jonberger

Dude: I am so sorry
for fucking your girlfriend.
I don’t know what came over me
other than an overwhelming urge
to ejaculate unprotectedly
into someone to whom
you recently declared eternal love and appreciation.
Looking at your face right now,
I feel guilty about it,
believe you me.

I feel like I owe you something.
You want me to get you a smoothie?

Of course, I’m not the only one due an apology.
She holds some responsibility too
your little girlfriend there.
She’s the one suggesting we do it in your bedroom
me wearing the your hat
which I thought was a little weird
but exciting, too,
you know what I mean?
Anyway…

I wonder if it would make you feel better
to see the pictures we took?
I could send you the link
if you’d like…

Look:
in retrospect,
I see the error of my ways
and have learned my lesson.
In the future,
I will not fornicate
amongst your friends and family
at least without permission.

But again,
please accept my apologies.
I’m sorry for sexing up your girlfriend
and your grandma
and your son.

Jonathan Berger is one of those artists you should see
at least once in your life
and at most every fucking day.
He’s a phenomenal writer
and performer
and drug dealer
though that’s probably best left for another article.

Berger performance at the Sidewalk Cafe
on September fourteenth, 2012
was a good one for him
but an incredible one for the audience
who heard him recite pieces on subjects as varied
as how lonely he is
how much he wants to date someone
and how much his chins seem to shake.

The audience laughed
at his witty lines
but secretly wept
at the aching beauty
of what he read
on September fourteenth.
They public was wowed by his poignancy
and swore to do what they could for him
as soon as they could.

I am no frequent consumer of live sex acts,
but
when the six adoring fans
came on stage to fellate Berger
there was something magical about his capacity to share
– and the size of his penis?
That’s best left for another article.

All in all, Jonathan Berger’s show
September fourteenth – tonight
that you are about to see –
was fantastic, fun, and fulfilling
nothing that I expected
and everything I could hope for.

You should pay double the ticket price.

You look like the kind of girl
who has lost her sense of standards
who has been pushed down by reality
a little too long.
You look like the kind of girl
who has weathered the wars
of what society has to offer
and come out the other side stronger – maybe.

You seem like someone
who’s been called a bitch with some frequency
and come to own it.
You strike me like a girl
who has been scarred,
victimized,
beaten badly by beer-headed boys
before.

There’s been hurt and harm
and some hearing damage
done to you,
I sense.
You’ve lived a long time
in a short time
and
it appears you’re ready for more
if your damaged heart
will allow any near you.

And
though I recognize so much about you
much that is familiar
much that I understand
the answer to your heart
is beyond me.

I am sorry
that I have been so quiet
and that I have been so distance
and that I have spoken the truth so infrequently
and that I am mumbling right now.
I am very sorry
about what I’m about to say
and even more sorry
about what you’re about to hear.

What I am want to explain
is going to be hard to take in
for you especially
as you are unused
to receiving hard truths
from me
or anyone who cares about you.

But it’s time
and it’s time for me to take it on
and I wish I could avoid it for longer
and hope that you take it better
than I know you will.
I want this to be over
more than you know.

I want to tell you good things.
I want to tell you lies.
I want to make you happy
instead of what is going to happen
which may well be the polar opposite.

And you’re getting antsy
as I beat around the poles
with this inexact escape
and you wait for me to tell you
what I am so afraid to say.

Please, forgive me.
And remember
I didn’t want to do this
but
that book does make you look fat.

I am removing all the married women
from my Facebook feed.
Life’s just too short, you know?
I don’t have time for these uptight bitches
who had the bad taste to marry
– and refuse to fuck anyone but –
their husbands.

I mean, maybe I should give them their due
and check if any of their profiles
show any Likes for Extra-Marital Affairs
or Polygamy For Beginners
or Fucking Fat Dudes.

Perhaps I’ll keep the ladies
who have left promiscuous photos
up on their sites.
I can always use the wank material
even if it doesn’t take me as far as it used to.
The days I used to spend masturbating
are now the seconds I fill with regret.
But
I digress.

I am doing some spring cleaning online
where it will do me the most good.
I will become celibate
– electronically
which is good as the real thing
– virtually.

So if you stop seeing my posts
and my propositions
and my Invites for late-night meetings,
now you’ll know why.
Unless you’d already Blocked me
in which case,
I don’t know what you’ll think
or if you’ll even notice my absence.

Shouldn’t you be writing?
Shouldn’t you
be holed up somewhere
with a pen, pad, and a hatful of thoughts
beating them into submission
hammering their shape
into what you require?

Shouldn’t you be smashing distractions
crushing obstructions
demolishing all delays?
Why are you evening listening to me speak
when you should be sitting in some corner
composing to completion.

This is what you want:
to be the great creator
the dedicated designer of big ideas
the writer dude
and you won’t become that
on dates
or in front of the TV
or at work
or anywhere away
from your writer’s desk
so get to it
and become want you want.

Stop fighting.
You should be writing.

Did you hear about this?
Apparently, Nancy fucked Steve
while she was still going out with Sid.
It’s not like they talked about it
but it’s not like they hid it either.
Can you believe this shit?
I thought they were solid.
I thought they were good.

I thought that they
were a couple
you could rely upon
when you think of the greats,
like Frank and Ava
Juliet and Romeo,
Bruce and Dick.

I was so sure
that theirs was a love
of the ages
but now I have doubts.
Nancy wasn’t true,
and maybe that’s why Sid had to have it
his way.

There is a storm
with attendant rains
and thunder
and forceful gales
that the sane would sooner avoid
and you are out
and you are driving.

You have pierced the eye
and are hurtling well into worse weather
because a girl who is cute
said maybe she’d meet up with you
at this club in Staten Island.
You have boroughs to bound through
on a gallon of gas
and one weak windshield wiper.

It is stupid
this quest you’ve begun.
You hate Staten Island but
you liked the girl’s smile and
you suspect
she might just possibly like you.
Will this voyage be worth it, though,
if you hit a deer or a kumquat
or whatever runs loose in these outer boroughs?
Time will tell.

You shouldn’t be out and about.
You should be home, alone
with your ancient DVD collection
considering the romantic comedies of yesteryear.
Things worked out in those films.
Things are safe for the viewer.
Nobody dies on a damp
apocalyptic road in the hopes that a girl might smile at him again.

You should turn around.
You should flee the storm.
You should get out of this borough
and head back from whence you came.

But you won’t.
It’s clear you’re in for the long haul,
through rain, storm, and gloomy night,
you are off to see that girl.
What is it they say about fools and lovers?

Maybe she’ll tell you.

I think you’re avoiding the issue.
I think you’re defying my will.
I think you know what I’m talking about
even as you say “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Why aren’t we talking
about that girl
you introduced me to last night?
That girl
who fueled every dream I’ve had since
and a couple of fruity nightmares.

Why aren’t we speaking about Natalia?
Why aren’t you telling me
where she is this very minute
and her itinerary for the next seven weeks?
She’s the type of girl
who should be talked about.
She’s the type of girl
who should be slept with.

Can you believe we’ve been chatting on
for fourteen minutes now
and you haven’t once provided me with her birthday,
her dimensions
address and sensual preferences?
Where are we: Leningrad?

Natalia is our topic.
Natalia is our theme. Natalia is what we will discuss today
and forever more.
I need to know more.
I wish to stare at her from aclose,
she with the perfect chest
simply perfect Amerasian breasts.

She is the drug
and you are the supplier,
or, at least, my connection.
So: connect me.
Tell me about Natalia.
Who is she seeing?

Ah.
I see.
Well.
Did you see the game last night?

You remember
when you did that volunteer work
in the barrio
by the expressway
with the hookers
and their diseases
and the abuse?

You remember trying
to convince me
how endangered
the population was
how oppressed the women were,
forced into this life of servitude and sexual degradation?
You remember attempting to enlist me
into the cause?

You do?
Do you remember where you used to find those whores?
It’s just
I’m so lonely
and I really need someone
to talk to.

Also
can I borrow fifty bucks?