Another nihilistic poem from my disenchanted youth

Oh no, not another nihilistic poem from your disenchanted youth, I hear you groan. This self involved nihilism gets so tired so quickly. Yes, I know. And yet, I’ve been stuck with these short little poems, these series of words for years. Not only that, but they are linked to very simple melodies. Kind of like a schoolyard melody that is used to taunt the weaker kids. But the schoolyard rests in a sepia toned nether world landscape deep within my own being. Lots of shit happens in that schoolyard, but you’d never know it most of the time, as it just stays hidden behind the fresh shave and a smile. Hell, I don’t even know it. These kids have been running around the schoolyard for years. I wonder, do they grow? And also, can I trust them? Well, here’s the poem without the melody…

What can I do for you?

What can you do for me?

You can make love to me,

You can comfort me.

You can tell me who I really am.

 

…but I won’t listen

 

That voice I think comes from the rebellious teenager in search of self, who asks for help, sometimes directly and sometimes in very indirect ways. But once a helping hand is offered, once anything that is offered that has any semblance to advice, the teenager rebels with a big “Fuck You!”. Light a cigarette, go get high, have a drink. Inevitably, that big “Fuck You!” is acted out in some self destructive behavior, effectively turning it in to a big “Fuck Me!”

So, I’m not a teenager anymore. But I still have that rebellious teenager renting a room inside, actually right near the schoolyard with the kids who are singing that damned melody that I can’t get out of my head. And heck, I’m trying to raise a kid in this world, in real life. Which may prove useful in all this. Perhaps I can take some of the real world approaches to parenting and apply them to my inner child and teenager, so they don’t derail me from being an engaged, fully present responsible adult. I want that child and that teenager inside to thrive, don’t get me wrong. It’s not like I want to off them. I just realize that they can be little hellions if shit gets out of whack.

And a footnote: having just started this blog, I feel unsure about this, unsure on how much to share, what to keep private and what to reveal. And it could be that no one will ever read this. It may also be that people may read this that I don’t want to read this. But then I ask myself, what am I protecting? If I don’t get deep here, it’ll stay surface and just be more noise in a planet with way too much noise already. So fuck it, I’ll put stuff out there at the risk of embarrassing myself, at the risk of being seen as a fool, and at the risk of not having a soul even care. Sometimes, it’s like: if I put it out there, it’s no longer in here. And that’s good enough.

Picture of a statue on West 24th street, NYC

 

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