Thursday, January 11, 2007
Pouring Water on a Poetic Man
Lining
My roommate lost his esophagus a few weeks ago
Not the actual organ but the lining
A mucous membrane of sorts
But at least he has no wisdom teeth left
And the doctors are sure that it will turn up
The thing is we searched everywhere
Under the sofa, in the closets, outside
His lining is nowhere to be found
I tried to buy a lining for something else and passing it off
No imitations when it comes to the esophagus
So I’m writing this in hopes someone might have seen it
It looks kind of like something that should be in the body
And well I don’t actually know what it really looks like
But if you happen to see a pile of goop
Driving around, walking around the mall, hiding in a tree
Please let us know and we would greatly appreciate it.
Books Lie
Romanticize the lives of ordinary
the lives of regular joe’s who work
drink and occasionally fuck
Many books written on the cunning criminal
or the road scholar bum
but you can’t win.
The road of righteousness is not outside my window
I walked around for hours and it never turned up.
Even in the books when the detective solves the case
murder is never quite so formulaic.
What about those spiritual guides to enlightenment?
A load of new age bullshit to pay the bills
to build the temples.
Travel guides never take me to the proper location
most of the time by the time you read it
the buildings are dilapidated,
where once led to a booming town now it lays to waste.
Worst of all the biggest type of liars are the books of poetry
the words try to encapsulate the reader.
The scene is set and for what, some unnatural payoff
or lack there of
I mean the verses just go on and on
sometimes you get the poets that rhyme
or the ones that craft the language together like a tapestry
for what purpose does this serve
the visual effect?
The modern poets and there post modern world
the ones where they comment and gesture and observe
some truth no one else can quite see or picture.
What gives them the authority, I just don’t get it.
Restlessness
In the days sleep kept calling me
Black and white films about loving the bomb
Caught me resting my eyes
As moments fell from minutes to hours
Days began to turn into weeks
The daytime hours were meant for naps
Hiding from life in the sofa
Under the covers above the pillow
Life was not so bad in constant rest
The worst part seemed to be the time you woke up
The hum of the radio caused relaxed my state
I went from nervous anxiety to calm, peacefulness
And then hours were gone
The pain from sleep never quiet goes away
What you were sleeping for
The stake of life and refusal to accept
A life not so predictable and dull
I wanted to take to the road but was tied down
By jobs and commitment
Only in my mid twenties I assumed I could not get out
I could not just take all my stuff with me
And find a train and never look back
There were moments when my suitcase was out
But didn’t walk out the door
So if I could not take to the street I would take to rest
And sleep the days away in dreams
Where I could be where I wanted to
Every person was a reminder of what I had left
The girl with the biggest heart
But a woman’s scorn made you hate who you were
And after all the arguments you still had to go on
And sleep was the only option.
Music Kept Playing
The thing is by the age of twenty I think I’ve seen over 1000 bands and I love it do not get me wrong. Good bands, bad bands, ok bands, mediocre bands, wild bands, dumb bands, crazy bands. All mixtures oh you know that band with the good guitar players but everyone else isn’t so great. I saw them a few weeks ago. Music has a certain vagueness when you are describing it to a stranger. But the music kept playing so I kept listening and I couldn’t stop listening. I think I want that written on my tombstone as a sort of epitat to describe what my life was all about.
A few months ago I just got tired of seeing the same bands in the same places. So I stayed home a couple weekends and all I could think about were the bands I was missing. And I thought what if tonight at the same club I could have been at the best band in the world was playing. I missed their set. I get these sort of anxiety moments where I feel if I am not there the tree won’t make that noise it does when I would be there. So if I am not there to witness the greatest band play their best set who will be there to hear it? Probably a couple people but they wouldn’t tell anyone what they saw. They would probably hold onto it for years and just glance at each other like a handshake. They this awesome band that no one else got to see. Hold onto bury it within themselves never mentioning in words what could be communicated in looks.
The problem is I keep looking at people in this way. And it makes for some uncomfortable uneasy glances. And you are thinking and they are looking at me thinking what is this guy thinking about. Intense. Than I ask them for a cigarette and ask them how the band was last week. “Oh just the usual.” Oh right just the usual the same old chords the same banter the same covers. But I know he is lying. I know there was something important that happened. I feel uncomfortable because I know I am not the only one thinking this. There has to be someone else.
But it didn’t matter especially when the opening band went on. And they were what I expected. But as the evening wore on some people got drunk and had a fight during the last band. They had to drag them out by their shirts and well the police wasn’t called they were friends. And well those sorts of things happen. It made my night because the last band started playing songs I expected them to play. And well the night needed some excitement but as the fight ended the music kept playing.
I think to myself what will happen when I am old and I have grey hair. Will I be out of touch and inebriated to care what happens? Or will I be in my room speculating on the bands that would be playing tonight? Or will I still be at the club? Ordering the top shelf booze and living life like how I’m living now? And I see it all now the same bands except older and maybe some younger bands. But the younger bands grew up with the older bands and so they sort of sound like the older bands. Not too many people remember the older bands maybe a couple. I remain as a history book and I reference bands and songs that no one else remembers. One day thought I will not be there. And when I am not will the music keep playing? I am pretty sure if the walls are still holding the building up. And maybe one older kid will show up and ask where is that old guy that used to listen to all the bands and complain.
My roommate lost his esophagus a few weeks ago
Not the actual organ but the lining
A mucous membrane of sorts
But at least he has no wisdom teeth left
And the doctors are sure that it will turn up
The thing is we searched everywhere
Under the sofa, in the closets, outside
His lining is nowhere to be found
I tried to buy a lining for something else and passing it off
No imitations when it comes to the esophagus
So I’m writing this in hopes someone might have seen it
It looks kind of like something that should be in the body
And well I don’t actually know what it really looks like
But if you happen to see a pile of goop
Driving around, walking around the mall, hiding in a tree
Please let us know and we would greatly appreciate it.
Books Lie
Romanticize the lives of ordinary
the lives of regular joe’s who work
drink and occasionally fuck
Many books written on the cunning criminal
or the road scholar bum
but you can’t win.
The road of righteousness is not outside my window
I walked around for hours and it never turned up.
Even in the books when the detective solves the case
murder is never quite so formulaic.
What about those spiritual guides to enlightenment?
A load of new age bullshit to pay the bills
to build the temples.
Travel guides never take me to the proper location
most of the time by the time you read it
the buildings are dilapidated,
where once led to a booming town now it lays to waste.
Worst of all the biggest type of liars are the books of poetry
the words try to encapsulate the reader.
The scene is set and for what, some unnatural payoff
or lack there of
I mean the verses just go on and on
sometimes you get the poets that rhyme
or the ones that craft the language together like a tapestry
for what purpose does this serve
the visual effect?
The modern poets and there post modern world
the ones where they comment and gesture and observe
some truth no one else can quite see or picture.
What gives them the authority, I just don’t get it.
Restlessness
In the days sleep kept calling me
Black and white films about loving the bomb
Caught me resting my eyes
As moments fell from minutes to hours
Days began to turn into weeks
The daytime hours were meant for naps
Hiding from life in the sofa
Under the covers above the pillow
Life was not so bad in constant rest
The worst part seemed to be the time you woke up
The hum of the radio caused relaxed my state
I went from nervous anxiety to calm, peacefulness
And then hours were gone
The pain from sleep never quiet goes away
What you were sleeping for
The stake of life and refusal to accept
A life not so predictable and dull
I wanted to take to the road but was tied down
By jobs and commitment
Only in my mid twenties I assumed I could not get out
I could not just take all my stuff with me
And find a train and never look back
There were moments when my suitcase was out
But didn’t walk out the door
So if I could not take to the street I would take to rest
And sleep the days away in dreams
Where I could be where I wanted to
Every person was a reminder of what I had left
The girl with the biggest heart
But a woman’s scorn made you hate who you were
And after all the arguments you still had to go on
And sleep was the only option.
Music Kept Playing
The thing is by the age of twenty I think I’ve seen over 1000 bands and I love it do not get me wrong. Good bands, bad bands, ok bands, mediocre bands, wild bands, dumb bands, crazy bands. All mixtures oh you know that band with the good guitar players but everyone else isn’t so great. I saw them a few weeks ago. Music has a certain vagueness when you are describing it to a stranger. But the music kept playing so I kept listening and I couldn’t stop listening. I think I want that written on my tombstone as a sort of epitat to describe what my life was all about.
A few months ago I just got tired of seeing the same bands in the same places. So I stayed home a couple weekends and all I could think about were the bands I was missing. And I thought what if tonight at the same club I could have been at the best band in the world was playing. I missed their set. I get these sort of anxiety moments where I feel if I am not there the tree won’t make that noise it does when I would be there. So if I am not there to witness the greatest band play their best set who will be there to hear it? Probably a couple people but they wouldn’t tell anyone what they saw. They would probably hold onto it for years and just glance at each other like a handshake. They this awesome band that no one else got to see. Hold onto bury it within themselves never mentioning in words what could be communicated in looks.
The problem is I keep looking at people in this way. And it makes for some uncomfortable uneasy glances. And you are thinking and they are looking at me thinking what is this guy thinking about. Intense. Than I ask them for a cigarette and ask them how the band was last week. “Oh just the usual.” Oh right just the usual the same old chords the same banter the same covers. But I know he is lying. I know there was something important that happened. I feel uncomfortable because I know I am not the only one thinking this. There has to be someone else.
But it didn’t matter especially when the opening band went on. And they were what I expected. But as the evening wore on some people got drunk and had a fight during the last band. They had to drag them out by their shirts and well the police wasn’t called they were friends. And well those sorts of things happen. It made my night because the last band started playing songs I expected them to play. And well the night needed some excitement but as the fight ended the music kept playing.
I think to myself what will happen when I am old and I have grey hair. Will I be out of touch and inebriated to care what happens? Or will I be in my room speculating on the bands that would be playing tonight? Or will I still be at the club? Ordering the top shelf booze and living life like how I’m living now? And I see it all now the same bands except older and maybe some younger bands. But the younger bands grew up with the older bands and so they sort of sound like the older bands. Not too many people remember the older bands maybe a couple. I remain as a history book and I reference bands and songs that no one else remembers. One day thought I will not be there. And when I am not will the music keep playing? I am pretty sure if the walls are still holding the building up. And maybe one older kid will show up and ask where is that old guy that used to listen to all the bands and complain.
# posted by Bobby Bobson : 10:29 PM
