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A left-handed circuit breaker

Fiddling with a midget...

Or the spectacle of Finnish tobogganists

On safari.

Give me a moment while I regroup.

This is how I feel when speaking with you.

Seven Polish transients on their way to Havana

Could not with all their gaiety convince me to reappear on the stage of the

Variety hour of your sublime self-flagellation.

I have attached organizational tabs to you psyche.

Turn to the one labeled "Cathectic".

I am a victim.

I am a victim.

I am a victim.

How many times have I read these words

Scribbled on the foreheads of

Those who jangle change in their cups,

Open the doors for me at Wendy's,

Intone the same old tired bullshit that excuses their need to take an active role in the

Spiritual reality of their lives,

Who wear the fuzzy cast-off hippy-dippy psychological equivalent of a

Fashion blunder over their wounded counter-culturalist egos,

And deny their prodigious power as humans to step to it,

Break out the whoop-ass, get down and dirty,

Let go, Windex® their eye sockets, give the maid at the local Howard Johnson® a go at their trashed hotel room of a mind, and

Laugh at the dizzy duck pond

Bread-crumb roller derby

That is being alive in this world?

Fire all your cylinders, dude--

You ain't getting anywhere.

You advertise your angst and your

Lethargy and your

Twisted desires and your

Inability to fit in and

All your other kinky issues,

Like fun and fruity Kool-Aid®

Shot from a sprinkler system,

For all the kids to play in--

You big drip.

Get over yourself.

Just fix it, for Christ's sake,

And make sure not to use poison,

Though you ladle it out to all your customers.

You'd think that business must be good,

But you're just a haunted old revolutionary who

Can't find anybody to buy into your tired agenda.

Go ahead and write your five-hundred volumes,

And miss me-- go ahead and miss me,

Because I could give a care.

Because I'm busy thinking "big fat deal" and

Musing that

Suddenly life's fun, and

Giving Goldilocks a few lessons on

Making off with the porridge

By avoiding the freaks dressed up like bears.

Keep your piss away from my watering hole--

I'm out.

I'm circling the herd for a meal.

I'm following the emotionally stunted girl with the hem line

With my camera,

And no-- I'm not thinking of her that way, you old lech.

I've got more than a night of happiness to give

Goddamned everybody on this planet--

Or so it seems right now--

And I've got my undying devotion set to detonate,

Almost immediately...

And you won't jade me.

Tomorrow the world stops, and

I'm gonna start my hustle,

And people are gonna be appreciated

Like they ain't never been appreciated before,

Come death or high water,

or Jimmy Hoffa's boys trying to jam a screwdriver

Into the side of my head.

I'm gonna raise a toast to the Golden Retreivers of

Our race,

And join them for a ball and tousle.

And bark.

And get muddy.

You beat the rest of that dead horse, why don't you?

I'm gonna turn some of this impulsivity into a legacy.

david_a: I'm torn between "ouch!" and "wooo hoooo!" reading this poem. It tells a particular truth at a particular time. The writer will not always feel this tumble of possibilities and joie de vivre, but while he does (and he does it with such passion), you can forgive the stereotyping of the homeless activist. I love that feeling -- when words fall over themselves in order to get expressed, to cavort so un-selfconsciously. Healthy heart-swelling language. j_moody: thanks! however, consult your doctor before ingesting such heart swelling language or embarking on a program of joie de vivre. david_a: Yes, and definitely not to be consumed with alcohol or other mind-altering substances ;-) j_moody: One thing that I might note, before everyone gets stuck on one interpretation, is that I was writing not about a homeless activist, but was instead comparing the subject of the poem to a homeless activist--or anyone else who appeals to other human beings primarily through the intermediary of their state of victimization (or victimhood?) for that matter. Certain punks, politicians, performers, parents, & etc. fall into that category too. I'm not saying anything against giving to, or spending time with, or befriending, or listening to, or even loving these people-- I'm just saying that when the assessment period is over, and they are dead set in keeping to their ways, jump ship. Leave them to their own ends and their own realizations. Do not be sucked dry. Remain firmly aware of your own boundaries and your own mission in life, and leave a legacy of who you are by what you do and how you do it-- don't let people simply glom onto you, sap your determination, or use you. See? I would be interested in suggestions on how to say more or say it more effectively. sprice: It does at points become difficult to tell whether you're bashing the homeless or the activists for wallowing in victimization. Or both ... it sounds like both, in this last endnote. Is it one or the other? j_moody: I'm bashing someone who isn't homeless for wallowing in victimhood as if he was (with homeless people, the victimhood schtick has a legitimacy). I'm bashing someone for being activist in his words and stance while in actuality, doing very nearly nothing about anything that he professes to care about. I'm bashing someone for their inertia, and all the "insights" that they use not to catalyze change, but to support the continuance of their inertia. Their insights are garbage. They are willing to fix nothing-- so shut up about it. So I'm really not bashing homeless people or anyone associated with them-- I'm just saying that this non-homeless non-activist elicits the same feelings of discomfort in me as people belonging to those groups might, but without the legitimacy. That's why its a variety hour of sublime self-flagellation. j_moody: Another note: I don't have to be RIGHT in my sentiments towards this person. But I would like to somehow communicate my stance clearly. Strongly. The victimization is an important element, so I'm not going to shy away from the non PC homeless characterizations, but I need to guage my impact more subtly, I believe. I have to figure out how to flesh this poem out to create a sense of realization, not just catharsis. Its tough. gabriel: j_moody: [...]I'm bashing someone for being activist in his words and stance while in actuality, doing very nearly nothing about anything that he professes to care about. The hypocrisy in the subject I definitely didn't catch, not till here. Maybe it's the martini(tanq 10, dry, straight up, one olive)-and-a-half I'm down right now, but maybe that could be more obvious with an additional few lines? j_moody: A new semester is beginnig for me, but I'll have to try to get back to this piece and deepen it a bit. Especially considering that its the only piece people are commenting on, despite the fact that it was tossed off in a few seconds of venom while the other pieces went through a long process of planning, character development and some revision. And they aren't much longer than this poem (except for the introductory chapter). Go figure. Add comment