We Will Be Back Right After This…

Another rant from my novel…

 

Ok, I want you to do something for me. I want you to do it right now. Don’t give me any static.

"Warning" by jurvetson

Take a good look at the sign on the wall over there. You see it?

The sign reads: “THE RULES.”

Got yer tired eyes looking at the thing? Good. Here’s the deal, and it’s non-negotiable.

If you join the club, you gotta follow the rules. Otherwise, don’t join the club.

I know what you are going to do. You’re one of the smart ones, or so you think. You’re the kind of Jagermeister swilling hip-to-be-square types, too cool for school. Think the rules don’t apply to you. Yeah, I get it.

I want you to do something for me. I want you to do it right now.

Brush that trend ‘do back and read the rules carefully. I am telling you right now that if you join my club, you will have to follow the rules.

Hey, the first one is “No spitting.” That should be easy enough.

I have seen your type a million times. I have rejected your friend request and I have sent your uploads spooling endlessly. I can spot your M.O. in my peripheral vision. I’m that good.

You don’t think you have to follow the rules. Don’t deny it, you know that it is true. Your whole life you have defined yourself as someone not like everyone else. Not a joiner, that’s for fail punks and mainstream douchebags. You ain’t drinking the Kool-aid.

Fair enough. I bow to your coolness. In fact, I admire it.

But rules are rules, and don’t even think about joining the club if you aren’t going to follow them.

So you say, “No worries, daddy-o. I can follow those rules.” That’s because you know I got the good cookies, and there is something awesome going on backstage. You want that pass, I see it in your eyes.

I want to believe you, but I know you can’t go long without making a contrary statement, pressing the vanity button. Still….there’s something there though, some kind of potential, that makes me want to say yes.

I love your enthusiasm. I love your willingness. I love that fact that you are willing to put down those wrinkled, rollback beliefs and join a winning team. Happy to have you on board with these initiatives. Welcome aboard!

I don’t think a special someone like you would want to sign up for this if everyone was doing it. You’re an early adapter, I get that. I know that if this gets too, oh popular, you’ll start trolling forums and stir up the pot. Not only do I get that, but I am counting on it.

‘Cause, you can’t make an omelet if you don’t break some eggs. Trite yes, but damn true. We’re talking about creative destruction. Let’s break it, smash it down, and build it from scratch. Let’s fuck with it and see what comes out of it.

This initiative isn’t for the weak and palsy. Hell no, you gotta be tough to play my game, you gotta have wits, you gotta have creativity.

And it’s clear to me that you have all that.

We’re about to embark on a New and Improved World Order, we are going to make changes yes we are. When we get done, you’re not even going to recognize the place.

Still with me? Like I ever had a doubt.

Now this is going to have some sacrifice involved. You may have to cut those ties, be ready to walk away in an instant. People are going to get hurt. And there probably won’t be much of a warning.

I want you to do something for me. I want you to do it right now.

Repeat after me:

“Life can change in an instant.”

Very good. Now say:

“Shit happens.”

Excellent. Now one more:

“Better to be pissed off then pissed on.”

Perfect.

I am going to be honest with you, and the fact that I am being honest with you should be yet another affirmation that you have made an excellent choice joining me going forward. It’s always good to have a back up plan. So if you don’t have one, I need you to get with it. Map out that plan B, and maybe a Plan C.

I would love to give you a guarantee that everything will work out to the last lettered detail, but I am only responsible for the effort, not the result. No matter how it goes, it will go.

So do whatever prep you need to do and get back real quick. We are about to position our shields and lower our spears to throat level. We are going to stick some pigs, you and I. They got it coming, and we are just the people to do it.

Just remember that sign on the wall when you signed up.

If you join the club, you gotta play by the rules son.

Mother’s Day 1969-96

A poem written to my mother as a gift, Mother’s Day 1996. Yep, it’s autobiographical.

 

Spring
69
Woodward cruises
Beatle beats, young and pretty, blonde hair
reflecting golden sunny glow coming down from jewel-blue skies.
“Can you feel it when it passes through you?”
Skinny, Rock & Roll. Oh he’s so dangerous. Rebel rebel on the street,
friends keep asking you why he’s not a normal American guy.

Spring
69

Warmer days and cooler nights, school concluding, future plans ideas
at best. Why do you like this bad little boy, fringe leather long hair and
shit-eating grin?
Fair skin, gentle smile, Berkley girl
Who could hang for a while
Cool kids in a fragile moment
It’s not so bad in this shrinking spring 69

It’s cool and that’s all
anybody needs in the treasure of youth. He’s a perfect pirate at best.
But for a sliver a bit it had all been a returning smile a gentle wink and a
walk around town.

Detroit and its almost summer. All right. 69. Xtra life in your belly.
Sweet mode, the summer of love upon you and its greatest sum is your
equation.
Maybe now it’s not a rebel you seek, but there he is.

Summer
69

You feel fine. All the love of the world grows inside you.
Who was that young glowing mother whose sandaled feet strolled under
that warm season sun. Fresh and full of life, scared but hopeful, optimistic
but cautious, courageous and poetic.
Suddenly it’s not so simple, but beautiful none the less.

Music comes out of convertible cars rolling slowly down Woodward
in proud De-troit style. How life’s course changes in an instant. People who
might have been a night away from can affect the events of decades to
come.
Slowly turning tires on flashy cars, music, the beat–the heartbeat of
the street. Young girl, the mess of love, now with belly swelling dire. A
range of emotions like light through a prism.

Summer
69

Late August humid nights. Young boy and young girl in the face of
life. A knuckle down in the sacrifice
for the upcoming
and now the price.
Random like the leaves off the trees. No one can plan their fall.
Design beyond our reach. We can only sweep thereafter.

Fall
69

It’s colder and bolder in the heart of the city. Big world has come, ready or
not, it is quickly becoming time for the big game. He’s staying for the game.

Darker skies and November chills your boy(?) is almost upon you.
How the days have passed, I can only fictionalize. Summer of loved passed
to fall nights, Berkley taillights. What nerves danced behind your doe eyes?
Were you dying or lying or crying behind them or did you laugh and smile
and await your child?

Fall
69

It’s coming up in just a while.
It’s crisp and cold. It’s a Michigan winter. Loose long cotton sheets give
way to thick dark wool and pile on the duck feathers. The wool scratches of
young love are contrasted with down comforter sympathies.

Winter
69

Oh will it be alright? Will it be good? she asked herself.
Young pretty mother soon had watched other mother’s daughters
engage in ritual in local parks and hilltops. Happiness rained down on these
hills moments away.
Slide down and away on billowy coated snowcaps.
Whisping, swirling snow. Soft and flaky, gentle bed. Young will-be-mother lays down in it.
Starts making snow angels. Sometime after Christmas (she smiles)

It WILL be alright.

Another Command Will Follow

In my crazy postmodern apocalyptic world, there exists the Dodge Tribe. More on them to follow. They have a few poets that lurk in their ranks. I have managed to wrestle this short piece the grimy paws of one of their reluctant bards.

A sinister flash of teeth caused an agreement
to happen without cautious second glances
Now, a fortuitous hero wills his rise from rusted ranks
and former idol worshipers now condemn last minute strokes of genius
Yes, genius or brilliance in simplicity
Could lasting actions build tradition or shore up ethical balloons
in a corral to prevent exposure to toxic elements
Elements – periodic in definition, organized in hardened flesh of sheer disaster
Former chiefs can create new obedience in tired fists
Blasting caps fuel memory armed in apology
Could forgers pose as the holy in retribution of the convicted
Tattoo change on the base of the necks of the leashed

Watch Your Step

Taking a break from the Bleak Verse, and concentrating on something a bit more concrete…regret.

Cold winter night
Young lovers a moment
In his car
Outside her door

"Snatch" by boskizzi

Flushed with emotion
He delivers his sentence
“One year from now my dear,
A ring will be yours”

If you could have seen
Her face
A powerful gesture
Fueled by careless words

One year or so later
He lay in bed alone
Someone should love him
Someone should love her

Wounds slowly healing
Insomnia nights
Replay the regrets
Asking what if

Clutch that pillow tight.

A Day in Your Brickyard

Another experiment in Bleak Verse, always enjoyed reading this one at open mics.

rolling stringy mealyworms

Big Empty Feeling by Patrick Henson

in cracked layman hands
spell a manifesto
of strange proportion
wringing in the ash
a ripple effect
sound as light
arms raised in futility
offer nothing
but roughshod thoughts
and backslide wide
question marks
leave it and begone
a long wait
ending with gray hair
who needs a glorious statement
a mangled aspect
a damaged mind
the blinding light
can’t stop the voices
can’t stop their music
can’t
shield my eyes
or block my ears
with bloodied stubs for hands

And Now a Word From Our Sponsor.

Another rant from my highly regarded novel manuscript, Leather to the Corinthians.

 

Well, well, well.

Can you smell what’s cooking? Are those delicious smells wafting under your well-trimmed nostrils? Are you salivating, chomping at the bit?

A-n-t-c-i-p-a-t-i-o-n.

Let me ask you, what banner do you fly? What’s your flag? Where do you place that salute? Who gets your pledge?

As a wise man once asked, “What’s in your pipe?”

Cause baby, you gotta know. I got this gut feeling, this instinct about you. I know that you aren’t some nameless drone in a herd of Sheeple. Just by looking at you, I can tell you are something special. Here, have a participation trophy on me.

I would never criticize you, or judge you. You are far too amazing. You know, if no one has ever told you, I will tell you now.

You have potential.

I just lied – not about you having potential – no way. I lied about never criticizing you. I do have a criticism for you. You aren’t doing enough with that amazing you that you are. I’m serious here! You have massive amounts of untapped potential. You are overflowing.

Feeling a little bit better? Good.

You need a banner to fly, or one to ride under. I think you may have one of your own, just for some reason, you are paying some Neanderthal to guard it as it sits in a pay-by-the-month storage facility.

I’m asking you, “What’s in your pipe?”

If you don’t know, or you’re just not sure, then you have to stick with me.  I have the knowledge, the key, the philosophy, THE CAUSE for you to believe in. I know that life has a way of grinding you like fair trade coffee, it has a way of digitally chaining you in the corner, with nothing but cold gruel and flagellation to keep you going. All I know about cold gruel and flagellation is that two out of ten people like it.

Looking at your face, I don’t think you’re in that demographic. I think you want out of those chains. Well, guess what?

You have the key. You can unlock yourself at anytime. You don’t have to put baby in the corner. All I need you to do is believe in me. Join me, and together we will rule the universe.

Look at those ants, those worker drones sitting next to you, quietly dying in their personal cells. Suffering needlessly because someone, somewhere, told them that this was the road to happiness, the golden pathway to salvation. Work hard, and you’ll be rewarded. Do as I say, follow the rules, and it will be a glorious life of rewards for you.

What a bunch of fucking fools, right?

I know that you are not one of them. You are no fool. You have just been waiting for your chance, your mission, your helicopter ride out of the shit. Maybe you have felt incapable, or scared. That’s ok, that’s normal. That’s exactly how they want you to think.

I don’t want you to think like they want you to. FUCK THAT. I want you to think as I do, because believe me, it’s the best thing for you. I don’t want to see someone as special as you wither on the vine, programmed for self-obselecence. I want you to tap into that great potential of yours, and put it to use.

Do as I say, and trust me, you’ll be happy. I am the man with the plan, I got the spreadsheets, the inside track, I know what’s going down. Let me plant these seeds, baby, so you can dig.

This ain’t no joke, I am not fucking around. I got the golden ticket right here for you, you just gotta sign on the dotted line. I need your signature, or this motion is never going to pass.

I can tell that I’ve got your interest. Let me ask you, “Who loves you, baby?”

That’s right. I do.

I love you and everything you stand for, because you stand for me and behind me. Look, I know it’s sudden. Here you were, lost in the woods, shipwrecked, given the wrong food at the drive-thru. Then suddenly, there I was, powerful and enticing and possessing a hell of a message.

I know, I get it a lot.

What I am telling you is that I will give you the reason to fight. You no longer have to figure it out for yourself. I am you friend, protector, and champion. I will right what is wrong and you will agree with me because you know I am the right man for the job, and that I stand for everything I believe in.

At this point, that needs to be enough. I can’t have you questioning my moves, because everything that I will do from this point forward, I do for me, for you, for us.

There will be the doubters, the protesters, those who won’t shut their fucking mouths and get on with it, but you are not going to be one of those. You are going to be one of those that FUCKING gets it, knows what’s up, and sees the trees for the forest. There will be no stutter in your step, that is for damn sure.

Because my friend, I am going to take care of everything for you. Everything. Just fly my banner, fly my flag, salute me when I walk by, and do what I tell you to do. You have to know that you are one of the special ones, remember that. As I told you before, you have massive potential, what you have to say matters, and I will always respect your feelings. Your cause is my cause as long as your cause is my cause.

So worry no more, get back to what you were doing, move along nothing to see here. I got your back, I got you covered, and I got it taken care of. Just stay out of my way and nobody gets hurt.

Nobody that matters, that is.

The Growing Crisis Under the Billboards

I do this thing I call Bleak Verse. Don’t know what if anyone else is using that term, so I am claiming it until otherwise notified. I am not a natural poet, but sometimes I give it a shot. I won’t describe what I am trying to do, that’s always pretentious and a bit annoying.

A treacherous web of veins straining under
sloughing skin as wet drops glisten
cool damp earth dig in as
a question develops out of frantic need
a causal nod and wink
a gesture a thought or two
give cause for
these clammy hands to
cramp with excitement
doubt could be their name

IMG_3384b by kittivanilli

and the cracking of tired knuckles
awaken an old world recycled
from a quilted skin and weathered bones
BUT WAIT THERE’S MORE
a concern of identity and
a loose snug fit
give birth to confusion
distracted eyes blink in unison clearing a
speck of irritation as glorious
condemnations reach out a neck
a neck a yoke a broken wish
is under this rubble and damnation
run, run forward as the ground
dissolves to reveal an ever growing
blackness and stunted wonderment

a sense of loss
a survival instinct
primal urge
stop, drop, and roll

Creative Writing – Poetry – Short Pieces – News – By Tom Lucas

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