jonberger

On the Planet of the Eights on a deep blue sea.
This may not be the place for me.
Perhaps I belong on the planet of the Threes
where I might reside more naturally
but here I float, crooked and free
where I land as they stare at me uneasily.
I introduce myself through weird goatee.
They ain’t all models, but they’re a sight to see.

The people on the planet, they all look good.
They’re not quite perfect, but it’s understood
their imperfections will all reach a state
of minor inconvenience then dissipate – then they all look great.
I’m a minor celeb for a little while.
My shape is weird, but they like my style.
I’m an interesting figure so I get good press
then I fade from the scene and must quiesce.

I am lost on the Planet of the Eights!
They can all find more attractive mates!
I’ve got prospects for lots of hot dates!
My sexual opportunities are going great!
I am lost on the Planet of the Eights!

Can I stay in this place? Should I go?
My Clash tape won’t answer me Yes or No.
No decision is coming on my own
so I opt for chance to tell by flipping a stone.
Rough side leaves, and stay with the smooth side.
And then I figure out about taking the ride
off the planet, if I have the need
– which I have to since both sides had been keyed.

So I’m looking for a spaceship off this world
to get me safely to a place where Fives can be curled
up with their Six girlfriends safely in their beds
and not worry about being beat out every day instead.
I sneak out to their Space Station Dock
and I say, "Hey. Look over there!" and then I just sock!
the guard. He really takes it easy cuz he’s dumb.
They all are here. That’s life for Eights. It’s how it goes, it comes.

Now I’m escaping the Planet of the Eights!
They can live on in their ignorance of always lifting weights!
I’ll be home soon, eating carb-filled plates
back in my own United States
and I’ll be free from the Planet of the Eights!

The ways you describe yourself make me want to change.
Your issues in life
may have had nothing to do with mine
but the pains of your past
make me curdle sometimes
and I wish to cut parts off
to try to retroactively
fix you.

I think of offering you tasty slivers of flesh
as restitution,
suspecting it will do little good
but hoping it might please you
somewhat.

I just did a quick check
and was surprised to discover
that she was still at it.

A performer I haven’t seen
in at least six years
is still plying her trade
just at clubs markedly different from mine.

That’s really just as well.
If you don’t have anything nice to say
leave the room before you explode.

It looks like she’s doing well,
receiving applause
and winning awards.

There’s no reason
why everyone
shouldn’t have an audience
for their own form of art.

Better that there’s space for all.
It is a finer world this way.
All is good.

Excuse me, please.

Ever find yourself typing a word you didn’t mean to
and don’t want to have wasted the process?
Just recycle the word in your further writing!
Here’s how:

Say you accidentally wrote: frig when you didn’t mean to.

Just isolate the frig word and then introduce the letters into your text:

(ex. I wanted to go out with my friends g )

If you find there are excess letters of the word (like that useless g), then delete them, and go on with your day.

And that’s the art of recycling text.

Is it a waste of time and energy?

Absolutely!

Wouldn’t you be better off deleting the text and starting fresh?

No doubt!

Any other questions?

I am a conservative in the sense that I like to conserve things
in the sense that I like to save things
in the sense that I am a hoarder.

In this way,
when I have an idea,
I like to see it used
so that it isn’t wasted.
This is loss aversion.
In this sense I am a bad broker.

There were several sentences I just aborted
from a poem I killed
from a few days ago.
It went nowhere.
I’m not sorry to see them go,
as a better poem was written
but I thought for a minute
of trying to recycle the letters in other poems.
Recycling letters is a really bothersome process.
Even trying to explain it would cause a headache.
I’m going to conserve some brain cells
and just drop the matter here.

I have had too much ice cream this month.
I think many people in my immediate vicinity
have become aware of this.
To them I would like to apologize.

It has gotten dangerous.
Soon, we will be passed all this
If we survive that long.

The real estate agent was happy to get rid of it
because of the unfortunate name.
The land had been used by a cult for weird sex acts
– hence the name.

Now that I had the fornicators’ plot for my very own,
I wasn’t quite sure what to do with it
except to hope that my land’s value
would fucking multiply.

I have never been less than Zeke.
When I’ve been strong, he’s been weak.
I’m a cool dude, he’s a geek.
Relatively, I’m at my peak.

If you look at us, I’m superior!
Especially comparing our exteriors!
If you ask about our anteriors,
I’ll have to ask for a definition

but I have never been less than Zeke.
Don’t you compare me to that little freak.
If you like him better, you must be tweaked.
The boy’s too mild and milquetoast meek.

You can keep him and his books besides.
I don’t care if you like his insides.
Your choice is dumb. Who cares how you decides?
At least I still have got my prides.

I have never been less than Zeke…

In an effort to follow my therapist’s directionsand clear some of the filth from the apartment
I finally tossed the ancient copy of The Bell Jar
that I never read.
I’d tried it decades ago, got maybe ten pages into it.
It just didn’t stick.
Lots of books in similar states got the axe as well.
I’m trying to live a little bit lighter now.

Before the excess weight was lifted from my shelf,
I had been a bit darker.
More corrupted corners of the apartment
filled with piles that could not be occupied
as they were filled with god knows what.
There are still dozens of those,
but they’re diminished – a bit.

While living that slovenly life,
it is important to state that
I WAS NOT SUICIDAL.
However, I was not prepared to stick around
for all that long.
With the inheritance I would receive
when my mother eventually passes,
I figured I’d have enough to live off of
for a little while, and when that ran out,
so would I.
I’d have a good run, and then I could just
peter out.
I didn’t have details. I just figured that without funds
our capitalist system wouldn’t have a way to finance my survival,
so my end would sort of take care of itself.

Anyway, my outlook improved.
The days got sunnier,
I lost some weight,
I cleaned up my apartment,
I started writing some more
and everything turned around.
Maybe my medication changed.

In retrospect,
it’s almost certain my medication changed.
My mood is somewhere else entirely,
and my passive state has passed.
I’m somewhere else again,
looking out for places to go,
things to do,
and ways to engage
with the world around me.
How about you?

The ropes are tightened, dear. I’ve done what I have done because that is what you’ve asked.
But now that you are in this position, I’m afraid I must call you to task.
You see your bills haven’t been paid in quite some time; so we must talk.
And now that you are fully restrained there is no way that you can balk.

Alistair: let us discuss these matters here.
Alistair, your debts are clear.

It’s so funny to be seeing you here, in this state,
but I guess that it’s no different from every Thursday night.
I suppose that out of my leathers I must look a fright.
It’s just you’ve got to understand that for me the outfit is a costume, and little more
and if you are not able to pay for services, it’s not coming out of the drawer.
So back to basics:

Alistair: your payments are all well past due.
Alistair: interest has accrued.

We’d do some whipping here, if it would do any good,
but I suspect that it won’t.
I would raid your closets to see if you have cash, but
I’m sure that you don’t.
I’ve got the bully boys in the back to
destroy your facial design
but they won’t do it
if on your bank account
you’re willing to cosign.

Will you?

Alistair: I hope you will accept these terms, or
Alistair: go feed the worms.