jonberger

The Doric columns in the park
stand tall, showing what civilization could be
while human beings mewl underneath it
showing what civilization is.

It is a beautiful day
but the people are never satisfied
with what is before them
and they always ask for more.

Even I sit, at a distance,
judging others
for being so judgmental.

What has become of us all?

Were the Greeks like this?
Of course they were!
Civilization, in all its myriad forms,
has been horrible
from the start
and will be horrible
to the end.
On that we can rely.

Thank you for enjoying our media presentation.
We hope you learned about communication.
If you find you have come to mentations,
we would appreciate any donations.

Thank you, yes.
Breathing helps, got it.
I appreciate you, yeah.
No, I think I’ve got it under control.

OK. Let’s try communicating again
(Thanks for the paper bag, by the way)!
We can communicate with one another
by saying things
of mutual interest
(The time out really worked).

How are you?
I am fine.
What’s going on?

I am fine.
What’s going on?

After realizing I’m doing all right
in my last piece
I’ve calmed down quite a bit.
I realized since I’m communicating,
everything’s going all right.

So what’re we up to?
Wanna make a banana cream pie?
I dunno how
but I’ve got bananas
so the rest has gotta be easy, right?

Bananas is fun to say
and easier to spell than Mississippi, innit?
Bananas.

I’m losing control of the ship here,
aren’t I?
This doesn’t quite seem like communication
so much as idiotic ramblings at this point, huh?
Shit, what am I doing?

How am I gonna get this ship back on track!?

In my efforts to communicate
I’ve entered the present tense
and have found little better rewards.
Why does this have to be so hard?
Fuck. Shit. Damn!

Well, cursing hasn’t done the trick either.
Daggone it!

Allright, I’ve driven off to the bones
of a former commune
to see if that
might help me.

It’s all coming from the Latin communis,
for common so it’s clearly all about sharing.
I guess so long as I’m sharing with you,
I’m keeping the vision alive, right?
Cool. In your face, haters!
I’m doing it right!
Communication is happening.
Fuck you, then!

And then he began to struggle.

He found he had nothing to say
on the subject he’d selected
to say quite a bit about
as if he opted to write a thesis
in a language he didn’t know.

What he had here,
he realized,
was a failure to communicate.

Would that stop him
in his quest for the day?
Would that slow him down one instant
as he strode forth as a polemicist?
Yeah, probably.

This could have been better thought out…

Perhaps with less distance between his subject
he could approach the matter better.
If he got closer, and addressed the matter
two people more personally
maybe he – sorry, maybe I –
would find something more to say.

Shit. Still nothing.

In a flash it came to him:
It was all about communication.
Everything he was writing was about it
all writing was about it
– hell, all writing was a form of it.

He would dedicate all his artistic efforts
for the day to the theme of communication!
“So, like, a donation program?” he asked himself
somewhat wittily, then tried to smack himself
for the remark.

No, he would make every effort to write
exclusively on the theme of communication
for the rest of the day.

He looked forward
to just what
this would open up for him!

You say our days are over. We had our time; we enjoyed our span.
I say what are you talking about? How can it end? We never really began!
We have started something special. We are living as potential. You know we can grow.
Believe in me, just like I believe in us. We have so much to discuss: don’t let us go!
You can’t end our life together – not until the ninth of never. We have so much more to finish today.
You and I, we have our missions, and just like atomic fission, we are building up something – always!

We just fit; we are it – though you’re smart, I’m half-wit.
Just admit we’re close-knit, and commit. We can’t split!
Complement, we two do, I know you, you do, too.
This is true: I’m your crew. Get a clue: we’re not through!

Here’s the thing: we work perfectly as a team. You know we mesh like a pure dream. It just rocks.
You must see that magic’s in all that we touch. To have that done, just out of your clutch? Why block it?
You spin the gold which I then package. You build the train, I lay the trackage. We work great!
Our group of two is just fantastic. And you’ve not done anything drastic! It ain’t too late!
And you think there’s something missing; a part I may be dismissing. You suspect you could do better? You’re wrong.
I am your final pieces – like the chocolate in your Reese’s – which is why I’m out here singing this damned song:

We just fit; we are it – when you’re dim, I’m well-lit.
Just admit we’re close-knit, and commit. We can’t split!
Complement, we two do, I know you, you do, too.
This is true: I’m your crew. Get a clue: we’re not through!

So I’m there in elementary school
in the bathroom
at the urinal.
I’m standing there, finishing up,
zipping up, and walking away
and the janitor – who hopefully isn’t perving
as he watches me –
says, “You didn’t flush.”

I stop in my tracks. “That’s right.”
“Go flush the toilet,” he says.
“We’re in a drought, I respond,
“Not supposed to flush for pee in a drought.”

We’re probably supposed to respect adults,
but this is the Upper West Side of Manhattan,
and I’m a snotty white eleven-year-old who knows everything
and anyway, I’m right.
We shouldn’t be wasting water.
The janitor takes me to the vice principal.

“We’re in a drought,” I say, “We shouldn’t be flushing for pee.”
Mister Peck looks at me with kind eyes
and says, “I understand, Jonathan, but if nobody flushes the urinal,
then it permanently stains, and Mister Urquat’s job gets much harder.”
That was a side of the issue no one had mentioned
but has nothing to do with what I’m saying.
“So please flush the toilet from now on, all right?”
I don’t respond, but get up to go back to class.

I continue to piss as I see fit
– but I’d try not to stain shit – or piss – anywhere.
No need to make anyone’s job harder.

Well, time’s up.
We’ve been at this for quite a while now.
I think that it has been firmly established
and now we can safely say you are the bads.
You’re the real bads.

We’ve talked it through; I’ve looked at you
from every possible angle. I don’t have to tangle
with you anymore, looking for a way to find
your good side. There isn’t one.

There isn’t something sweet that makes you
"worth my time." I’m ready to drop you on a dime.
I wish I’d done this in my prime. Finally, here, I’m
saying it’s over. Goodbye. If you’re not ready, well, I
am sorry. It doesn’t matter, but I’m sorry.

I hope you have a good life, lacking any strife,
except I really don’t care. Go anywhere. I swear
it makes no difference to me. You’re the bads and I see
you’re irrelevant now and from this moment I vow
I need no longer pretend to contend with any trend you commend.

Why? Because you’re the bads, my ex-friend. You’re the real gone bads.