sometimes there is nothing but trouble to be found in the exercise of rational thought, sometimes it’s a terrible idea to go to the bar

you find yourself tangled in the decaying tendrils of the hard-won hope that there is enough inherent intelligence and good-will in the human species to undertake the admittedly difficult tasks of seeing to the sustainability of this human experiment

our philosophers are all being slowly crucified
on the outskirts of town
while the hip-world swills down cheap booze
and learns to blink only during commercial breaks

another “oh yeah, i’m gonna bang her after prom” song is playing on the jukebox, flirtatiously clad women gyrate slowly to the beat, commanding the cold appraisal of every male eye not claimed by the television

meat-heads make strange, angular maneuvers, spilling beer onto the floor as they assume affected stances and slide manicured hands across female flesh, staking out claims in the hopes of human contact, inebriated flesh pounding desperately against inebriated flesh to keep the darkness at bay

i wish i could shut the lyrics out of my head
this song’s chorus exhorts:

“i hate you, but i love the way you fuck”

and my mind can’t help turning it into a metaphor for capitalism, like the way a stripper’s eyes will flash as she slides, topless, across the floor towards another drunk waving currency

nerves rattling with nausea,
i head for the can
my eyes making accidental contact
with the television screen
and catch the names
of america’s latest casualties
half a world away

we should be in the streets, celebrating the fact that we are alive and able to make heard our judgments on the important issues of the day

we should be in the streets, hoisting the banners of our dreams and inviting the consequences of dissenting opinions, whatever they may be

i’m just lucky to have this wall to prop me up as i spray fluids at the urinal cake, the construction of a bathroom stall proves to be more supportive than my convictions have turned out to be

those convictions just get me into trouble
i tend to find the impetus to treat them as imperatives
at wildly inappropriate times
or in those moments where i’m too drunk
to enunciate

you find yourself screaming in the bar
loud, abrasive mockery of the sort of dreck that passes for popular music;

retarded sexuality paraded over repetitive noise
that passes across the public awareness
without recognition
save the swiveling hips
and the leers of the liquored up

the frat-boys try to storm barbie’s dream-house
wave upon wave of crew-cuts and khakis
advancing towards the promised land
of dollar bills and big-screen tvs
imported cars, top-shelf booze
and a ceaseless parade of naked women
ready to be lulled by the culling song

and then, finally, some decent tunes

sweet waves of blessed relief,
under intense intoxication
i find myself singing along
funneling all the derision i can muster
into my vocal accompaniment
directing it all at one specimen,
near the bar, preening like the tool
i’d labeled him

loud enough to catch his attention
eye contact . . .
palatable aura of menace . . .
i just keep singing
as he swaggers over

“you got something to say to me?”
as he tilts his head to the side

“no man, i’m just singing along”
and, fortunately,
i don’t think he got it

When you can’t find hope, at least there’s humor.

This entry was posted on Monday, November 13th, 2006 at 5:58 pm and is filed under indiscriminate, philosophy, poetry, music. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.