PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

There probably is really a real “Fat Tony” out there somewhere in the world so I best be careful what I should chance say.  Don’t want the mob putting out a bounty on my head.  But I like challenging and tormenting minds so I’ll put a challenge out just to see what it’ll say and how I’ll be pushed to dig deeper into the vortex.

I seek to find my true self which is a fictional self that seems to get a lot more action than me but beauty always disarms me (but I won’t give away any trade secrets if that’s what you’re waiting for.)  I’d much rather get it all out for myself and play marginally with marginal words for sheer rapture of poesie and the language is ever so cautiously juxtaposed as to suggest incurring a life of its own but it never really does.

I wonder if the illusion is ever that good to ever fool anybody for real and it does cause for pause.  The manuscript is not yet complete.  The author is hemming and hawing on the final results.  I wait in trepid anticipation but I am the publishing company so deadlines can be delayed.  I hope you understand just how all this goes.  I have so much meaning in other areas but I do get stingy about letting anyone in.

I guess it’s just a piece of the way I am for better or worse—cliché notwithstanding and I’ll clutch my hands together as though I were praying and I’m not sure what contact possible with a man like me—maybe my odds aren’t very good but doubt will get you nowhere.  My truthfully two bit operation will somehow be exposed so I guess there’s no use of getting up in arms over this whole affair.

Powerful arms and powerful hands don’t necessarily produce powerful literature but it’s nice to have both and feel blissful as jazz permeates the incense hazed room.  We calmly await the presence of the muse. What that it is rather a little post ironic irony that will stimulate curiosity and George is getting restless as any good gorilla should (Oh, God, I’m visualizing myself as a gorilla now. )

And just when you thought it couldn’t sink any lower I’ll have to come out and admit that a lot of it is shit.  I’ve been pulling the wool over everyone’s eyes for all these years.  Maybe I’m just a scared child slinking in the corner hoping no one will shoot me or stab me in the back.

But paranoia doesn’t play too well out here in the boondocks and it doesn’t bode well for the spectators because exhibitionism isn’t my hobby.  Maybe—maybe not all I’ll say but it’s not really up to me.  My destiny is not written by me although I try.  It’s being directed by a cosmic, cynical madman and the Star Trek shit does occasionally seem to make sense which might be a scary admission.  L’esprit d’escalier makes an appearance early on in the evening even before I have a chance to speak.

But maybe I’ll devote a segment of my web page to honor “Fat Tony” and hopefully play down any suspicions of foul play and it’s just such a fucking shame that the quest for excellence is not the only quest I have going on inside my head where it feels as though a tyger is being born, albeit, no doubt, quite probably a rather docile tyger.

8-14-99