Chronic Chronicler Disorder

March 9, 2012

Dr Arkmahlk said I was “a chronic chronicler”

Deciphering my voice tones and transcribing my scribblings with determined fury seeking the cure or at least a treatment to

Coherently present me in a way I could pass for human.

 

I’ve tried the walk –right foot first at a 45-degree angle followed by the left foot at a 27-degree angle outward.

 

I’ve tried the talk- “I was reading in GQ today that  . . .” “I going to get my drink on tonight.”, “How about them Eagles?”

 

I’ve tried the career- top advertising executive in the firm making over 100 grand a year

 

I’ve tried the house- a beautiful townhouse in the best neighborhood

 

I’ve tried the car- classic 1969 black Mustang fully restored and my blue BMW

 

I’ve tried the wife- beautiful, charming trophy

 

 

THE LOOK-

 

I’ve tried the clothes- tan or black John Varvatos khakis and Brooks Brothers Chinos, Gucci horsefit loafers, argyle socks, colorfully striped Fred Perry Polo shirts or eModa plain, plaid and “revival” button up shirts, and Barney’s vintage leather jackets.

 

I’ve tired the haircut- closely cropped on the sides and the slightly longer messed spiked hair on top with Enpir brand moisturizing hair gel.

 

I’ve tried the shave – I shaved every other day to keep the slight 5 o’clock shadow look with short trimmed sideburns.

 

I’ve tried the teeth- professionally whitened by the best dentists

 

I’VE TRIED

 

“Look Doc. I can’t pull this off. I’m an alien to this world and I’ll always be this way. I am not human.” I said.

 

I sat there with my long unrushed knotted hair, long gray beard, rotting yellow teeth, wearing 2nd hand clothes- t-shirt, jeans and sneakers, unemployed, divorced, no car, no friends and no connection to the human race.

 

“If this is true you realize that despite Doctor patient confidentiality, I have to report you to the authorities and they will revoke your citizenship to the human race. You will be sent away to an Alienation National Hospital for the Socially Challenged. There, depending on how bad your condition has become, you will be subjected to the constant hammering of your creative instincts and eventually create your own new world or unfortunately, become a casualty like 86.45 % of the patients there to the final escape- non-conformist rejection and Alien alienation to the point where there is nothing or no one left to chronicle. Not even you. You’ll be a shell of instinctual fortitude existing only in your own actions.” Dr Arkmahlk said.

 

“Any advice then Doc?” I asked my last question to anyone ever.

 

“Yes. Take 2 of these and you won’t call me in the morning.” He said handing me the cyanide pills.

 

The last thing I thought was what my grand father used to say to me at bedtime “Good night Irene you jelly bean.”


Ezra POUNDed My Head

February 9, 2012

Ezra POUNDed my head today

I woke up in the (William) BURROUGHS of my mind

Unable to NEAL like Cassady and pray

I write like I am an ARTHUR (Rimbaud) of many poems but

I am really a HUNTER (S. Thompson) of words

A Patti wordSMITH

 

I am hungry for an Allan GINSBERGer with cheese

Flap JACK Kerouac rhymes touch my soul

I search as (Henry David) THOREOUly as I can for the

Right (Edgar Allan) POEm to come along and

It all seems so (William) BLeAkE like

Tasting rotten (Walt) WHITMAN chocolates

My creativity takes it (Gregory) CORSO

As I ponder on about Emily needing DICKenson

I have to make my MARK like TWAIN

And do as I WILLiam and say FAULKner you

 

I WILLiam SHAKEspeare this feeling

I want to have my (Robert) FROSTed cake

And (William Butler) yEATs it too

Mark my (William) WORDSworth


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