PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

She wanted to know if I was still writing my radical poetry and being a complete lunatic.  Always conscientious of my image and reputation, I played the role.  Was it all just hyperbole?  Oh, absolutely it was.  It was all just a sham to get attention.  So this is it then?  We discover the root of the whole situation.  It was always the truth.  I was nothing more than a desperate soul seeking attention and perhaps even affection.  Go into this role I created with my imagined image and persona.  Well, you have to be a legend in your own mind before you can be a legend in anyone else’s mind.  You have to create the myth and then turn it into your own essence.  It’s all bullshit but if you can pull it off, the rewards are immeasurable.

“Yeah,” I tell her, “I’m still fighting the void; wrestling with the fucking establishment.  And baby, I’m settling for no less than total victory.”

She was bit taken aback by my bluntness but my vibes were sensing intrigue.  There was a spark fanned by intense curiosity.  She needed to understand me.  She wanted to understand the art and the impulse.  I felt like saying “fat chance” out loud but refrained in a rare judicious moment.  She looked me up and down and wasn’t sure what to make of it.  She, no doubt, had heard stories about me.  Were they true?  That is a good question.  The poetic genius in the flesh stood before her.  It may have been total illusion but who’s to really say.  It could be all bullshit.  I do my best to retain the cloak of mystery.

“Oh well, how do you intend to tear down society>” she seemed genuinely curious.  Such blasphemy she was hearing; such treachery.  And yet there was also dedication and comprehension.  What makes this monster tick?  I was determined not to give it all away too easily.

“Well, I can’t just give away my strategy—but ok, you , you’re special so I’ll tell you a little.”

She was biting on the bait; going along for the ride.  I could tell this was going to be an interesting night.  She was perplexed.  She didn’t know if should laugh or run away.  She was most likely thinking “Is he serious?  Is he a total nut?”  Of course there was, I was hoping, a thought of is he really a great poet?  Maybe we should capitalize: Great Poet.  Like the Great Spirit of the American Indian.  I am the Great Poet.  The sacred wordship of the nation’s landscape.  Yes, that has always been my place so I let my head go crazy.  I figured it was time to just let all my own desires run wild.

“I’ll tell you this much.”  I continue, “I’ve already begun to infiltrate the system.  I have connections on the inside. . .”

She was still listening beginning to sense that I was just bullshitting.  Her smile indicated that she was picking up on my yarn,  Ah well, I am caught I thought.  Might as well fess up to the truth.  I begin to laugh.  It’s a laugh of both anxiety and ease.  Ambivalent emotions were felt.  AH, this was a feeling I’ve felt before.  The hyperbole must continue.  I got myself straight-faced and continued my yarn.

“I get reports from people and I file the information.  I’m all the radical groups combine.  I’m the center of a great movement. . .”

“Well, who’s in your army?”

“Army?  What army?  I’m doing it all myself.”

I was detecting a bit of boredom from her.  She was starting to think I was strange.  I’m losing her.  I’m better off if I get serious for a moment.  That was always my biggest fear.  It was my weakest moment.  It was the moment in which I was required to get serious.  This was always the point at which I screwed up.

“Well, okay, I’m just bullshitting.”

“Well, I know that.  I’m not stupid.”

“I didn’t mean that.  I’m sorry if you took it wrong.”

Not bad,  It was moment of vulnerability.  It was a rare moment of sensitivity.  But this was the young poet.  This was the making of a young would be genius.  Maybe  I wouldn’t fuck it all up this time.  This might be the lucky turn.  I was starting to feel cocky.  I was feeling like I could do anything.

“I don’t think you’re dumb.  If I did, I probably wouldn’t be talking to you.  I like intelligence and creativity in women.”

She seemed to be accepting it.  It was nice to not be thought of as a bullshitter for a change.  It was decent to feel like she believed in me.  I can be myself.  That was the message I was receiving.  It was a strange thought.  I was allowed to be myself.  That placed me in the position of having to figure out who I was.  That was a dilemma.

“So I’m catching Albert Collins at the Chestnut this weekend.  Are you into the blues?”

“I like some of the music but I’m not really familiar with a lot of the musicians.”

“Well, would you like to check out some of the artists, I can make that happen.”

“So am I a pupil now?”

“Well, if you can tolerate my company, I’d be delighted to take you to the show.”

At this point, my heart skyrocketed.  I was amazed at myself for not screwing up.  It was something else for me to succeed.  It was a strange feeling.  I was getting what I wanted.  So this turn of events was welcome.

“It’s Friday night.  It’ll be a great way to kick off the weekend.”

“I’m free that night.  I’d love to go.”

“As fate would have it, I can take you.”

So this was it.  This was the beginning of something new.  It was the start of a new stage in my life.  It was a shining moment in time.  I looked at her and she was smiling brightly.  Her eyes shone brilliantly.  We made plans for the show and I bid her adieu.  I knew I would only be thinking about one thing until Friday night and I felt pretty good about that.