I Have the Neatest Life
grooveamatic
Posts: 1,374
So, I wrote this tonight because I was and am a very excited and joyous person right now....it's not the best piece of poetry I've ever written...some parts I know I'm going to change and were just put there cause I was going so fast (e.g. 'rays of sunlight from heaven'....you can bet I'll change that)....but I thought I'd put it up here cause I'm so excited.
ps...I'm still taking a break from the pit...this is just a brief stop...but I'll be back soon....
I Have the Neatest Life
I have the neatest life.
Today I rose at ten A.M.
(I had today and tomorrow off work,
so I sleep comfortably late)
And farted around the apartment,
Reading magazines and watching
The Sopranos on DVD
(the first season--I'm trying to get into it).
I ate some lunch--
Microwaved meatloaf--
And washed it down with the Wal-Mart
Rip-off of Dr. Pepper:
Cold, and two glasses worth.
Around noon I cut my own hair
(the benefits of being a male seem to be endless)
Although I didn't shave it down to the scalp
Like I normally do;
I left a modicum of fuzz
Like the green on a golf course
Because it is winter
And a cold one at that
And I like to fancy myself a sane man.
I am pleased with the haircut.
I took a long shower
With the bathroom light off
And Neil Young's Harvest
Blaring on the miniature purple boombox
We keep on the back of the toilet.
In the shower, I sit.
I only stand to wash my hair.
I like to relax and think about all sorts of things
And let the water pool around my buttocks and feet,
As though I were some tremendous ocean liner
Cutting great swaths through stormy seas.
Out of the shower,
I air-dry by walking all around the apartment nude
(my roommate works a day job)
Studying all of our photos and artwork
For the millionth time;
I love all of our photos and artwork.
At three P.M. Lost in Yonkers is on HBO.
How could I resist?
Richard Dreyfuss at his best
And those two boys should have won Oscars!
I drink two glasses of Wal-Mart Dr. Pepper rip-off
Through the course of the film,
Almost falling asleep,
Almost content enough to sleep for no reason
There on the couch.
But I don't;
I can't.
At six I'm meeting a drunk at a coffee shop
So I can tell him how I stopped drinking
So that maybe he can do it also
Even though it is impossible
(or so it would seem!).
I meet the drunk
(who is sober, it has been two days, another miracle!)
And we talk over much coffee and cigarettes
And I can see all the paths of his future there
In that coffee shop
And all the miracles that each day of his life could be
And all the people he could help
And the miracles he'll witness.
What an amazing journey this man will soon be on!
At Six Forty-five we leave the coffee shop
And trade it in for a church,
Where--in the basement--we'll meet
With dozens of other drunks
Who aren't drunk
And we'll all tell each other how we did it,
How we do it each day
So that maybe we can learn from each other.
At Eight O'clock we leave the church
(so many hugs and words of thanks,
each outstretched hand a ray of light
from heaven)
And we go our seperate ways.
It has been a very good day so far.
I drive to the local movie theater
Where a good friend of mine works
(he also lives there now--he is not so good with money
and maybe hopefully someday I'll see him
in the basements of churches)
And he lets me in to see a movie for free.
It's a Clint Eastwood movie that all the critics adore
So I figure I'd better see it.
I like to see movies that critics adore,
Especially during awards season.
(I'm a sucker.)
I'm the only person in the theater.
They're running it just for me!
I smoke cigarettes in there
Even though it's against the law
But I don't think it's hurting anyone
(other than me)
So I do it anyway.
It's a contemplative film
And quite serious
And not all Hollywood grandstanding
And formula
And I walk out quite shaken
And contemplative, as well.
In my car
(oh! it's so cold!)
I'm not ready to go home yet,
Although it is after midnight now.
I drive across town to the all-night gas station,
Buy myself a coffee
(half decaf, half regular)
And a Fifth Avenue candy bar.
Back in my car
(oh! it's so cold!)
I realize there is no reason
For me to go home yet;
That I can do anything I want,
Go anywhere I can.
I am nagged by something.
The nature of my day has set me to thinking,
But I don't know quite about what.
I drive.
Into the country,
The winding, unweildy roads of my youth,
Sipping my coffee, smoking menthol cigarettes,
Zipping around turns I once knew so well
(finding my memory still knows them,
every knowable degree of curve they posess)
Thinking about life in all it's broadness:
That so much stretches out on either side of us
And there is so much time
And so many places
And everything tends to become this indistinct mish-mash
And all you ever really know is who you want to be,
What kind of person you wish you could become
And all your past,
All that history that makes you you
Is sort of this collage that you unknowingly created
And you can put it away in the closet if you like
(no one ever really has to see it)
Or you can display it right on your hall mantelpiece
It doesn't matter, whatever you want to do with it
But you can't sell it
And you can't give it away,
It's the only thing you're ever truly stuck with
And all these things are going through my head
I don't know if it was maybe the movie
Or too much Wal-Mart soda
Or maybe I was onto something,
I don't know.
And suddenly I realize why I drove out here:
I am very close to the spot where I lost my virginity.
It was a summer night eleven years ago
On a dirt road
That wasn't really a road;
It was almost a trail, really,
That cars used, although I never saw another car
On that road,
But there had been tire ruts
And beer cans all along it.
I never knew why it was there
Or who used it or who put it there.
My first girlfriend had lived out in that area
And she knew of the road,
And one summer night
When I was sixteen
We parked my Subaru Legacy station wagon in the middle of that road
And fumbled our way wrecklessly
Terribly but with love
Through that slimy, befuddling experience
Among the singing trees and silent squirrels
And now here I am again in the lock of winter
With my half-caff coffee and Saturn Ion
Searching for that dirt trail.
My memory seems better than I expected.
I find it within minutes,
Turn down it.
It's different.
It's paved.
I have no idea why anyone would pave this road,
This useless trail,
So far out here in the country
The State Police have probably never been here.
It doesn't have a road sign,
But there is a center line painted on the pavement.
I drive very slow,
Remembering.
Was it here?
No, too soon.
Ws it here?
No, there were more trees where we were.
Here?
Yes. This is the spot.
I parked the station wagon right here
All those years ago.
This is where it was.
I park.
I turn off the engine.
I begin to eat my Fifth Avenue candy bar.
I have no idea why I am doing this.
It looks the same.
You can't see the pavement with the headlights off.
The embankment,
The bark of the withered trees,
The moonlight on the barely-visible meadow
Through the roadside weeds:
I feel so young again,
I feel the rush of fresh love.
I am staring directly at the collage of my own past.
It is beautiful,
A perfect work of art with all the blemishes
In the all right places,
All the mistakes making the pure beauty
All the more beautiful.
I am in love with the art of my own life.
I finish my candy bar,
Turn the ignition and drive away,
Thrilled at the idea
Of being alive tomorrow.
ps...I'm still taking a break from the pit...this is just a brief stop...but I'll be back soon....
I Have the Neatest Life
I have the neatest life.
Today I rose at ten A.M.
(I had today and tomorrow off work,
so I sleep comfortably late)
And farted around the apartment,
Reading magazines and watching
The Sopranos on DVD
(the first season--I'm trying to get into it).
I ate some lunch--
Microwaved meatloaf--
And washed it down with the Wal-Mart
Rip-off of Dr. Pepper:
Cold, and two glasses worth.
Around noon I cut my own hair
(the benefits of being a male seem to be endless)
Although I didn't shave it down to the scalp
Like I normally do;
I left a modicum of fuzz
Like the green on a golf course
Because it is winter
And a cold one at that
And I like to fancy myself a sane man.
I am pleased with the haircut.
I took a long shower
With the bathroom light off
And Neil Young's Harvest
Blaring on the miniature purple boombox
We keep on the back of the toilet.
In the shower, I sit.
I only stand to wash my hair.
I like to relax and think about all sorts of things
And let the water pool around my buttocks and feet,
As though I were some tremendous ocean liner
Cutting great swaths through stormy seas.
Out of the shower,
I air-dry by walking all around the apartment nude
(my roommate works a day job)
Studying all of our photos and artwork
For the millionth time;
I love all of our photos and artwork.
At three P.M. Lost in Yonkers is on HBO.
How could I resist?
Richard Dreyfuss at his best
And those two boys should have won Oscars!
I drink two glasses of Wal-Mart Dr. Pepper rip-off
Through the course of the film,
Almost falling asleep,
Almost content enough to sleep for no reason
There on the couch.
But I don't;
I can't.
At six I'm meeting a drunk at a coffee shop
So I can tell him how I stopped drinking
So that maybe he can do it also
Even though it is impossible
(or so it would seem!).
I meet the drunk
(who is sober, it has been two days, another miracle!)
And we talk over much coffee and cigarettes
And I can see all the paths of his future there
In that coffee shop
And all the miracles that each day of his life could be
And all the people he could help
And the miracles he'll witness.
What an amazing journey this man will soon be on!
At Six Forty-five we leave the coffee shop
And trade it in for a church,
Where--in the basement--we'll meet
With dozens of other drunks
Who aren't drunk
And we'll all tell each other how we did it,
How we do it each day
So that maybe we can learn from each other.
At Eight O'clock we leave the church
(so many hugs and words of thanks,
each outstretched hand a ray of light
from heaven)
And we go our seperate ways.
It has been a very good day so far.
I drive to the local movie theater
Where a good friend of mine works
(he also lives there now--he is not so good with money
and maybe hopefully someday I'll see him
in the basements of churches)
And he lets me in to see a movie for free.
It's a Clint Eastwood movie that all the critics adore
So I figure I'd better see it.
I like to see movies that critics adore,
Especially during awards season.
(I'm a sucker.)
I'm the only person in the theater.
They're running it just for me!
I smoke cigarettes in there
Even though it's against the law
But I don't think it's hurting anyone
(other than me)
So I do it anyway.
It's a contemplative film
And quite serious
And not all Hollywood grandstanding
And formula
And I walk out quite shaken
And contemplative, as well.
In my car
(oh! it's so cold!)
I'm not ready to go home yet,
Although it is after midnight now.
I drive across town to the all-night gas station,
Buy myself a coffee
(half decaf, half regular)
And a Fifth Avenue candy bar.
Back in my car
(oh! it's so cold!)
I realize there is no reason
For me to go home yet;
That I can do anything I want,
Go anywhere I can.
I am nagged by something.
The nature of my day has set me to thinking,
But I don't know quite about what.
I drive.
Into the country,
The winding, unweildy roads of my youth,
Sipping my coffee, smoking menthol cigarettes,
Zipping around turns I once knew so well
(finding my memory still knows them,
every knowable degree of curve they posess)
Thinking about life in all it's broadness:
That so much stretches out on either side of us
And there is so much time
And so many places
And everything tends to become this indistinct mish-mash
And all you ever really know is who you want to be,
What kind of person you wish you could become
And all your past,
All that history that makes you you
Is sort of this collage that you unknowingly created
And you can put it away in the closet if you like
(no one ever really has to see it)
Or you can display it right on your hall mantelpiece
It doesn't matter, whatever you want to do with it
But you can't sell it
And you can't give it away,
It's the only thing you're ever truly stuck with
And all these things are going through my head
I don't know if it was maybe the movie
Or too much Wal-Mart soda
Or maybe I was onto something,
I don't know.
And suddenly I realize why I drove out here:
I am very close to the spot where I lost my virginity.
It was a summer night eleven years ago
On a dirt road
That wasn't really a road;
It was almost a trail, really,
That cars used, although I never saw another car
On that road,
But there had been tire ruts
And beer cans all along it.
I never knew why it was there
Or who used it or who put it there.
My first girlfriend had lived out in that area
And she knew of the road,
And one summer night
When I was sixteen
We parked my Subaru Legacy station wagon in the middle of that road
And fumbled our way wrecklessly
Terribly but with love
Through that slimy, befuddling experience
Among the singing trees and silent squirrels
And now here I am again in the lock of winter
With my half-caff coffee and Saturn Ion
Searching for that dirt trail.
My memory seems better than I expected.
I find it within minutes,
Turn down it.
It's different.
It's paved.
I have no idea why anyone would pave this road,
This useless trail,
So far out here in the country
The State Police have probably never been here.
It doesn't have a road sign,
But there is a center line painted on the pavement.
I drive very slow,
Remembering.
Was it here?
No, too soon.
Ws it here?
No, there were more trees where we were.
Here?
Yes. This is the spot.
I parked the station wagon right here
All those years ago.
This is where it was.
I park.
I turn off the engine.
I begin to eat my Fifth Avenue candy bar.
I have no idea why I am doing this.
It looks the same.
You can't see the pavement with the headlights off.
The embankment,
The bark of the withered trees,
The moonlight on the barely-visible meadow
Through the roadside weeds:
I feel so young again,
I feel the rush of fresh love.
I am staring directly at the collage of my own past.
It is beautiful,
A perfect work of art with all the blemishes
In the all right places,
All the mistakes making the pure beauty
All the more beautiful.
I am in love with the art of my own life.
I finish my candy bar,
Turn the ignition and drive away,
Thrilled at the idea
Of being alive tomorrow.
.........................................................................
Post edited by Unknown User on
0
Comments
but memories...they eat me
I've seen it all before,...
bring it on cause I'm no victim.
-Ghost
A whisper and a chill
adv2005
"Why do I bother?"
The 11th Commandment.
"Whatever"
PETITION TO STOP THE BAN OF SMOKING IN BARS IN THE UNITED STATES....Anyone?
'farted around'... I love that expression so much.
Also, total Freudian slip of my eyes, I guess, but I could have sworn it said "and I begin to beat my..." but then I looked again and saw that you were eating a candy bar and I'm just a pervert.
very funny.
thanks everyone!
how i love these lines.
relates so much to other things i care about.
I should go read 'Song of Myself'.