Well, here we are again, another evening at the old blog. I wonder who made the word "blog" up, and exactly what they were thinking (and probably smoking) when they created it. A blog sounds sort of like a creature that might creep up on you out of the fog. Well, i guess in a metaphorical sense, my blog is like that. It's just lurking there. Reading this over your shoulder. Annoying habit, i know, this particular blog doesn't have very good manners.
Okay, now i've gotten THAT out of my system. Honestly, today i felt like i was ready to pounce on somebody. It could have been anyone. Heading down to Popeye's for some chicken, i was overcome with a sudden urge to randomly grab a passer-by, and scream, "HERE! HERE! IT IS THE BEATING OF HIS HIDEOUS HEART!" or "I'M MELTING! MELLLLLLLLLLLLLTING! OH, WHAT A WORLD, WHAT A WORLD!" or something of the sort. Then, at Popeye's, as the pert and perky cashier asked me, "What would you like?" i practically growled "A PIECE OF MMMMEAT!" She wasn't in the least intimidated by this response, a reaction i put down to (1) being totally ignorant of the fact that Grendel was standing across a very short counter from her, (2) being totally ignorant, and/or (3) being a New Yorker. But, for some reason, i'm feeling very aggressive lately. I've also been eating like a horse. Literally. Feed-bag and all. Well, not really, but i HAVE eaten more than is customary for me, which usually indicates that i'm going into a prolonged manic phase. Whee-hah, happy days are here again. The way this usually works, i'll crash at about the time i'm supposed to be leaving my humble room here in the Bronx, and i still have no freaking idea what i'm going to do. I just pray i don't get on some self-destructive kick towards the end of the manic phase (it seems to be a kind of natural reaction, almost like you're trying to put the brakes on because your mind's strapped to a rocket-sled).
Something occurred to me earlier, and i've been trying to work it into "April Fool's Resolution." I was pondering "casting pearls before swine," and then i started thinking of what pearls were. Essentially, they're tiny pieces of grit or other foreign matter that sometimes gets trapped inside the oyster's shell. What the oyster does is build up a layer of what's called nacre around the irritant. This layering continues, eventually developing into a pearl. The seed of the pearl, one might say, is something unpleasant or irritating or painful . . . but, at least in me, the irritants are surrounded by layer upon layer of words. So, i cough up poems instead of pearls. And, given that analogy, the pigs just MIGHT trample my pearls into the mud . . . i'm not worried, i've got more. LOTS more. See, there's that aggressive kick again. I should probably write a few rants when i'm in this mood, that always cheers me up and sometimes actually generates a bit of poetry in the process. Some people, apparently, do not consider my rants "poetry," and since their tastes are so refined, they'll probably be happier in some dark closet performing biologically impossible acts on him or herself, and i cordially invite all such individuals to go and do so immediately.
Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr . . . .
Just an aside, i sometimes wonder how Aryan Nation or KKK members or whatever they're calling themselves now survive in prison, except that maybe some AGENTS OF THE STATE AGREE WITH THEM, and maybe they've got a few COPS ON THEIR PAYROLL, or maybe THEY'RE ON THE COPS' PAYROLL, or something of the sort. Yes, i did say that.
I guess saying something like that in a public blog COULD be considered a self-destructive act, considering the possible repercussions, but . . . sheesh, almost all of my poems have some sort of potential repercussions, a lot of them unpleasant . . . but i can't quit being what i am just because being what i am jeopardizes my life. Scared? Yes, i'm terrified. I've told people time and time again that i sometimes scare MYSELF with the intensity of stuff that comes pouring out of the old poetry faucet, and what i'm committing to by speaking them aloud. I pray to God not to hold the liberties i take against me. I've also told people time and time again that God is literally holding me up, and holding me TOGETHER . . . i've flown apart in pieces before, and it's not pretty. I know, people don't wanna hear about God unless it's got their particular brand-name slapped on it, like there's different gods for Catholics and Southern Baptists and Seventh-Day Adventists. Well, just deal with it. God. The Creator. The Supreme Being. The One. And, yes, i'll say Jesus, too. If you've got something better, go to it. And, yeah, i've ranged all over the field in this particular paragraph, but it comes to a focal point: i am not PERMITTED to write what i write, i am COMPELLED.
I may be KILLED for speaking uncomfortable truth, but far better that i die WHILE speaking truth, comfortable or not.
Those are aggressive statements, or to put it another way, "them's fightin' words," and i don't think it's going to be a self-fulfilled prophecy, i'm just baiting the inevitable.
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