Tuesday, October 14, 2014

My Mind Map #2

When my synapses are clicking and the words are flowing, there is no better feeling in the world. I cannot say that is what I’m striving for, but I will say I feel a whole heck of a lot better when I’m writing.
The poetry is the only friend I’ve ever had that does not ask me to explain myself or justify why it is I do or don’t do something.
Yes, I want to let it in, even though I don’t know what it is.

My mind map knows where it’s at and does not need satellites or other technological psychobabble to help locate its next bull's eye.
I was lost in a sea of misgivings when I tapped into my brain reservoir. What I discovered myself diving into were visions even Timothy Leary could not have possibly hallucinated when on his best medicine.
I would bend over backwards to try and help you get up to speed, but what’s the point when you’ve always been slow on the uptake and quick on your refusal to believe.
I suggest you lose yourself in whatever trend you’ve recently discovered. Perhaps that will help to unchain you from the same old whistling Dixie hegemony you seem to have become enamored with in your old age.

I’m going to go watch some porn to help me relax. When I return, I hope you’ll have some new insights to share or at least have come up with a better excuse as to why it is you’re always so out of breath and unwilling to share your Cajun fries with me when we’re on a stakeout.
It’s 5:53 AM, and my mind map is mired in the perversity of lying here attempting to pleasure myself. Oftentimes it is a lost cause, and I find myself returning to the place we first met, where my fingers can hopefully be put to better use.
Yes, I must allow my mind to roam wherever it sees fit or unfit because the end oftentimes reassesses the outcome. This proves especially true when delving into one’s craven imaginings and the creative process of purging oneself through any means necessary.

Charles Cicirella

Sunday, October 12, 2014

My Mind Map

Jim once remarked on how hard it was for me to slow my mind down.
And now that I’ve given it some thought, I’ve realized I rarely do stop and take a breath.
I don’t know what my mind map might look like, but I suspect the topography would be quite vast with plenty of marshlands and shrublands for the lonesome wolf of the steppes to travel and hunt in.

Charles Cicirella

Wednesday, October 08, 2014

Reluctant Hero

(For Bill Cohen)

I’m a reluctant hero, but please don’t ask why.
I do not deserve whatever accolades you may feel like bestowing upon me. Give them to someone who actually looks good wearing medals and being led around like a prized poodle.
I’m just a poet nothing more and a whole lot less. When it comes time for dinner, I’ll be the first one sitting at the table and the last one to get up before stretching and going to bed.

I’m a reluctant bank robber, but please don’t ask why.
It was never about amassing wealth or scaring people by pointing a gun at them. I think it has more to do with the thrill of doing something out of the ordinary, even though robbing banks seems to be becoming more of an everyday happening with each passing day.
Examine your own needs. Do it selflessly and selfishly. Do it with unmitigated abandon, and do it while wearing a blindfold and smoking a cigarette. You are a flawed human specimen, and when held up to the light, you are also a reluctant hero with countermeasures and counter offers making up for lost time and lost wages.

I stood up too fast, and from an insufficient amount of oxygen to the brain, I nearly fainted.
Poetry is the IV drip I find necessary to keep me hydrated and full of good vibrations. It’s most certainly not a cure all, but it’s also far from snake oil as I discover myself for the first time in a very long time receptive to going outside and feeling the sun on my pasty skin.
I’m channeling a different kind of development having far more to do with internal fluctuations than anything that can be looked at under a microscope.

I waited in the waiting room for you to come out knowing full well you had more than likely slipped out a back door because our relationship had been on the skids for quite some time. We had become reluctant heroes to our inability to express why it was we felt so lifeless and had no get up and go. Train yourself to become an assassin, and break on through to the other side because only then will you have any chance at reconciling with your inner self. I’m not talking about passing away, but instead about living through the reconnecting with all of your most reluctant of senses.

Charles Cicirella

Monday, October 06, 2014

"A Gateway To The World Between Worlds"

“I did not come to bring peace, but a sword.”
Listen to those words and know there is more here than meets the eyes, nose and throat.
The eyes can only reveal so much if the door is shut while our passions drag us kicking and screaming through the desert, naked and frozen with self-recriminations.

Take your demonic ideals and shove them where the sun doesn’t shine.
I never claimed to possess any moral virtue, not even when I was a child and existed inside tumors of cancerous self-doubt.
When you live at someone else’s expense, the beckoning you do is rarely your own.
You die a little inside each day because you’re a crustacean and your shell is ill-fitting, but blaming other crustaceans is not going to change a damn thing or make you any less delicious when sautéed in butter.

Ring Around the Rosie was a playground singing game before it became a hellacious threat scaring adults and children alike.
I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know. The writing was on the wall long before Moses led the Jews out of Egypt or you were probed by your first touchy feely alien.
There is nothing wrong with listening to your heart as long as you know not all heart murmurs speak the truth or are interested in helping you find  some honest to goodness happiness.

Charles Cicirella

Sunday, October 05, 2014

Gone With The Wind

I’ve never seen Gone with the Wind.
I want to get to know Hattie McDaniel on a first name basis.
It’s time I made something happen with my life, but "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."

You think you know everything only to realize you’ve barely scratched the surface.
I couldn’t find any Windex when I was at the store, so I bought Valu Time Glass Cleaner instead.
It appears to do the same job for half the price. Isn’t that the way that it always is?

I’m not opposed to the less expensive generic brands because I often feel like I am the generic brand, and that there is a name brand Charles Cicirella running around out there.
Keep your eyes and heart pealed because you could happen upon your soul mate at any moment. There’s no telling if you’ll hit it off, but if you don’t give it a shot, you’ll never know if you could have been happier than you presently are.
We bring our children up to believe that anything is possible. Truth be told, we don’t honestly know if such a thing is even true, but what’s the harm in dreaming and spreading some good cheer?

I think it’s high time I saw Gone with the Wind.
We all need to get our Margaret Mitchell on before we sink into the big sleep.
It’s time I made something of my life, and Rhett Butler’s enthrallment with Scarlet will not diminish my own desires in the least little bit. 

Charles Cicirella

Saturday, October 04, 2014

Coffee Beans

Words appear in my head, and I write them down.
It’s that simple, even though simplicity has nothing to do with it.
The point is not the complexity of the task at hand. When it comes to degrees of difficulty, I’m as lost as you and in need of a stiff drink and an even stiffer upper lip.

Reveal everything about yourself by looking deeply into my eyes. I promise before we’re through, we’ll have either fallen in love with each other or fallen out of another poor excuse for what may have passed for a relationship in another century.
I always believed your sense of style was timeless until realizing you were receiving your best ideas from someone else’s magazine cover shoot where all the models suffer from eating disorders and believe the objectification of one’s body is a small price to pay for immortality and a six figure salary.
The coffee beans were over roasted and tasted burnt, but that’s okay. I prefer my coffee well done and my morning Danish to be filled with cheese and endless regret, just like I preferred you lying in bed looking up at me with your crescent moon shaped eyes before we visited the church for the final time.

Words appear in my head, and I either accept the task at hand or do my best to ignore it.
If I choose to ignore it, I’ll never live it down because the words will haunt me like sourdough ghosts in the heart of the Tenderloin in San Francisco.
I am a poet, not a rabbi, police chief, or CPA. I am unpaid and constantly on guard, but those are the choices that I’ve made.
The sacrifice was the easy part. The hard part starts now as I do my best to figure out why I was forsaken and to whom I should take my complaints to.

Charles Cicirella

Another Poem About Bob Dylan #3

“I’m walking through streets that are dead.”
Headphones on receiving orders from central cocoon.
His voice a paintbrush. His every line delivers nostalgia and new birth simultaneously.
“My feet are so tired, my brain is so wired,  and the clouds are weeping.”

We’re soldiers on the front line of nothing.
Nothing new, nothing old. It’s all been done to death before.
He arrived in New York City and broke new ground by simply doing nothing more than showing up and paying attention.
I’m listening to a man who continues to give a damn as he hides in plain sight and brings us together faultlessly decade after decade.

“Sometimes the silence can be like the thunder.”
Sometimes, Bob all I want to do is throw in the towel. Then I put on one of your records or live performances, and I am reminded that quitting is not an option.
Getting on the tour bus and heading for another joint. Sleeping in one strange hotel after another has to get old, and yet you’ve proven beyond the shadow of any doubt the mettle you’re made of and that a song and dance man is truly what you are.
“I spoke like a child; you destroyed me with a smile.”

Charles Cicirella

Thursday, October 02, 2014

War Is Hell

The fog of war cannot be trusted.
Do you believe you have a better half? What do you think that better half is doing right now?
Obfuscation is just another word for smokescreen like Jerry Lewis is just another two words for overrated hack.

I was in the trenches and could hardly catch my breath.
There were all these Germans in close proximity, and I prayed they could not smell my Jewish blood.
Yes I am still very much a pacifist, but sometimes you must allow your moral imperatives to lapse so you can finish off the bullies with your semi-automatic fists.

I used to tell people I’m a lover, not a fighter. Now I just ask people to buy me a double bacon cheeseburger and call it a day.
You don’t have to worry about getting lost in the woods because these particular woods were created by the Brothers Grimm, and nothing happens in them except that which has already been written down and committed to a child’s fragile eggshell mind.
Someone slipped a red herring in my Coca-Cola, and before I knew it I was off on another wild goose chase. Agatha Christie called and she wants her ten little Indians back with interest. She also wanted me to tell you there’s no real point in solving a mystery when there’ll just be another one and another one after that. 

Charles Cicirella

Wednesday, October 01, 2014

Shifting Sands

I’m irrelevant.
The guy with the leaf blower is out back.
I don’t have any leaves to offer him and I cannot believe its fall again.

The sand is shifting beneath my bare feet.
I’ve always found sand between my toes to be such an unsettling sensation.
There’s no accounting for taste, but the way a person chooses to end their own life tells a lot about someone.

I’m going to go hide in the closet because I am petrified of what my bones might do when left to their own devices.
I know we’ve been here countless times before, but please understand I didn’t plan any of this. My writing is automatic. Like my feelings are automatic, not automated you dumb fuck.
Please forgive me my trespasses, and I promise to forgive you for when you walked in on me when I was wearing nothing but my sarcasm and a red clown nose.

The information I possess is erroneous at the best of times and completely off the reservation at the worst of times.
The code word is still Exodus so be sure to tell all of your gentile friends to make room because the chosen people are coming, and negotiating has never been one of our strong suits.
And if you think I am one of those self-hating Jews please know there is nothing I covet more than my Jewish ancestry. That does not mean I suffer fools gladly, though, nor will I put up with any of your Catholic guilt.

I’m unspecified.
The silence is deafening.
I don’t have any qualms about admitting I’ve lost my mind. I also don’t have a problem admitting that I have stopped giving a shit a long time ago.

Charles Cicirella

Homeland Security

You can blame it on the terrorists all you want, but the problem isn’t so much the terrorists, but rather how easily we allowed them to get inside of our heads.
When we started to use the word homeland that’s when the shit really got messed up. The word homeland makes me think of the Nazi’s and the Fatherland and all of the other bullshit going along with that failed and evil ideology.
911 was a horrendous and tragic day and there’s no disputing that, but why does America act like they’re the only ones to have ever been attacked on their own soil when in fact America is late in coming to this insidious party.
“My boyfriend's back and you're gonna be in trouble. (Hey-la, hey-la, my boyfriend's back).”

I have no idea how I’ll ever be able to explain to him how things got so screwed up in such a short amount of time.
The world has completely changed since 911, and it’s not the terrorists, who are to blame but instead all of us for how we chose to deal with this radicalized state of affairs. We surrendered our civil liberties and turned our backs on our supposedly trustworthy leaders so they could wreak even more havoc and break apart our Republic for which it stands.
“When you see him comin', better cut out on the double. (Hey-la, hey-la, my boyfriend's back).”

I remember when we could tell the bad guys from the good guys, or at least we thought we could. Back then, there were no 24-hour news cycles, and the term “lamestream media” had not yet been coined by some grizzly bear mom who had her fifteen minutes of fame but lacks enough sense to know when to call it a day.
You can blame it on the terrorists all you want, but we best start taking a good look at ourselves. Otherwise, we’re just going to become more and more paranoid as a nation and give ourselves an even bigger black eye than we already have.
“Hey, he knows what you been tryin'. And he knows that you been lyin'. (Hey-la, hey-la, my boyfriend's back).”

Charles Cicirella