PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

What kind of man am I gonna be if my role models are Al Bundy and Homer Simpsons?  That’s a question I find myself asking myself on a rather stoned evening on a Friday in April.

I could just wax rhapsodic over pleasant Spring weather but I find the clichés rather tired and I’d much rather dig deeper into the matter.  Well, we’ll admit, as deep as deep is shallow.  I think we all know my propensity for just fucking around.

Of course, the pundits will say that that is the problem.  You fuck around too much, boy—as I’m oft to hear.  You ain’t serious enough and you’re lazy and you’re an underachiever.  Ain’t it time you get your act together?

And so I retreat to TV Land or great literary works in hopes of escape from this undue criticism and personal condemnation.  And they wonder what kind of role model a basketball player or heavy metal drummer will portray to America’s youth.

I’ll wallow in Wolf Solent or drift into the fantasy world of Scooby Doo and South Park and Bugs Bunny.  I’ll wonder why they obsess over heroes and supposed role models not living up to expectations.

I suppose it can go deeper but I’m not really sure that I wanna go there.  Cartoon phantasmagoria makes its way onto the screen or I dive head deep into Zappaween.  I just try to forget about the daily grind.

I won’t blame it on television or football or any dead rock star for all my disillusion.  It happened on its own over a period of several rapid years gone by in a blink.

I got really drunk watching a video of Charles Bukowski doing a poetry reading.  And I worry about the quality of the beer not wanting to quaff schwag beer and retch all night.  Maturity hasn’t seeped in yet and I’m stuck here fancying Shakespeare with a hoppy IPA as the evening fades.

Late night video can be complex poetry instead of flash.  We can cling to dreams of enlightenment in a wee hour blitzkrieg.  The minutes of night creep toward morning and I am still wide awake trying to fight fatigue and feel certain of triumph.

Victory would be fine as long as it is mine.  It’s what we’re always hoping to attain.  We want to overcome the everyday travails that anchor us.  Yeah, that would be nice but no one’s taking bets on my side.  But bets against me don’t dissuade me from throwing another mad, insane paranoid tract out at the world.

4-10-98