(painting by: a neighbor)
Jesus, I must be unhappy. The internet used to make me laugh. I made the mistake of coming home after what I've been conditioned to feel is a reasonable day at work and read through the last week of my own posts. I used to be funny, I had thought. I didn't even get a giggle out of myself, scarcely a smirk. It was like reading through many acrimonious pages of divorce testimony.
Awful stuff. Horrible. Bitter to the mind.
I used to write a column for a website out of Amsterdam. It was a music website that was quite popular and I was commissioned to do 'stringently editorial' pieces, sort of. It is difficult to explain now. It helped me ruin my career in the music industry, but I had a lot of fun doing it. It was irreverent. When I try to be irreverent now I just sound like an aging producer of fringe pornography whining about The Constitution, a humorless Larry Flynt, if that's even possible.
I am just now beginning to glimpse the ever-fleeting beauty of youth, luckily, as my vision fades, taking my memory with it.
Youth is a tremendous thing to consider, a sometimes horrendous thing to have endured, a marvel to repossess in the life of another...
It is a hell of a thing to wish for again, to seek.
Lover, barely understood there, and less often revered,
into youth we fell forever upwards and then away.
Oh gods, were it only helium....
But, to repossess time... to foreclose,
to put a lien against that established past.
to put a lien against that established past.
If only the gust of promise were as enforceable as an unpaid debt.
Interest is not interest, as I've come to understand it, to know.
So-so many meanings....
To be young....
The girl that I was dating at that time, we had some cultural differences, she often had a yeast infection, but there were other problems too.
She was the first to hit the 1000 repetition mark of slurring loudly: "Everybody's a DJ..."
Look it up, you'll see.
I also hit 1000 with the response: "...or an aging model," but the internet has been cruel and patchy in recording my successes. Now I sound like a gay Larry Flynt. Is that even possible?
Hustler, indeed.
So, I'm bald I got that off of my chest, or glad, for typos.
I'll try to lighten up again, and remember that there are artists like the one featured above, willing to take colorful chances, unafraid to be unacceptable, desirous of deficiency, piddling to be pathetic. Those are the real hero'es.... terrorism has no power to forever destroy the trivial.
When I wake up in the morning I'd like to recount in prose a story about going to a local deli and seeing a handwritten sign that stated: "We Reserve The Right To Inspect All Bags!"
My only hope: I haven't slept my mood away...
... and there are still a few bags around, willing to get rightful inspections.
