By the way: A big THANKS to Hellblazer.com for correcting my name in thier links. Also a big thank you to Raven for using the last two lines from one of my poems to open up her latest diary entry....Right now I'm going to relax and smoke a cigarette. I'll add more to this entry (maybe even a new poem) later tonight.
~MattMagus
Later the same night, after Frasier...
I'm watching this really great episode of "Just Shoot Me". I didn't even know this show existed while it was actually on, but it's quickly become my guilty pleasure sitcom in syndication. This episode has a really odd featured character who is pretending to be Woody Allen. In many ways, this character is a little funnier than the real thing. It makes me wonder, however, how far away with my overactive imagination I've been from "slipping away" and believeing I am someone else for a while.
It also reminds me of the guy I used to work with at Taco Bell on East Lindsey in Norman. His name, I believe was Luke, or something similar. Sometime after I quit the job, I started hearing that he had been running around that street in a Batman suit, posing and pretending to be Batman. I was even told by Mark, one of the managers of aformentioned Taco Bell that he was arrested at the store after questioning several of the employees as Batman, and refusing to leave. Later he was spotted claiming to actually be Bruce Wayne. Now I'm as much a comic book geek as any Gen-Xer, but my god...I can't ever see myself going that far off the deep end.
And now Tommy Smother's is on that crappy "Suddenly Susan" show, much watch my favorite icon from the sixties, brb....
After watching bad sitcom and smoking a cig
Tommy Smothers as a perma-stoned just past middle-aged hippy...umm...can we say typecasting anyone? Still, it was the best thing about the show other than Kathy Griffin. I don't know why, but that little red-head turns me on. Which really suprised me, because she is not pretty or beautiful at all. Anyway, ideally this is poetry time.
-----------------------------------
I'm searching for inspiration in the
Corner of the room
While outside the snow is killing
The sage and rosemary in my front yard
Trying to picture the long road ahead
But I can't
I keep seeing silly images
Of the thousands who have walked
Into and out of
My life
They all seem like bad
French Quarter caricatures
Done by someone who is frustrated
Future Picasso
Some like Billy
Looking silly because they are
Failing at trying to be tough
Some looking almost dignified if it wasn't for
That odd stain on thier shirts
My memories are like "Cheers"
Except you can replace the bar
With a Denny's
Or like "Friends" where you can replace
The multitude of apartments
With one room
That has Palladium posters on the wall
Other times it's "Mad about you"
With seven cats
But always it's warm
If there's ever a movie
To be made from my life
I don't envy the makers
Because of all the characters
Who are all so important
To the central story
The creation of a mediocre poet
I often wonder how many
It took to make Burrows
Or Elliot
Or any of the truely great poets
How many millions of people
Had a hand in the formation
Of Keats, Shelly, and Yeats?
Are thier enough dreams
In all of creation
To make me
Like them?
~M
