And there are days when you can’t feel the room for what it is.
When you can tell that you failed,
and then you talk to people afterward,
and they say, “Good job. I really liked that piece,”
and comment on specific lines,
showing they were paying attention.
It doesn’t happen often.
I think I have a good sense of what’s going on,
most of the time.
But there are occasions
where you don’t know
which end is up.
So maybe someone could direct me today?
In return the man sends words of thoughtful erudition
though wishes rather to send him directly to perdition.
His rhymes are timed and careful, quite polite and kind
and when you dig into them you can feel the rage behind.
Aashish seeks to avenge himself for wounds struck through art
and believes composing poetry will do its part.
He send out lines quite lyrical directly to his friend,
knowing oh so well that this is not where it will end.
Knowing oh so well that this is not where it will end.
There’s gonna be some difficulties coming up.
Some of the open mics I go to are starting to take pictures of the acts
and putting ‘em up on social media.
I’m a media whore as much as the next media whore,
but I’m afraid the pictures are gonna catch me up in something.
I was in Manhattan on Monday,
wearing this neat new guitar shirt
– got some compliments on it.
Pictures are up of me reading.
Now I’m reading on Wednesday.
I’m wearing this neat guitar shirt.
If I’m filmed wearing the same stuff,
I’ll just die.
Better get out in front of it.
This place changes when you’re around.
The rules change.
The dimensions seem different,
the shape of what needs to be done,
where and when.
It’s weird: it takes some getting used to
when you return
from your jaunts.
It’s hard to acclimate.
I’m not saying it’s a bad thing
but I’m not saying it’s not.
The sweat doesn’t fling the way it used to.
I don’t know why that is.
Do I not work so hard?
Is there just less weight to work with?
Am I no longer… a sweater?
I’d been a sweater all my life
just pouring that shit out of every gland.
Now, like PJ, I’m just left dry.
It’s not like it’s a bad thing.
It’s just not the me I know.
Who am I these days?
What is this creature I have become?
Like John Entwistle, who are I?
There’s no answers,
almost like Elvis Costello.
At first I tried to ignore them,
afraid that any attention I might lavish
would get one of them thinking I wanted to buy their wares
– not something I wanted to deal with in my neighborhood.
When they kept up their sales tactics through the pandemic, though,
I started trying to engage in conversation.
I approached an older lady.
She was dressed relatively modestly:
tight jeans, tight metal t-shirt, and open coat.
It was winter, so the coat was necessary.
“How’s business?” I asked.
“Not bad,” she said carefully. She’d seen me around. I wasn’t a narc.
“You seeing the same kinds of customers these days? The same kinds?”
She nodded thoughtfully, walking off.
“The dongs remain the same.”
I watched her go, dumbfounded.
The mask I wore for the Pandemic
was one made for me special
by a friend who has a way with a needle and thread.
Then I lost it.
The she made another.
Then I found the original again.
I guess there’s no harm in having more than one mask.
I really only maintained one.
Now, I tend not to wear any
even though it’s probably smarter to be safe.
It’s the Flitcraft Story,
all over again,
Where you get used to traumatic experiences,
and then get used to not traumatic experiences.
It’s a Hammett thing; you wouldn’t understand.
You think no one’s paying attention
but they’re paying attention.
They’re paying attention
all over you.
They’re paying attention to your back
they’re paying attention to your head
they’re paying attention to your chest
and parts that you’d not be thinking of:
earlobes, kneecaps, knuckles,
sweat lines, eyeglass crud, what have you.
They are paying attention, buddy!
Trust me.
I love it when I’m told what to do.
You should do that to me always. That’s my view.
Free will? Who needs it? It’s like Pooh!
Everybody’s got it, but we should flush it! Oooh…
If you’ve got some advice, give it to me, post-haste!
I need other’s thoughts to live by. Life’s too short to waste.
Just gimme what you got. Just a little taste.
I’m prepared to take it. I’m all strapped in and braced.
Instruct me. Teach me. Warn me. Give me all of your shoulds.
Provide me words to live by, if you would.
You’ve got the lessons for me; I know they’ll be good.
Give me what I need, when you could.
Thanks for all the tips; I’ll take what I can.
With all the things that you’ve said, I’ll become a new man!
Any minute now, I’ll transform by your plan
into brand-new work-of-art that just began!
It’s happening! A change beginning to start!
I’ll be something else. All thanks to you and your part.
I’m becoming a creature not like before.
Oh no! I feel the need now to ROAARRR!
YOUR SHOULDS HAVE MADE A MONSTER OF ME.
YOUR WORDS HAVE SET THIS CREATURE FREE.
BUT FOR YOU, I’D BE A NORMAL GUY.
AS THANKS I’LL EAT YOU JUST LIKE PIE!!
<crunch crunch crunch>
Delicious…
You know that Oreos stole their shit straight from Hydrox, right? I don’t know why there isn’t lard in the streets over this century-long feud that should be going across this land.
The battle should be raging,
but maybe the war’s already lost.
Oreo is the world’s most popular cookie.
What has Hydrox done for you lately?
I just hope that Hydrox has something planned,
some kind of late-in-the-game strategy
to take back the hegemony they deserve…
I’m not a strategist for my preferred team.
I don’t know anything, and if I did,
this warning would be giving away information to the enemy,
but Oreo, keep your creamy eyes open.
jonberger 