Saturday, December 31, 2016

One Room Country Shack

You are old.
I am young and obviously don’t know anything.
Huh? What? Look I get age equals experience, but it also appears that age equals intolerance and a level of condescension not equaled since an old guard pulled out their blue blood peckers and took a piss all over a new guard that they believed was threatening their cozy position of unchecked power and unparalleled incompetence.

I have an asshole. You have an asshole.
We all buy toilet paper either in bulk or one roll at a time so when I gripe maybe it’s just one asshole’s opinion and you should wipe that indifferent grin off your face of shit and shinola.
I’m used to being held up in the wilderness crying wolf to a bunch of Peter Pans who want nothing to do with my Tinkerbelle stylings and fairy dust innuendos.

Don’t answer the phone when a dispirited muse is calling because then perhaps you’d actually have to get up, stand up and fight for something more than just another selfie on FB or featured reading in one more twilight town where the mayor hands you the key to the city while writing down your license plate number.
Sometimes I like to believe we’re all ex-cons serving time in a universal mind while others times I know solitary confinement would be the death of me and that I already spend far too much time by myself, twiddling my thumbs and making hay out of the ether.

I want to meet you outside of your comfort zone.
Hole up with you in a one room country shack in this or that Bubblicious homeland of wounded bald eagles and Count Chocula’s that go bump in the verboten night.
Let’s write our brains out and then go get a slice of apple pie with a chunk of cheddar cheese on top because we’re nothing if not American in our faded denim and denizens of misappropriated minstrel hope.
Everybody lies that is what I’ve come to understand as cynicism rains down from a puckered up red lipstick sky and a New Year wraps around us like a death shroud.

Charles Cicirella

Shogun Eyes (For Katie Boyd)

Clearing my mind so I can look into your Shogun eyes
And wax poetic about the empires rising up inside your ancient mind
This poem’s not coming so I may have to call it a day
Pack it in until the coffee is done percolating and you appear before me like a vision from another age.

Sometimes the words pour out faster than I can get them down onto the page. Other times it takes everything I have to pull them from the deepest, darkest recesses of wherever they flourish and flounder.
It’s all a process like planting flowers or exhuming a body from the frozen ground.
Poets are like coal miners and just like miners we’re often underground for hours at a time praying the canary will find enough fresh air to breathe.
Wanted to break out of this prison, but I figured what’s the point when my imprisonment was self-imposed and all I have to do is stand up and walk free from the shallow end of this wading pool.

I believe you have a cowboy mouth just like Bob was writing about. Of course I oftentimes don’t know what I’m saying as you quiet my mind with your Shogun eyes.
I was inspired and then I wasn’t. I drank some coffee then I took a shit. It’s all good and it’s all in the game and even if our world explodes we’ll always have the music and Paris, Texas to keep us grounded and relatively sane.
It’s becoming more and more apparent every day that the bullies are ruling the roost as their iron fists grind us into dust, but they will not have the last word. As cynical a person as I can be I’ll never not believe in humankind to get off the ropes and land some hard punches as good vanquishes evil and the entitled and the pampered have the tables turned on them for a change and the meek shall inherit more than just the Earth.

Charles Cicirella

Thursday, December 29, 2016

Your FREE NASA Developed Survival Blanket!

Maybe I don’t want to survive.
Maybe I’d rather perish on a dead planet so my dead friends can bring dead flowers to my empty grave.
And you know it’s no big thing dying. We’ve done it all before except in reverse. Now you’re just climbing back inside of the womb and when it wraps around you like a sausage casing you’ll forget you were ever here in the first place.

Caught Topper on TCM.
Fell asleep about thirty or forty minutes in.
I was enjoying it though and will return to it again soon.
Old movies are so much smarter and full of life than the shit they’re passing off as cinema these days.

And where were you when Eve tempted Adam with the pomegranate?
And what did you think when Eve was created from Adam’s rib?
If I had known we were having barbecue for dinner I wouldn’t have eaten such a big lunch.

Caught myself watching you from afar.
It was like the old days before we were well acquainted and everything impressed you and the sweet bird of youth still raged inside of you like The Black Keys before they were bitten by a Danger Mouse.
They say Cleveland is the Rock and Roll Capital of the world. I call them on their bullshit and do my very best to remind them of Cosimo Matassa and his recording studio at the back of his family’s shop on Rampart Street, in the French Quarter of New Orleans.
And don’t even get me started about Sam Phillips and that young truck driver who just wanted to make a record for his mama.

Maybe I’d rather just crawl up into a misshapen ball and go the way of the dinosaurs and old talk show hosts.
Have you seen Letterman lately? I want to go stand on his lawn just so he can yell at me and I can give the king of late night the finger as I’m hauled off by the fat pigs passed off as policemen today.
And you know we make too much of a fuss over dying. Even Princess Leia’s mother dying from grief is a whole heck of a lot better than suffering for years from an undisclosed illness or having your brain eaten away by plaque as everyone you once loved becomes a stranger and Brief Encounter a film you enjoyed long ago no longer makes any sense to you.

Charles Cicirella