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my rat
(a poem from my childhood) my rat, my rat. it chased the cat. it chased my cat from the welcome mat. my cat, my cat. she spit and spat. then all of the sudden, that was that....
WORDS FROM THE 1980S
A-nother perfect freedom defective after warranty, N-ever understand other people's tears, A-nticipation different culture coming to command, R-edoing perfect undone parts after causing problems, C-areers forming thoughts of future fading quickly gone, H-armless possibilities clear to partly cloudy, Y-esterday's future predicting today's history as changing.
Sodium Pentathol Operating rooms reek of sterility and painted stainless steel. Green-tiled walls surrounding nurses garbed in baby blue gowns crowd in among chrome and blinding lights. Moments pass while low soothing voices and assurances that, "everything is OK" perturb the patient. A bee stings and the needle is painfully taped in place and readied for the injection. Ice-cold fluid creeps and traces a path through the shoulder andto the brain. Immediately evident sickly-sweet ether makes every breath harder to take. Finally as a buzz replaces sounds of reality all cares drift away and the table becomes quicksand.
Spontaneous Degeneration 1959--Hello television generation, warped by the tube. 1963--Kennedy gets his; shot on the tube. 1966--No flower children here, we're watching the tube. 1969--Flush the john, turn off the tube. 1972--Dream of nothing. I miss my tube. 1975--Safety pin paradise: it's all on the tube. 1978--Poetry doesn't rhyme, not even on the tube. 1981--I don't have the time. My tube is broke.
screw the baby (with migraine as muse) NEW ORLEANS-LOWER GARDEN DISTRICT 1980 CHAPTER I The following is a true-to-life account of a person's sanity slowly seeping into a cesspool of oblivion: Silently sitting and studying Saturday's superfluous edition of the daily crossword puzzle, grabbing and grasping for any knowledgeable piece of vocabulary that possibly might fit, or come close to fitting inside those geometrically- grotesque cuboidal designs, he struggled while the radio blared the latest contemporary country and western. The words were slowly emerging and fitting into place--but not quite fast enough. The paper started pulsating, the perfectly-square squares were mutating into rectangles of horrific proportions, building pyramids of tiny people. Parading up and down, in and out, right and left, north and south, the pain was unbearable, but tolerable as long as he payed attention to the radio and concentrated on the lyrics of Dolly Parton. He remembers blacking out ten times over, then awakening to a completed puzzle full of words and senseless phrases like ipso-tipso, screwthebaby and kissthelight socket. Has Jesus returned? Is Gabreil tooting? No, I just wanna know that word.....shasher, skasher, stasher, smasher, SMasher, that's it! Probably not another living soul will have an experience as filthy and sickening as his, no way could any American-born, bourbon-belching citizen survive as hideous an experience. And what comes next? Silver padded cells reeking of last night's wet dreams and purple fantasies? Straight jackets laced and knitted by wrinkled old women reliving years and years of drug-induced euphoria? Shock treatments prescribed in wards of screaming/yelling shaven-headed imbeciles patiently mopping up their own vomit? What a future.... The future is there to be dreamt of with the realization that one more day might never come. Planning and saving with fervor and excitement in the idea of tomorrow and the next hour. Snakes don't have it so good, they just writhe and wither in the dust of yesterday. His sanity fades with the daylight and seeps away into the darkness of tonight, the rising moon glares brighter than the noonday sun of August. Shortly there will be no more flesh, just bones and skeletons passionately crashing together with the raucous rattle of loose teeth in broken jawbones. Hair is no longer a problem since it fell out months ago. There is nothing left to cut--except maybe his own throat--a vessel gorged to the top by life's uncertainties and death's endless possibilities. Dreams of execution and unbearable tortures racked his brain throughout the long night, too many sleepless days have led to the complete and total disintegration of rational thought. The only reality now is the one of the rat-infested alleyways and black, stinking garbage piles next door. The only escape is sleep and that is a horrible nightmare of wretchedness. There is no escape, only acceptance. ####
Spontaneous Redegeneration Greetings television generation, How is your tube? Growing up is great, Being warped by the tube, Dream of nothing, Except with the tube. Safety-pin fever, Let's break the tube Poetry doesn't rhyme, Not even the tube, I don't have time, My tube is broken.
Blood pressure's rising explosions approach let's pogo look see music bass shaking loose the air gravity lightening around feet hot grease on anxious popcorn creates the same just shake turn loose and pogo let's go turn these minutes into hours frenzy twist and shout go all crazy with the music on the air never stops too fun can't stop here's poppers dance a little harder 'cause commotion make some trouble spit some beer slap your date the music gets stronger twist and shout and cause some trouble let's go pogo up down everywhere sideways backwards upside down make your friends upset they'll love you for it here's some poppers dance this mess around.
Boundaries . . . limit Regulations Emulations . . . inhibitions Drilled into young heads Repeat This is how it's done. Repeat This is how it's done. Escape Difficulties develop. Immediately Destruction creates Nothingness Left right becomes Confusion in sets.
Explore Remember Meditate Observe Explore the possibilities of your understanding after you have perceived the act. Then take those possibilities and chunk them into a bowl and mix them up electronically--make sure to understand what is going on because if you don't you won't grasp the idea. Remember the day when most people took advantage of someone that needed too much sleep because it made sense after Armageddon. Or recall when that baby spit beer all over the stop sign after if fell down the staircase and ended up in General Hospital the day after yesterday. Think of the time when potatoes had eyes that could perceive light and no one else could understand why they wouldn't sprout--now everybody does. This year will be remembered as the time of the spud because it made itself very popular thru cultural events like Spring.
Meditate no more. Meditation slowly attacks and finally takes over those precious yellow brain cells that took years to form and reform and grow and gain knowledge about everything you ever wanted to know about anything. Meditation arose out of boredom because people never stopped to look around and see the exciting things that went on and made sense in their hum-drum existence. Meditation spreads harmful clouds of thick, green, ether-like dust all over a person's neurons which causes an euphoria that makes them think they're doing something worthwhile. Meditation is the thing to do if you're a Guru or a re-fried hippy that doesn't even know that there are other things in this round would besides incense and marijuana. Meditation is for the generation of humans that actually remember the Kennedys' deaths and the Korean conflict, which supposedly caused great commotion for days and days and even years. Meditation speeds up death and creates cancer. Don't meditate.
Observe Something no matter what it is--observe it. Make it feel wanted. 1980
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