1. |
Sterling Hayden
04:12
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In God’s abundance: stuck in coach, I’m all revved up with a place to go. A known supporting role. The spiteful aubergine, with eyes oedemic, purple-black. A coddled public screams, “We’re back!” He’s drawn a circle ‘round the wreck. Now he’s attempting pirouettes.
Come on, fella, come on down. We’ll count the grains of sand in Encinitas ‘til the skin drips off of both sides of our hands. I’m feeling so alive again. I know just what I am. Clearly doing what I can just to see how useful I can be, slowly, as I march into the sea.
In God’s abundance: courtside seats (well, two rows back from courtside seats). Watched the Clippers beat the Heat, and wound up on the screen as they were showing those resembling various celebrities. Focus inward. Soul was whispering, “Buddy, that’s not you, that’s me!”
Come on, people, come on down. We’ll vibrate with the land and teleport to Sparks, Nevada. Peel out westward toward Japan. I’m feeling so alive again. I know just what I am. No thank-yous necessary, ma’am. Just seeing how useful I can be, slowly, as I march into the sea.
I’ll say no. I said no. ‘Cause the complimentary breakfast’s always sad. The offer don’t match up with what you have. Embridled and extraordinary man.
“What’s that show?” I’ll have you know: that show was something special, and it ran for a season-and-a-half. Movie shitcanned. Embridled and extraordinary plans.
Top-billed in this tastefully staid apartment. Eight-by-tens still kept in the glove compartment. Took names of the guys in the art department. Took blame for that tiff at the farmer’s market.
We’ll see if dumb’s the end of free. Swiftly, babe, we march into the sea.
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2. |
K-Mart, 1995
03:02
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On the two-year anniversary, I complied to Benihana and the promise we could stay polite. Shootin’ shit. Avoiding mentioning the scare. Our tortured stranger flipped a shrimp body up in the air.
And so begins the decline. You always could read my mind. I said I’d let you this time, and come next year, I’m buying.
Called it early as the unsaids multiplied. She caught the Katy and she left me a mule to ride. Those doors slid open and I felt my whole self glide. Two hundred paperclips; a rerelease of Katy Lied.
This takes a lot off my mind. Serenity at a price. Today it’s $12.25. Blessed by flashing blue light.
It might have been the tenor of the croak. It might have been the subtext of the joke. An oscillating locus of control, or the momentary absence of all hope. But the cashier, scanning my bounty, asked if I live nearby.
Look: I got a lot on my mind. I got a lot on my mind. I got a lot on my mind. And this helps me. That’s why.
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3. |
Lloyd
05:19
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Everything is perfect. What more can we do? The chlorinated water jumps in rhythm with the Zoom handshakes by worker bees. Utilities all free. Everything is perfect, or, it seems perfect to me.
From a speaker, slanting downward toward the glade, ambient enchanting new age singles play; shrug their reputation. Proud to lift the weight from the delts of duty-bound, fresh, rectangle-shaped and bright, important guys. They all blend in. Why couldn’t I? All in. The game begins. We coalesce. Sleeping dog lies.
The man downstairs said, “Everything looks so great sometimes.”
The man downstairs said, “Everything new’s gotta break sometime.”
Somewhere deep inside the server room I slept, ‘midst the pile of ribbon wire and tangled ethernet. A gust of wind comes from the door. It’s just the nightly check. Unmapped, he don’t detect the nested jittering egret.
Swap ports when blinking lights go red or orange or off entirely. A service I provide all through the night. By dawn, we ride.
The man downstairs said, “Everything gets so strange sometimes.”
The man downstairs said, “Suddenly, see an uptick in uptime.”
Caught him with that head-scratch look. Got him with that binder, shook. Guests are satisfied. How could this be right?
Everyone’s got something to lose. Something to prove. Something to get around and do.
Lanyard ‘round my neck. Nametag to my chest. When not recognized, chuckle, “Probably for the best. Hey! Nice presentaysh! Enraptured the whole place. The part ‘bout the journey, not the destination. That resonated. Just gotta say you may never know how much that resonates. I’ll take it to my team. Yeah, back to my team. Please do not ask me too much about my team.”
I’m acting like I’ve something to lose. Something to prove. Something to get around and do.
Falling back in line. Over where the sun don’t ever shine, ever shine, ever shine. All the people stop and stare and share the best ideas and it goes fine. It goes fine. It goes fine. Is it mine?
Ballrooms to the left. Elevators to the right. These rent-a-cops’ll taser ‘til ya shrivel up tight. Lobby to my north. An exit to my south. These rent-a-cops’ll kick the teeth right out of your mouth.
Everything was perfect. What more can we say? Once you put me on a pedestal, put me in the grave. Every other step ‘til my solo on the roof. Got my second to reflect. I’m a mile ahead of you. Natural selection. A mile ahead of you. Top of the pyramid’s my runway. Folks, I bid you adieu.
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4. |
Alistair Pine
03:00
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Alistair Pine had to take a few calls. Picked up his kids and dropped them off at the mall. Then he laid back in wait for the hammer to drop. Threw a twenty to the Salvation Army. Used his blinkers ‘cross the whole parking lot and waved hello to the cops.
Alistair Pine bought his cocaine at night and he couldn’t believe the distance gained from his driver. Well, he urged all his buddies: wake the lion inside. He started slicing off the face of the planet. Putts lined up but seemed to always push right. The next weekend, he died.
It’s such a miserable business, what goes on as you lace up your Keds. You tilt at the windmills as the trees are turning darker shades of red. Stay locked up tight, far away from power lines until it’s fine and it’ll be fine for a while. Yeah, it’ll be fine and it’ll be fine for a while. Yeah, it’ll be fine for a while.
Miserable business, what goes on as you fold up the bed. You tilt at the windmills. Make a point to record every message sent. Stay locked up tight, far away from power lines until it’s fine and it’ll be fine for a while. Yeah, it’ll be fine and it’ll be fine for a while. Yeah, it’ll be fine for a while.
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5. |
Tumbleweeding
03:02
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So we failed to locate a single version that seemed to settle the sight lines that broke immersion. Couldn’t topple the Jenga tower with a gun to my head. A stiff preacher delivered a video sermon of stiff sleepers whose empires succumbed to vermin while they bashed the alarm clock and dreamed they were anyone else.
I get so lost outside myself in the land of oversized pickup trucks and shuttle buses. Extra fee for satellite radio inside the rental. Make a scene to draw the line. Force the editor to jump cut. Man, just tell me where to sign.
God, I need a reaction. Let me know I’m on your mind. Suppose I need a distraction, but those are getting so hard to find. What if I lose my identity; desire to mumble incoherently? Believe you me! Well, that would be an unspeakable tragedy.
So on the way in, a mysterious Irish Setter leashed up to a bike rack asked me to pet her. Highlight of the day was laying a palm on her head. Can’t recall the more robust one—Delta 8 or Delta 9? Struggling to read the menu ‘til I gained a second sight. “Try our famous margaritas. They are brimmed with salt and lime. They are brewed in a huge cauldron where they freeze for several nights.”
God, I need a reaction. Let me know I’m on your mind. Suppose I need a distraction, but those are getting so hard to find. What if I lose my capacity for love, or trust, or breathing nicotine? Hissing machine. Now, would that be some unspeakable tragedy?
I cut off a motorcyclist near Knoxville while swerving away from a pile of roadkill. He banged on my window. World’s angriest guy. Repeating the phrase: “You’re stupid, I die.” I knew he was right, so I’m apologizing when he kicked the steed up and became the horizon. So I’m tumbleweeding, adrift once again. Think me and this stranger could probably be friends. The end.
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6. |
The Pen
02:48
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I’d known my neighbor Greg for years. We’d talk about the Rangers and have a few beers. He liked my garage. I liked his garage. But Greg didn’t sleep much, I could see, so eventually, I intervened and he said, “Listen carefully. You see, I built this new contraption. Lets you punch in any date you want to go to, and the room goes white, and you’re there.”
“Well, Greg, sweet friend, on August 8th, 2010, I lost a jet blue ballpoint pen I loved much more than all of my other pens. I feel like this could be my opening.”
Now, Greg shot straight; he never lied to me. The room went white, and suddenly, the TV showed a commercial for Couples Retreat, coming soon to DVD. I crawl outside and sniff around the block to find my jet blue ballpoint pen. Which, I guess, erased my wife and my kid.
Live from the Everglades, I tend to an airboat; perform all its maintenance. It’s no Zihuatanejo, but I can’t complain, though often I do. Yes, I do. The humidity gets to me, get lonely when I drink, and that pen’s out of ink.
And Greg, if you’re out there, come find me. I have an idea, I think.
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7. |
I Think I've Seen Enough
01:49
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I think I’ve seen enough. I think I’ve already said what you wanted me to say.
I laid on a coat of paint, then I watched it dry. I think I’ve seen enough.
Another holiday passes, so the neighborhood relaxes some. My son and I talked in the driveway while I listened to his engine hum. Now the days float by, and I cross them off. I’ll be standing here patiently until that’s done. You’ll defy their expectation if they don’t got one at all.
I think I’ve seen enough. He laid on a coat of paint, then he watched it dry.
I think I’ve seen enough. How about we speed it up?
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8. |
I Believe In Slime
04:46
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Pulled up midnight, or quarter past. Light stretching, change my patch. Shut off the GPS. Introductions at the door. “She’s never done this before. We figured better safe than sorry.”
She watches far too much TV, and if she’s fooling anyone, she isn’t fooling me. No, no. Shake her shoulders loose and wipe the blood from her nose. I shoot a wink just so she knows I know.
Cold call, international. The Petersons weren’t home. Their cleaner texted them on holiday in Rome. Sulfuric smell, and said she heard the whirr of whispered words—is now convinced this place is cursed.
Can be unsettling when the floorboards creak. I empathize like this eight days a week. Most of the time, I guess that’s what they seek. Happy to help and glad you called me. These are normal earthly sounds—see, your house sits in the ground. Sometimes that ground, it moves around. It’s not possession, but the fact that you were alone on a day the wind was blowing.
I had promise. I had light. Had hobbies that I liked. Charisma out the gills, the skillset’s hard to come by, so the church started paying the bills. I blinked my eyes and wrote my will.
Caught me at a real good time. Climb in quickly – need to drive. Henry Seaver took a dive, fell forty feet but still alive. Felt the thrashing from the stop sign down the block. Strings of profanity, his chest is like a rock. His temperature was in the negative degrees. Got my attention, my blood’s flowing, hold position on my knees.
You know I always trust in God to have my back. When rusty, he protects. Subliminal, these messages—but these weren’t subtle at all, no, no. Quite to the contrary, so...
His head fully reversed and he spits out bile. I’m on the ceiling fan ’til I’m stuck to tiles. He’s different now, transmogrified into a fork-tongued and snarling reptile.
I’m somehow reminded that I like my job. I like my job. I liked my job. I liked my job.
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9. |
Checker Drive Revisited
02:34
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Outside a home that we didn’t even own, there’s the lawn we tried to mow, rock still propping up the mailbox. Missed a lot, so I circle ‘round the block. The street was free to take a shot. I was thankful to be spared. There’s stripe cat asleep in the driveway. Sensing it’s probably the same cat I knew then. Hoping somehow it saw me. Stripe cat is well—the eternal being.
I might be prone to wishful thinking. The setting keeps me logical. A couple names, a couple signs gonna change. Most everything around here, everything around here stays the same.
Back on the road to the state where I was grown. Forty minutes since the news chopper circled my location. Light, but there’s stars. Bolliger & Mabillard cars carve into a heaven to be sent into the backfill yard. Spruce the dinge on the buildings, and the Bull may quit Raging with peak efficiency. Spray some WD-40. You know, paint can turn plywood to Gotham City.
It’s on my list of stuff to look at. Always drive past but rarely go. Just another something took for granted, like everything around here. Everything around here.
You may find me disappearing. Well, people come and people go. I won’t ever be the last man standing. Free to leave my post, ‘cause even when I’m close, I’m far away.
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10. |
They're On To Me
03:44
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I was struck by lightning late last week. I couldn’t understand it. I was talking in my sleep. So, stifling the cough ought to cleanse the air. “No controversial thoughts,” thought the brain that’s shooting flares out miles through the wilds of space and time. Steve Jobs said “Oh wow” a whole bunch right before he died. Wondering if the concept actually applied. Readers praise the leader, feed the meter.
See the portrait of Marlon Brando, that steady resistor of the ebbs and flows. That tinseltown schlock’s just shit below. The good time was chemical. Only for me and God to know.
With cheshire grin, I draft my long decree. “Anyone who liked it, go ahead, destroy your screen.” Tachometer is broke. No rest for thee. I change a word or two because they felt a little mean. Although I bully some, don’t mean to bully hard. These people have the nuance of a Hallmark card.
But I’m lost without the plebes jerking their dicks off at their AMCs, while, wide-eyed, they tick. “Explain for me. You shortcut, you madman.” They plead, I give, they like. Applause. End scene.
Destroyer of glee. The herder of sheep. The viaducts crumble to dust at their feet. Cigars are cigars, not art. That’s the beat of my hand! That’s the back of my heart! Wait a minute.
Some nothing just called me an asshole. Funny, but not how the story goes.
The portrait of Marlon Brando. Found deep in the jungle by some navy boat. Hyena-pig hybrids surrounding his throne. Right where they need me to be. Let them believe they’re on to me.
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11. |
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I blew a paycheck on a session with a slot machine. I hit a run and thought the buffalos were speaking to me. It didn’t take long. In an hour, it was gone. There were hoofprints where the line was drawn.
Pilot station roller food ‘cause I was chasing the mood. Now a zero-sum old loser with a bum attitude. “We’re gonna rock down to Electric Avenue” blared. Finger to the sky, a guy said, “Musical Youth.”
All of my life, I’ve been waiting for a middleman to come and save me. All of my life, I’ve been waiting for the universe to come and take me out. But not now, not now.
At a demolition derby under stadium lights, they took a Chevy Colorado and they launched it through the uprights. Well, alright. Well, maybe I’ll bite. That’s a pretty solid way to spend a Saturday night.
‘Cause all of my life, I’ve been waiting for a middleman to come and save me. All of my life, I’ve been waiting for the universe to come and take me out.
How might we escape with our wits about us? Thy will be done in a charter bus. Jackknife semi visualized. Worry ritualized. Won’t be rolling the dice. So you left without saying goodbye. You go. Shake it up. You gotta shake it up.
All of my life, I’ve been waiting for a middleman to come and save me. All of my life, I’ve been waiting for the universe to come and take me.
Go shake it up. You gotta shake it up. Go.
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Telethon Wisconsin
Powerpoppunkrock for the modern kids
Thank you for listening.
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