Foiled Again
I scratched all of her CD’s up. I
used a nail and scratched them up
real good. Waited until you went
to work and went to town. I fucked
up every one you had. Even the
ones I liked.
Selapher wouldn’t let me play my
record at the party the other night.
We had people over and Adam and
The Ants wasn’t deemed
appropriate. Burt Bacharach was. I
love Adam and The Ants so much
and it just hurt me that she didn’t
take my feelings into consideration.
Sometimes Selapher is so cold.
There’s a heart in there but deep
down. Like a polar bear. A blood
stained polar bear. A heart that
cries at the crippled children on the
TV but puts the screws to me every
chance she gets.
I like my records and I don’t care
what she thinks. Adam and the
Ants were cool before Adam Ant
went solo. I put the CD’s in the cat
box too, for effect. All scratched
up and stinky.
Hope I remembered to fuck up the
right part of the CD. I can never
remember if the music is on the
shiny side or the writing side.
She’ll think the cat did it and he’ll
get all of the diabolical glory.
Foiled again.
I Gotta Quit Someday.
Walk through the hall,
Take the door to the
left. In the hall
Cold.
In the room. Colder.
I always considered
that an odd occurrence,
freak of nature if
you will. Inside ain’t
that hard to heat.
You were always
Bitching about the
cold. I was sick
of it.
I went there. Damn,
You were right.
Not the first time.
You always told
us, all of us how
right you were.
What a heavy burden
It must be carry
So much knowledge.
You are right again.
Let’s see, that makes
Me wrong. Who would
have seen that coming?
I suppose you are
cold now. You shiver
even in your sleep.
Well not to worry.
I see you fell asleep
with a cigarette lit
again.
That’ll probably warm
you up. Eventually.
Summer of My Cherokee Chicken
I played tic tac toe with a chicken once. It is the god damn honest truth. It was in Cherokee NC back when I was a mere child of I guess nine. All over the place were tourist trap shit holes selling rubber tomahawks and “genuine” Cherokee battle headdresses. You know, the full ones that were also used by the Plains Indians 1000 miles away.
Anyway the place was situated near the reservation and my Mom had dragged me there when she had figured we were of Indian descent. That was her kick in the 70’s. Yes, we of the Bulgar tribe of Eastern Europe. I wish she had never seen Billy Jack but the damage was done. She heard we could go see Indians three hours away and it was on. Pack up the Duster with Old Milwaukee and Beanie Weenie and we were off.
I was stoked we would get to stay at a hotel. Fuck nature and culture. It was swimming pool and room service I was into. Mom was into Indians, way into Indians.
We went to the downtown area which was littered with 70’s type arcades. Pinball, Pong, other games like that but the coolest thing I saw was a tic tac toe game. Inside a glass box was a chicken. He was nice looking and proud. There was a display next to it and it had a tic tac toe square. You could put in a quarter and pick an X or O. Then the chicken would peck a switch and have his turn. Mom had gone off with some Indian I guess and left me with about 3$ in quarters. So I played.
Frustration set in. The chicken won every time. I was so pissed. He won and won and glowered at me. He wasn’t proud he was arrogant. Smiling all the while. The devilish bird was smiling. Sizing me up for the sucker I was. Lost my last quarter and I was despondent.
That chicken set the pattern for the rest of my life. I was changed. Now hardened by defeat. I came to expect defeat at every turn. Want to know what it is like to be bested? You feel it every day you go to work. Go to school. Face the person who has no respect for you, no love. You are a tool. A mark.
We live in a world that is run by tic tac toe playing chickens. You have no chance. Try and try. Do everything you can but it is the same. They are everywhere. Each year of your life is another quarter in their machine and you aren’t getting it back. You are beaten and the sad fact is it takes someone like me to point it out. Mama ain’t gonna pat your head anymore and tell you it’s just a chicken.
Probably best for you to just join them now.
I have.
And my living room is piled to the ceiling with quarters.
