New Jack is Dead

[rowens]

My friend disappeared last year. At least from me. We saw each other several times a week since the '90s, until last year. He left my room one night and was never heard from again. At least by me. Though other people have seen him at stores around town. I didn't know if he died or what.

There are different feeling-tones that come with different experiences, situations. I've always been able to trick myself into utilizing even the worst of states, to make the best of everything.
Some people can't get those things working, those natural chemicals that give you contentment and interest in each moment. After a few days of heavy drinking, it takes a few hours for those worthwhile life feelings to come back. I was like that this morning. I thought then how this must be what it's like to be suicidally depressed, and if someone feels this way all the time, it would be a suicidal situation. 
But I play all kinds of tricks to start to get an aesthetic pleasure out my worst nights. I imagine I'm being experimented on by aliens, or that I'm locked in a room or another state between realities, and that it's all an Ordeal.
That's where the Romantic ego comes in handy. Another opportunity to storm Hell.

---

I found an old poem that mentions wrestling. But nothing specific.




bousingots

Many love the class clown,
The ones that rail against it all
Without rhyme or reason.

But what about the ones that push and kick
Even against the ones that love them,
Until there's none of those left at all?

Well I can tell you about the trumpet
That I saw years ago, for sale
In a pawnshop downtown.

I can try to tell you about that trumpet,
But I probably won't say much about it at all.

I went home and thought about,
Through the darkest, ordinary December,
Blowing that horn like mad.

So all, or some, of the skeletons
Would come out and dance,
And chase the spiders away
As I kept pushing on the walls.

But then I got to thinking about the spiders.
That all they do is spin webs, spread poison, and eat;
And that gives them a bad reputation
Among those that just want to play their music
And dance.

I considered what it was like to be the spider:
And I filled myself with poison,
And spun a web of myself
Until the hunger became so intense

That food was not enough to satisfy
The feelings and the thoughts,
The damnéd thoughts;
And the spider became a man.

Is that how it was with the ape?
So I started thinking about the ape.
And I saw beyond all my hunger
For spiritual things,
I was nothing but a beast,
Raging in the dark of shining things.

With no trumpet, and no heart other
Than the thing that beats,
I had nothing eternal but the eternal December.
And was jealous of pure nature's spring.

There's nothing I can do about it.
There's nothing chasing a dragon can do
But burn you with a fire that isn't there.

The spiders are there.-
The skeletons are there,
But they're only metaphors
For things I can't think of
Because they make me sick.

Some spiders have to rebuild their webs
Every time it rains;
And some insist on building in houses
Where someone lives,
Knowing good and well they won't let them build a web.

Some metaphors are skeletons
For more weighty things
That have no business being alive.
But what business have I…

To sing without talking, dance without walking;
If I could play by the rules, do you think I'd have to cheat?
Like in professional wrestling, cheating's part of the game.
And when wrestling with the angel,
Who's going to tell you it's fake…

Like a man said:
If you're gonna pursue a unicorn,
You gotta follow the trail where it leads.

I never got the trumpet, somebody else did.
I couldn't get a ride, and didn't have any money,
Even if I'd walked.