t just faster on the draw.
There’s got to be a couple letters
that will make the point
and allow the conversation
to go
to flow
to move onward
to its natural progression.

If I can coin that phrase
collect those letters…
If I can own that trademark
then think of the millions
I will take in.
Imagine –

What?
It exists?
You coined it a minute ago
and already trademarked if?
Great minds.

Some days
are worse than others.
Some days you can sense all of the crap
rising around you
that you have to cut through
just to survive the hours.

Some days
you can feel the palpable pain
and misery
coalescence around you
and swirl into a maelstrom of chaos and shit
and surviving the hours
is no longer worth considering.

Some lousy days
may make you wish
there were no more.
But bad as these days may be
it could be worse.

You could be dead.
You could be one those dead children
from one of those freakface songs
simply singing
about your prematurely truncated lifespan
verse after verse
after endlessly atrocious verse.

You could have been the child
of a loving couple
that never met
on our plane of existence
an aborted ghost
of an alternate fate
who ethereally wanders
wondering why
she isn’t here.

You could’ve been a zombie
or a vampire
or a were-cat or were-wombat
or were-washerwoman!

Amanda asks. Amanda insists.
Amanda demands attention.
Amanda commandeers conversations
requires cooperation.

Amanda implores for information
for opportunities.
Amanda wheedles
Amanda needles
Amanda needs this, that
and the other – all the time,
obviously.

Amanda wants to destroy me
decimate and desiccate me daily
devouring all that I are.
Amanda wants to absorb me
taking in all my best qualities
and then shitting them out
after use.

“Take me there!” Amanda announces.
“Give me that!” Expresses Amanda
before finally fulminating
with a furious “Feed me…”

Amanda argues.
Amanda inquires.
Amanda importunes every single instant
of every individual hour
of each and every year.

Amanda is exhausting.
Amanda is everything.
Amanda yearns to get on top.
Often,
Amanda gets what she wants.

I think
that I am done
making assumptions about your wants and needs
likes and dislikes
hates and loves.
I am tired
of trying to get inside your head
and heart
and searching for my place.

You know what you’re doing.
If you don’t
I suppose you never were the one
and anyhow
if what I offer isn’t your cup of tea
it makes more sense to me
to search for other fish
in the China Sea.

I can’t make you like me
the way that I want.
I can’t force your dial
to spin in my direction.
I can’t invest all my energy
all my time
all my willpower
in overcoming you
making you bend toward me.
It’s not worth it.

You know where I am
if you change your mind
but for now
I am going to devote myself
to hoping that you don’t.