As this should be a piece that I send for publishing I would like now share an old poem that I first wrote between 15 and 17 years of age. I did not think I was like the rest of the people but eventually learned that most were the same. Other people simply deal with insecurities differently.
You are a product of your television. (I am)
Television pulls you in with signal mixing pixels in electrons forming colors and pictures of the world’s most beautiful people. This makeup and paint and wonder bras that leave perfect models in a perfect world. The kind of world with explosions every three or four minutes and a hero who saves the day once in perfect time. It is because he is under contract to be in the next episode.
So we root for a cat that never dies and never will. These perfectly timed plot twists and changes of heart. For men who seek the fame of the old mistaken line, “I’ll get you, Mr. Bond.” And it is getting better again. At least the TV is playing rock music again.
(This is perhaps because we only remember the greatest from the past. If I had to follow Nirvana with a group like A Simple Plan than the suggestion to claim that such pop-punk is un-cool and refrain from broadcasting until the threats of no longer supporting such a television station became serious. Though I still much prefer Nirvana to A Simple Plan I understand how MuchMusic sold that music as punk rock now.)
They are starting to play a track by A Perfect Circle. Maynard is quite a man. They do not play enough Tool, all the Good Charlotte and these punk bands seem to be products. It seems a twisted ideal, an insult even.
I continue with angst: Where are the Sex Pistols? The Dead Kennedys? For fucks sake, where is the Clash? These could be pop music.
(Without going into too much detail, I understand now why the Sex Pistols and Dead Kennedys were not played on MuchMusic after school during the beginning of the new millennium.)
I like “The Wedge.” It would be cool to be played on the wedge.
Authors Note: I should also say that I knew very little about the Sex Pistols or the Dead Kennedys at that time in my life. I first heard Anarchy in the UK and Nazi Punk’s Fuck Off around the time is all.
It turns out my third high school band was Pyrite. Or maybe it was my ego.
So the Eclectic Roses began and I worked for God, under the guise of someone who listened to Manwoman while he baby-sat me. It was a blessed simplicity.
I spewed curse words on the paper as reaction to my thoughts about the quality of these early writings. This was a trait I did not understand, followed by a list of band names, including the Ceramic Bears, Hanks Soup Kitchen (Four days a year we serve the poor) and Let it Go.
Soar and for a tore roaring good time. (And I believe that is what I did.)
Or: The Gentle Swastikas Happy Fun Time Band
It is a question of how easy it all is. The perfect new-order of pop punk rock or roll. Perhaps a blues progression, but I admit that I feel like a idiot version of a ZZ Top wannabe who still lived with his Mother because I wanted to sleep and eat for free. I did not have a job.
As far as I want to go:
Heroin Magnet Junky Dilemma: although I think that the kids are wrong. With one wave of this magic wand we will have marsh mellow soup and aunt eater feet.
These are parts of little boys eating a treat.