A Different Sort Of Manifesto (or proofs of solitude)
1,
all i can kind of tell you
is that life & existence
kind of seems like
all that small print
i don't care to read...
2,
all those tiny
microscopic & magical
creatures from evolution
i see in passing
after being pulled
under the undertow...
3,
having revelations
after being tossed drunk
slow-motion
through the window
of white castle...
4,
i never saw my whole life
pass right in front of me
but like always
saw right through them
& their false sympathy...
5,
scenes from the pharmacy
& a food fight
which suddenly
breaks out
at the chinese buffet
for no explicit reason
spending the rest of the evening
reading dostoevsky
casually contemplating
all those cornfields
of dusk
which got you home
in one piece
as if any of that shit
mattered
or was even relevant...
6,
everything must go sale
around the gaslight
cobblestone mission
the phlebotomist & methadone clinic
the foghorns & steeples
where ironically
all's fragile & forgotten
somewhere between
the embezzlers & jesus
the heathen politicians...
9,
stray dogs
once man's best friend
apparently not
very good friend
& not really men...
10,
accents created
through just straight
up suffering & survival
mechanisms & states
of mind find ourselves in...
11,
that brother howling
at his sister
beneath the rainy
marquee of the movie theater--
"i'm not proud i'm a bum!"
planning secret heists
& escape routes
& iteneraries
to the pearly gates
of hell
with no way home...
12,
like the bittersweet ending
of streetcar, long day's journey
into night & death of a salesman
(can assure you kafka, shakespeare
& loise ferdinand celine was in no
way shape or form a coincidence)...
13,
like all that preparation
(put in)
of drag queens
no different
& the exact same routine
& ritual
of wealthy women
from the suburbs
all simply
about the presentation
(trying on faces
doing impersonations & impressions)...
14,
no different than the ushers
or patrons
than the phantoms...
15,
(as an addendum & an aside
could never stand the state
of mind of the eccentric
who always came across
or felt like some built-in
excuse for arrogance,
self-absorption & really
poor character & behavior
thriving off rationalizations...
16,
strange & fucked-up thing about human nature
they never ever seem to really appreciate your
confessions always coming from the most
sincere & honest & modest of places
& with this repetition of behavioral
patterns perversely appear to turn
resentful as if you were just making
excuses & were literally baring it all
for assholes who never really deserved
it in the first place & never see them
again & in retrospect thank the lord)...
17,
(in america, love to poke fun at one-hit wonders
but at least they had their day in the sun, girls in
tight, painted-on, slut, polyester dance pants, wagging
their fingers at boys during bar-mitzvahs during that song
by donna summer & barbra streisand "enough is enough"
& we're like what the fuck? what could we have done
at such a young age to exact such venom? our 13
year old entrance into manhood & what we had
to look forward to in the near & remote future)...
16,
hold tight
onto the toboggan
& girl by your side
don't tug too hard
& just gently glide
be her guide
but more importantly
let her guide you
through rough & ridiculous times...
17,
if i ever make my millions
first thing i'm gonna buy
are one of those gazebos,
a lifetime subscription
to national geographic
& saturday evening post,
field & stream & playboy...
18,
as a boy reading all those directions
in espanol
just for the fuck of it
& still coming up
with the perfect jumbo jetliner
balanced up on top
my childhood dresser
high on model glue
you know the ones
which always went down
never quite made it
& people kept on taking
in that strange decade
of the seventies...
19,
all's you really need
in the long-run is a
window far enough
away from it all
to observe
the passing
the changing
of the brutal &
delicate seasons...
20,
the graceful beauty
of her body
ponytail bobbing
along with the cadence
& rhtyhm
of her long-distance
running
that lit flashing beacon
at the head of the bicycle
gradually drifting
& penetrating through the evening...
21,
the path the fog takes
in the morning
slipping
down the mountain...
22,
separating truth from all those
false truths they try to so
blatantly bullshit & brainwash
you as being reality & virtue
(in some ways a form of abuse
which can instantly be disproved)...
23,
i was the one always found
lost in translation
caught between tenses
giving great long elegies
of pillow talk
whispering sweet nothings
into the ear of my one-
night stand lover
cracking one-liners at funerals
predicting the future...
24,
can't believe those centerfielders
i grew up with
& loved & idolized...
cleon jones from the mets
& kirby puckett from the twins
eventually got nailed for some sort
of sexual perpetration...
25,
"it's a saturday night and i aint got nobody
1,
all i can kind of tell you
is that life & existence
kind of seems like
all that small print
i don't care to read...
2,
all those tiny
microscopic & magical
creatures from evolution
i see in passing
after being pulled
under the undertow...
3,
having revelations
after being tossed drunk
slow-motion
through the window
of white castle...
4,
i never saw my whole life
pass right in front of me
but like always
saw right through them
& their false sympathy...
5,
scenes from the pharmacy
& a food fight
which suddenly
breaks out
at the chinese buffet
for no explicit reason
spending the rest of the evening
reading dostoevsky
casually contemplating
all those cornfields
of dusk
which got you home
in one piece
as if any of that shit
mattered
or was even relevant...
6,
everything must go sale
around the gaslight
cobblestone mission
the phlebotomist & methadone clinic
the foghorns & steeples
where ironically
all's fragile & forgotten
somewhere between
the embezzlers & jesus
the heathen politicians...
9,
stray dogs
once man's best friend
apparently not
very good friend
& not really men...
10,
accents created
through just straight
up suffering & survival
mechanisms & states
of mind find ourselves in...
11,
that brother howling
at his sister
beneath the rainy
marquee of the movie theater--
"i'm not proud i'm a bum!"
planning secret heists
& escape routes
& iteneraries
to the pearly gates
of hell
with no way home...
12,
like the bittersweet ending
of streetcar, long day's journey
into night & death of a salesman
(can assure you kafka, shakespeare
& loise ferdinand celine was in no
way shape or form a coincidence)...
13,
like all that preparation
(put in)
of drag queens
no different
& the exact same routine
& ritual
of wealthy women
from the suburbs
all simply
about the presentation
(trying on faces
doing impersonations & impressions)...
14,
no different than the ushers
or patrons
than the phantoms...
15,
(as an addendum & an aside
could never stand the state
of mind of the eccentric
who always came across
or felt like some built-in
excuse for arrogance,
self-absorption & really
poor character & behavior
thriving off rationalizations...
16,
strange & fucked-up thing about human nature
they never ever seem to really appreciate your
confessions always coming from the most
sincere & honest & modest of places
& with this repetition of behavioral
patterns perversely appear to turn
resentful as if you were just making
excuses & were literally baring it all
for assholes who never really deserved
it in the first place & never see them
again & in retrospect thank the lord)...
17,
(in america, love to poke fun at one-hit wonders
but at least they had their day in the sun, girls in
tight, painted-on, slut, polyester dance pants, wagging
their fingers at boys during bar-mitzvahs during that song
by donna summer & barbra streisand "enough is enough"
& we're like what the fuck? what could we have done
at such a young age to exact such venom? our 13
year old entrance into manhood & what we had
to look forward to in the near & remote future)...
16,
hold tight
onto the toboggan
& girl by your side
don't tug too hard
& just gently glide
be her guide
but more importantly
let her guide you
through rough & ridiculous times...
17,
if i ever make my millions
first thing i'm gonna buy
are one of those gazebos,
a lifetime subscription
to national geographic
& saturday evening post,
field & stream & playboy...
18,
as a boy reading all those directions
in espanol
just for the fuck of it
& still coming up
with the perfect jumbo jetliner
balanced up on top
my childhood dresser
high on model glue
you know the ones
which always went down
never quite made it
& people kept on taking
in that strange decade
of the seventies...
19,
all's you really need
in the long-run is a
window far enough
away from it all
to observe
the passing
the changing
of the brutal &
delicate seasons...
20,
the graceful beauty
of her body
ponytail bobbing
along with the cadence
& rhtyhm
of her long-distance
running
that lit flashing beacon
at the head of the bicycle
gradually drifting
& penetrating through the evening...
21,
the path the fog takes
in the morning
slipping
down the mountain...
22,
separating truth from all those
false truths they try to so
blatantly bullshit & brainwash
you as being reality & virtue
(in some ways a form of abuse
which can instantly be disproved)...
23,
i was the one always found
lost in translation
caught between tenses
giving great long elegies
of pillow talk
whispering sweet nothings
into the ear of my one-
night stand lover
cracking one-liners at funerals
predicting the future...
24,
can't believe those centerfielders
i grew up with
& loved & idolized...
cleon jones from the mets
& kirby puckett from the twins
eventually got nailed for some sort
of sexual perpetration...
25,
"it's a saturday night and i aint got nobody
