First Poem of 2010! (rough draft)
Laughing all the way to the Bank OR: Joviality in Times of Recession
We could shed tears
it seems
for locked doors on
closed storefronts
We may lament the
lack of crowds at our
favorite clubs, or the
price of tobacco.
When even liquor becomes
a luxury, when every drop
is another cent that could've
been part of this month's rent
We must drink all the same,
if only to dull the horror of
cognition, reality postponed
like a bill past due, we
carry on, holding true
to our word; Times
are tough, as time becomes
shortened by longer work
days and lower wages
Empty stages
entertain no one, let us laugh!
Let us entertain one another,
delay that anxiety just a few
moments, burn that bridge
when you get to it.
Keep trying to get that job,
that gig, that couple of bucks
from the pawn shop.
It never stops, of that you can
be sure, and for a degree-less
slob such as I, times are as
tough as ever.
Even the sperm bank
requires a degree;
no one told me
that that paper certificate
earns you the right to
jack off into a cup!
Is that what they teach
in college these days?
If so, where do I sign up?
No one wants your blood
either
At least not enough to pay
you money for it.
I have tried, and failed,
but I hold out hope
that a toothless vampire
with a charitable heart
and a trust fund
might be willing to haggle.
Then there's the matter
of my kidneys.
One of them, I need.
The other
is a LAZY FRIGGIN'
FREELOADIN' CHUNK
OF MEAT
and I swear to Gawd
that the next black market
representative that I meet
will be approached with
a proposition to evict
said organ, unless,
that is, it starts earning
its keep.
This brings to question
the usefulness of other
corporeal tenants.
This brain, for instance,
churns thought constantly
Maybe too much, as it
frantically scrambles day
to day, like eggs on Sunday
morning, to find some way
of making a few bucks.
It fails rather frequently,
my wallet has a bone to
pick with it, to which I say
"Wait in line, wallet!
If anyone's gonna dispatch
this organ, it'll be done slowly.
Over the course of years.
Cell by cell. And Sailor Jerry
is at the front of the line!"
The mind, ah, such a funny
creature, lately it's taken a
turn toward the nocturnal,
insomniac paranoia eclipses
the forefront of the battle
that is sanity. If I'd have
known this would happen,
I'd have signed a waiver.
But then again, I don't
believe in no Sanity Clause.
(All due respect to Chico Marx
who knew recession and depression
all too well, yet tickled an
old piano and laughed through
a faux Italian accent; I think
he died poor, but the piano
appreciated the sentiment.)
Laughter is key
keep laughs in your heart,
for the heart may not get
you cash, it may not get
you a job. It may be sapped
and drained by poverty,
disillusionment, or spark.
The worst sin of all
is for your heart
to lack a sense of humor
This is a call to action,
to take the winds out of
the sails of the Antichrist
himself, to tell a knock knock
joke at the dawn of Apocalypse.
Tell a joke, throw a pie,
just for the Hell of it!
Reference yourself in
your own poetry.
Have fun while it lasts, and last
of all:
When all is reduced to flesh and
blood, organs and bodily fluids,
each of us as individuals are
monetarily useless. Our true
worth is to be found in our spirit,
our propensity to laugh in the
face of adversity, our collective
decision to ignore the values
ingrained and beat into us
by a culture spoiled on what
most of the world would refer to
as luxury. That silly piece of paper
they handed you at graduation is
no longer of value (unless you
get paid for masturbation)
and the follies of old shall happen
time and again, we will survive this
recession, we must drink, we must
laugh, and for the love of Gawd
feast.
Because that corporeal form
needs fuel too, to produce those
worthless fluids, our bodies live on
to carry our minds to the brink
of poverty-stricken madness
One might think, "Life ain't so
bad." And one would think
correctly. One would think truth.
Truth is
that you are not worthless
that you can't be qualified
by a monetary unit.
that money is an abstract
concept, that your empty
wallet is no indicator of the
worth of your laughter-filled
heart, and once you start
down the road of de-materialization
you'll see your anxiety dissipate
floating, heaven-bound, like
smoke from the cigarette you
can no longer afford to buy.
Put that in your pipe, and smoke it.
Laugh all the way to the bank,
your overdrawn account will smile
back at you, your empty gas tank
will bring you home, where you
can try to rationalize turning up
the heat.
Sometimes, laughter is all the
warmth you really need.
We could shed tears
it seems
for locked doors on
closed storefronts
We may lament the
lack of crowds at our
favorite clubs, or the
price of tobacco.
When even liquor becomes
a luxury, when every drop
is another cent that could've
been part of this month's rent
We must drink all the same,
if only to dull the horror of
cognition, reality postponed
like a bill past due, we
carry on, holding true
to our word; Times
are tough, as time becomes
shortened by longer work
days and lower wages
Empty stages
entertain no one, let us laugh!
Let us entertain one another,
delay that anxiety just a few
moments, burn that bridge
when you get to it.
Keep trying to get that job,
that gig, that couple of bucks
from the pawn shop.
It never stops, of that you can
be sure, and for a degree-less
slob such as I, times are as
tough as ever.
Even the sperm bank
requires a degree;
no one told me
that that paper certificate
earns you the right to
jack off into a cup!
Is that what they teach
in college these days?
If so, where do I sign up?
No one wants your blood
either
At least not enough to pay
you money for it.
I have tried, and failed,
but I hold out hope
that a toothless vampire
with a charitable heart
and a trust fund
might be willing to haggle.
Then there's the matter
of my kidneys.
One of them, I need.
The other
is a LAZY FRIGGIN'
FREELOADIN' CHUNK
OF MEAT
and I swear to Gawd
that the next black market
representative that I meet
will be approached with
a proposition to evict
said organ, unless,
that is, it starts earning
its keep.
This brings to question
the usefulness of other
corporeal tenants.
This brain, for instance,
churns thought constantly
Maybe too much, as it
frantically scrambles day
to day, like eggs on Sunday
morning, to find some way
of making a few bucks.
It fails rather frequently,
my wallet has a bone to
pick with it, to which I say
"Wait in line, wallet!
If anyone's gonna dispatch
this organ, it'll be done slowly.
Over the course of years.
Cell by cell. And Sailor Jerry
is at the front of the line!"
The mind, ah, such a funny
creature, lately it's taken a
turn toward the nocturnal,
insomniac paranoia eclipses
the forefront of the battle
that is sanity. If I'd have
known this would happen,
I'd have signed a waiver.
But then again, I don't
believe in no Sanity Clause.
(All due respect to Chico Marx
who knew recession and depression
all too well, yet tickled an
old piano and laughed through
a faux Italian accent; I think
he died poor, but the piano
appreciated the sentiment.)
Laughter is key
keep laughs in your heart,
for the heart may not get
you cash, it may not get
you a job. It may be sapped
and drained by poverty,
disillusionment, or spark.
The worst sin of all
is for your heart
to lack a sense of humor
This is a call to action,
to take the winds out of
the sails of the Antichrist
himself, to tell a knock knock
joke at the dawn of Apocalypse.
Tell a joke, throw a pie,
just for the Hell of it!
Reference yourself in
your own poetry.
Have fun while it lasts, and last
of all:
When all is reduced to flesh and
blood, organs and bodily fluids,
each of us as individuals are
monetarily useless. Our true
worth is to be found in our spirit,
our propensity to laugh in the
face of adversity, our collective
decision to ignore the values
ingrained and beat into us
by a culture spoiled on what
most of the world would refer to
as luxury. That silly piece of paper
they handed you at graduation is
no longer of value (unless you
get paid for masturbation)
and the follies of old shall happen
time and again, we will survive this
recession, we must drink, we must
laugh, and for the love of Gawd
feast.
Because that corporeal form
needs fuel too, to produce those
worthless fluids, our bodies live on
to carry our minds to the brink
of poverty-stricken madness
One might think, "Life ain't so
bad." And one would think
correctly. One would think truth.
Truth is
that you are not worthless
that you can't be qualified
by a monetary unit.
that money is an abstract
concept, that your empty
wallet is no indicator of the
worth of your laughter-filled
heart, and once you start
down the road of de-materialization
you'll see your anxiety dissipate
floating, heaven-bound, like
smoke from the cigarette you
can no longer afford to buy.
Put that in your pipe, and smoke it.
Laugh all the way to the bank,
your overdrawn account will smile
back at you, your empty gas tank
will bring you home, where you
can try to rationalize turning up
the heat.
Sometimes, laughter is all the
warmth you really need.