The Dude Abides

Let me take you down, ’cause I’m going to, Strawberry Fields. Hello fellow readers.  Interesting that I call you ‘fellow’, isn’t it?  Well, actually not really.  From time to time, I myself enjoy perusing my own posts.  Nostalgia, maybe.  Remembering better shitty times.  In any case, at least now you know we have something in common.  Alright, now let us move on to the post at hand.  Really, it isn’t anything to get excited about, other than that it’s mine.  A couple of poems that are past due in posting, although neither of which I deem good.  Afterwards I plan on bitching, so go ahead and plan your day accordingly.  Got it planned?  Good, now read and love me.

The first poem is also a first attempt at writing something that isn’t so damn obvious.  Granted, the theme is more or less the same, but I thought I’d try and make it more symbolic, and, when it boils down to it trippy, thank you Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds.  In that regard, I utterly failed.  However, it’s not a terrible poem, and I enjoyed trying to expand my realms, even if I dare not leave the safety of couplets.  Ladies and gentleladies, for your viewing non-pleasure, I give you this poem.

Pieces of thoughts flow through an altered-conscious stream.

Congregating in a sequence and creating a dream.

A soothing Presence says not to worry.

I’m sliding into Tommy’s ‘amazing journey’.

I am myself, yet there I am.

I watch the dream, yet there I stand.

I get in the car and begin the drive.

Flee from the real and begin to feel alive.

A momentary word is the only toll.

Talking to the Man who’s in control.

And then I ride the wormhole exit to the start.

Arriving long before piercing sadness conquers the heart.

A whisper of future echoes in my mind.

And I ignore it, for now’s not the time.

A detour in time and my journey skips.

The control of it all seems beyond my fingertips.

A many-faced man is who greets my arrival.

And I stay for four months, wishing to leave all the while.

Finally I hail my mind’s taxi-cab.

And I leave the dark, and the drab.

The sun’s light thief greets me there.

What happens here, I’m quite aware.

The whisper that was, now surrounds me.

My question, an answer, and I’m all I can be.

“Yes,” and my journey rockets to a different world.

I, myself, and this girl.

It’s this world where I wish to remain.

Where the ending never happens, where there is no change.

But a dozen tulips bow in sorrow.

Foreshadowing the coming morrow.

Love moves into my head.

It melts away the hate and dread.

The dark blue dress makes me feel weak.

The night that follows, serves as the peak.

A sharp left turn, and I‘m away.

My heart is breaking, like the day.

I see myself, and I’m crying.

I hear my soul, hear it dying.

No one else is able to see.

For the many-faced man is also me.

The faces are the state I’m in.

They appear as fake, mannequins.

I’ve arrived at the end of it all.

I hate the dream, yet I still stall.

Because in the dream, it’s all fine.

I wasn’t foolish, and you’re still mine.

Pieces of thought flow back to me.

And I return, sadly, to reality.

There, did you get your fill of cheese?  Add some macaroni and you’re talking a decent meal.  Yeah, yeah I know.  Get over it, right?  Piss off.  It’s not like I WANT to exploit this for writing.  Truth be told I’d rather be rhymeless and have nothing to write about, which I’m sure I’ve said before.  Meh, fuck it, let’s move on.

The next poem, as I said there were two, is my version of a Beatles song.  Come Together gives a description of each Beatle in one of the verses.  So, instead of creating my own song, I kept their ideas, only subbed in people I thought I could describe.  The problem arose in trying to describe people without coming out full-fledged and saying their name.  Also, I couldn’t just describe them outright, I had to make up some nonsensical shit in order for it to sound anything like the damn song.  Again, I utterly failed.  Again, I enjoyed the attempt at branching out, and in this one there aren’t as many of those damn couplets.  So, without further adieu, my version of Come Together, bear with me.  (Because WordPress is ridiculous I have to put my own hyphens to separate the verses.  Apparently double spacing doesn’t do shit.  Whatever.)

—————————————————–

He’s boiling over, he got quiet uproar.

He got prison school day, he plays incompletion.

He say, “Hurry up ‘cause now’s a bore.”

Volcano eruption soon blows open the door.

———————————————————–

He run and run, he got, photo funding.

He feel, lovey nothing.  He’s just driftin’ nowhere.

He say, ‘Give the green’ for his physique.

Tries to be the crowd but he just way too unique.

—————————————————————–

He pencil wizard, he got, heavy say so.

He hate, bitter acting, he feel, no conditions.

He say, ‘…I don’t need reality’.

He just ‘live in the house of love peacefully.’

———————————————————-

He heartbreak refuge, he just, always chillin’.

He see, deeper than deep, he love, all of the three.

He say, ‘View it all in apathy.’

‘If He is or if He’s not that’s alright with me.’

———————————————————–

Enjoy that?  I hope so, it was a bitch and double cunt to write.  If you know me at all, than figuring those four fucks out won’t be any problem.  If you have trouble, hesitate to call, and I also advise against the postal service.  Just comment telling me you don’t know who they are, and I’ll respond my chuckling and telling you to fuck off.

Alright, now that we are through the posting of my poems, let’s talk fucking turkey, fucking functioning as an adjective.  Here’s the deal.  I’m lazy and bored.  A job could remedy this, but fuck that.  What I really want is somebody to talk to, preferably a chick.  I mean, I have all of this stuff in my noggin that I would like to discuss.  If I could find a chick that could just chit and chat about music for an hour, that’d be sweet like a lolli, or the second part of a sour patch bear.  As it is, I have me, myself, and my blog to talk to, and the other part of a relationship (such as dating) really is nonexistent, although my blog once made a pass at me.  Tried to tell it that we’re better off as friends, but it just couldn’t get over that fact.  It started writing poems about me and the blog.  Creeped me out.

Perhaps it’s me.  Who am I kidding? I’m quite sure it’s me.  HA!  Want to hear my perfect idea of a date?  A little Rock Band, a little Halo, talking about music, dinner, a movie upstairs, a kiss goodnight, and then off to my dreamland.  I could probably nix the Halo, but I’ll leave it in there for emphasis.

My point, in a very obtuse yet roundabout way, is that I’m boring.  I know this, and I know that I sure as shite not going to become Mr. Sociable just to bag a chick.  And I’m back to Square fucking 1.  (Why squares, by the way?  Personally, I’ve always been a fan of circles.)  Circle 1 consists of me writing poems about dreams and journeys and lost love.  I must like Circle 1 a lot.

It’s frustrating to an extreme I have never known.  I just want to move on, get over it, stop complaining.  I want to let her go, stop fucking writing about her, (in the slim event she still reads) and give me a sense of ‘fucking hell I’m glad I’m out of that’.  Of course, sitting around doing dick with your time really gives you a shit ton of opportunity to just think.  I’ve found your mind is useless when it’s always preoccupied.  Damn shame.  Meh, fuck it.  Moving on.

I am half way through John Lennon: The Life.  Until, and even a little bit after he started taking acid, that guy was a gigantic fucking dick.  He didn’t give a shit what he said, or to whom he said it.  Personally, I don’t know how these guys made it as far as they did with him running his trap all the damn time.  As much as he was a creative genius, that guy needed to be punched in the face.  Of course, once he started tripping, he became this peaceful guy with an even bigger sense of insecurity than before.  *Spoiler alert* He gets shot in the end, or so I’ve heard.  Shame, another iconic music figure taken before his time.  These things sadden me.  Just think of a world where Hendrix, Morrison, Cobain (maybe), Delp, Moon, Lennon, and Bonham were all still alive, along with anybody influential that died early.  Imagine all the people, living life…with good fucking music still around.

Welp, that about does it for me.  A longer post than I’ve been cranking out lately.  Thank you average poems.  If nothing else, you filled some damn space.  Until next time America.  Take it easy.

The Dude

P.S.  I still love you.