Blazer Boy

It’s hard to tell when he arrived, bedecked in a stained blazer and rumpled slacks. A deposit in the jukebox provides us with Jerry Lee Lewis’ manic piano and a subtle toe tap from the benefactor. His eyes leap around the room with every chorus of “Whole lotta shakin goin on”.. The crags and cliffs in his face tell a silent tale, the unfiltered Pall Malls another. Folks who puff these babies always run deep, never a vapid chapter from them. I surmise he’s fresh from a formal engagement gone awry, one of those souree’s when the machinery gets clogged and the results less than desirable. A shade of agitation is visible here, another quarter finds it’s way to the juke before Jerry Lee is done. The air trembles with Guns & Roses now, his response is less subtle now, a solitary dance ensues near the bar while he request another Jack double. He’s fond enough of the verse,”welcome to the jungle baby, we got your disease” to sing along in psuedo-scream style, eliciting some looks from other patrons. He fumbles with the blazer’s buttons as if to release himself from some unseen bondage. It’s a more animated swarm of motions as the song builds into the final morass of guitars and shrieks. The onlookers are fixed on his flailing, the bartender is pondering the 86^th clause in his contract while blazer boy is churning out his last vestiges of restraint. He grabs his head and sinks to the floor while the final chord subsides. Quickly back to his feet, he brushes some wrinkles from the coat, buttons up and thanks the bartender for his hospitable efforts. An adjustment to the collar, he wheels toward the door as if nothing unusual has happened and exits into the misty night air

Tavern In the Mist

Overheard in a bar, somewhere..anywhere.....

Guy: "Hi, I saw you over here from across the room and found myself significantly stirred by that

experience. If we banter long enough for me to ascertain that you're not a nut-clipping bitch, I

think it would be a great idea for us to engage in some highly sensual activities real soon, maybe

like now. "

Woman: "Maybe that would be nice of you to say so in some primitive part of the planet where

they would offer a dead antelope as a form of proposal, but as for me, one who has been bitterly

betrayed recently and have enough baggage for 2 U-Haul trailers, the idea of engaging in anything

remotely intimate at this point  has quite the putrid bouquet to it, but thanks."

Guy: "Oh, the grief  'entree, yes, I've heard of it served up in some of the seamier establishments, an

'all you can feel' for $5.99 kinda place. Leaves a bad taste, I hear. Well, luv, no cause to fret. My

feelings have a condom for all occasions, the thin, latexy sort of mentality capable of justifying

all forms of behaviour, even this unconsciously desparate manuevering I'm partaking of right now."

Woman: "As charming as all that would sound to a famished Aborigine woman dying of tiger claw

slashes, I have to tend to the 'residue' of my last yummy little heart gouge who are clamoring at

home as we speak for some morsel of attention. I just wanted to fend off an advance of two

before I went back into the fray and this feeble, tepid encounter will have to suffice."

Guy: "Surely there's Nintendo that the 'residue' as you call them, could imbibe in long enough

for us to dispense with our clothing and last shred of self-regard. I had envisioned something only

slightly deeper than Internet porn this weekend and I'd be willing to purchase enough alcohol to

delete your discriminating capabilities which seem a tad overdeveloped anyway. That urgent is

my quest for anything resembling validation."

Woman: "As fulfilling as this would be for a relapsing member of AA whose cirrotic liver was

about to explode, my abandonment issues are faxing me a memo that hint of the fact you've

clicked on to the wrong webpage, Homer. Aside from my estrogen and lithiun levels dwindling as

we speak, I'm having major trouble even trying to conjure up images of us in anything similar

to two souls in the sweet rapture of union. Better stick to Lisa and Debbie at EatMe.com, my  friend."

Guy: "Well, this isn't panning out so as to entice suspended disbelief, is it? Seems a little romance is

in order. If you'll give me your number, I'd be glad to stalk you for a week and leave suggestive

messages to create a bit of ambience. Other than that, I'll move on for the moment and let you get

on with your self-imposed sentence. I need to rustle up some company for the evening. It's been

real. Oh, and thanks for breaking up the tedium of my predictable existence."

Woman: "Hey, glad to help. I was ready to swallow twenty Seconal before you came over, but now

my being seems so refreshed, I think five will do the trick. Here's my number and don't get too

sick and out there on the machine, the kids might hear and I would never want them to know I

was ever this far out of options. Say hi to Lisa and Debbie."

I Am

After five decades here on this globe, certain commonalities rear slowly into view. A sense of connection to all forms itself solid in this misty sleepwalk after gazing into enough faces, hearing gales of laughter, becoming mildewed from my own tears and the dampness of others who trod down the aisles, whisk by in traffic and sometimes stop to talk. The thread is elusive, mysterious, yet so intriguing I can't ignore it's presence any longer. A sense of self IS necessary to keep from dissolving away, but too much lends me to judge and entangle most thoughts with the theme of "me against them". So, in light of this newly obtained perspective which has trickled it's way through the scars of being here, I surrender. And if it's true...........

I am the lost child at K Mart only two aisles away from Mom but it feels like infinity

I am the convicted felon on death row penciling a letter to an indifferent appeals board

I am the sweating bastard in traffic dreading what he'll find at home

I am the shrieking mother of a dead crack dealer insisting on an answer from God when she asks "Why?"

I am the veteran still flinching at loud noises thirty years later

I am  the runaway downtown on a rainy night getting into a Lincoln for twenty bucks

I am the cooing infant, gurgling content in his crib, staring at the butterfly mobile above him

I am the misfit drunk in your bushes praying there's some left in the bottle

I am the football star groping a cheerleader's ass in the equipment room after a game

I am the incontinent eighty year old staring out the rest home window looking for my son

I am the teenager who's supposed to be doing homework and leering at Miss July instead

I am the clerk behind the counter wishing you would die while you fumble for correct change

I am the cop wrestling a bloody gang member to the ground wondering if this night will ever end

I am the jubilant prepubescent who's oh so ecstatic and beaming because Sherry called

I am the stillborn fetus wondering why he can't wonder

I am your rebelling offspring spouting "I knew you wouldn't understand"

I am a psychotic serial killer clipping out news articles of my antics while planning your death

I am the nervous politician who knows the polls will plummet if they find THAT out

I am the guy writing this, staring at the moniter waiting for the next word to come and realising that's enough to be, for now......