Baby wonít you please come home? Thanx, you can go now

 

Hi, whattaya make of this font? Pretty, but a little ruffled, could slow us down, it goes fast here sometimes so donít wanna fuck up the pace with some girly curlicue font type thingie for little ole

 

ARTíS SAKE

 

Personally I can barely see straight which makes this particular script the most appealing for today, once everythingís said and done it all comes down to a beautiful thing, what do you say?

 

Someoneís having men problems again, I may be a classic Borderline but am getting no kicks (har har) from the big-n-tall bullpen, all due respects as in piss off to certain Dr. Fuckheads for skirting bad-girl boundaries of DSM template, this never happens to anyone but me, thatís why they call it a template, hee, hee, hic.

 

Iíve been here all day in search of guidance; am askin now in all sincerity, if you, reader, happen to be a male, which rhymes with jail, do everyone a favor, sit down nicely and shut the fuck up, thanx, on the other hand if you happen to be a

Feminist, blow meó

 

Get thee behind me satan

 

Take yer good-fer-nuthin designer label teeming satchel of post-modern cant you call realpolitik to some other simpering website, the sisterhood awaits you, world-wide-spider-woman-web-woven-coven

frogs legs are on the house tonight

But little sister listless is not takin orders,

fooled me once, huh, mother told me thereíd be templates like you,

three-hundred-sixty-five days of the year, scar-lover, and every one still

bears her disfigurement,

your sham-ticket to the good life, vermin,

wimmin,

go get real real gone for a change,

There must be hundreds of construction workers

available to give you PTSD with a wink and a whistle,

seriously your gaping psychic wounds are making me snore.

 

Oh hell, Iím sorry. God knows you deserve as much respect for your views as anybody else, but troublewaits.com?

It ainít me babe.

 

Five, count Ďem, five full hours on the internet lookin for answers and I donít know whatís wrong with you people, Iím not having

JpretendJ

man problems, Christ, if there is an adult woman in the vicinity please be man enough to step forward now and/or live to regret it.

 

When something bad happens to you and youíre a kid the same bad thing keeps happening over and over therest of your life, period, end of story, no wait, beginning of story, beginning of end of story, no, wait, lately all I can do is try, you said so yourself

 

-Christ is she trying-

 

You can close the book now, itís all the same chapter, written in wet cement, shut the book, it belongs on the shelf or wherever you keep the useless scrap metal.

 

-I thought you liked nuts and bolts big boy-

 

You still here?

 

Of those so close beside me which are you?

 

Oh for crying out loud,not another gambling man, read the sign bro, casinoís closed, here comes the wrecking crew, just like the one that came before, funny how they still look like you, letís all join hands and level the building, where you been, is this our swan song, which bro are you, what took you so long?

 

Shape-shifters of the world unite, big funeral party on my front lawn tonight

 

Come as you are

said the poet,

and I swear that I donít have a gun.

 

Beautiful ass-holes in mismatched pajamas die everyday and I swear

he didnít never not tell a lie.

 

Do all new things look like whatever things came before only bigger this time?

Yes, of course they do, nothing of integrity will ever exist around here and when you realize that it roughs you up.

 

Oh, one more thing:

 

You are the one who keeps corrupting new shit, but this is something you donít want

to know.

 

Just to set the record straight, next to me I have never abandoned another human

being per se.

 

Just because someone shows you the door-

 

Beat it

Scram

Pack it up

Youíve been dismissed

I mean it this time

Donít let the door hit you on the way out

 

And the speaker issuing the directives is the only one who really and truly will not go away does not mean she wants you to stay any more than she wants you to leave, such is the enigma, this thing called the blues is a woman in a tight black template,

Merle Haggard makes his-n- her misery-n-gin

We go to such lengths to squeeze into your soundtrackó

 

Itís not you Iím trying to get rid of, itís only a facial expression,

perplexed, see, fucks with my public image, canít have tható

 

(my mystique is so chic it brings me a shot of Jim Beam every hour on the hour.)

 

The harder you try to hide your heart the more exposed it becomes, your intricate and culturally conditioned good girl persona is the same camouflage thatís made you

the bullís eye,

Everyoneís a marksman but itís

not their fault, weíre all ripped

to pieces inside, pissed off, everyone is nice and everyone is dormant,

doormat,

the chip on his shoulder is not an option, itís part of everyoneís package just like you and it bugs him too, no one chooses

to wreck but the gunís loaded and the safetyís off,

you my deer are the golden opportunity,

they donít call pretty things

trophies by accident,

girlfriend.

 

What I said in all sincerity, honest:

 

I donít love men, I am against these feelings, I come from the female bohemian sub-cultural value system where we donít love men, we love each other, we only love women, and just use men for transportation, money, cigarette lighters and acting out and

musicians and everything.

 

What he said:

 

{Sorry? Blocked 69 weeks for making me horny? Didnít we already fuck about this? No thanx, Gotcha. No thanx again, not here, not now? Ok, thanx, implode.}

 

No recourse but to bumble through the archives, worn-out penlight running low on ink, but hey thatís a talisman for yaó

 

Replenish me this minute and we can trade places babe, Iíll be back for a refill whenever I feel like it, Iím a traveling man I was born to ramble, you are born to succumb to the greatness you alone perceive in me

and when you find it,

doe-eyed gal pal

waiting at the well,

follow the list,

bow head well,

admire weller,

worship wellest,

well well well

at last all is

hell

and you alone are my one true desire.

Iíll call you.

 

The last man I loved, he was a prince, so according

to my friend Vicki, this one should be the emperor.

 

Her evolution theory regarding the hairy male animal begins with a knuckle-dragging gorilla

and ends with

uh-oh

king kong,

This sound familiar or is my personal world view an

incoherent chemical spill

Again?

Still?

 

Vicki is that long-lost girl you keep pullin up from your inside self who is now part of your deepdown comfort and consolation, we two kids met 15 years ago in a support group called, this will fuckin kill ya, it was called

 

P. A. S. T.

 

as in

 

PEOPLE AGAINST STAYING TRAUMATIZED

 

She was the breath-taking midnight headcase Tennessee Williams wrote sonnets about,

Raven-haired Joan Jett lookalike, perfect figure, leather boots, question authority bumper sticker, a stylist, a knock-out, supreme beatitude, but no artifice, zero pretension, one hundred proof authenticity, most often

man-i-fest

in unrelenting, un-ironic, indeliberate public battle between self-respect and self-deprecation.

Intensely innocent, vulnerable vixon running the photomat with 8-hour affability, dutiful, on-task, stewardship, putting outfake firestorms of your unceasing banality, when all of a suddenó

 

something bad just happened

 

Something traumatic only Vicki knows, almost knows, kinda knows

the time is right to ring the alarm

Get your tickets now folksó

Gongshow cued up and ready to gongó

Bingo, hello, switch flipped, monkey wrench, uh-oh, oh shit, not again, here we go,

looks like we gotta bug in the motherfuckin system, now where the hell is

Bob Dylan when you need him?

 

In it

 

Her words, DSM bible-writers,

 

In it

 

Bawling her head off, sniffling, canít stand up, apologetic, shrugging it offó

 

Seeping, sheíd say, could you reach me a Kleenex, itís not you man, itís on me, this is what happens whenever I go in it.

 

Help, rebuilding, need tools quick, seeping, dig deep, working off the brick-list.

 

Robin tore my list up,

 

I aint working off shit, I got nothing to work off and neither do you, sister.

 

Professional lush says Vic, meet me at the next 250 A.A. meetings.

 

Robin and Vicki conduct 12 hour marathons of self-hatred, membership is limited to templates but spectator lotties always free to watch, til the razor blades come out, Robinís favorite sport for one pure reason:

 

Vicki always puts them back.

 

We will talk about the dickies first album, Iím stuck in a pagoda with Trisha Toyota and giggle like schoolkids as if it means something while Robin drinks herself into a stupor in front of struggling A.A. member whose favorite words are:

 

Hey, itís cool, weíre cool man, Iíll let you know somehow, youíll know in there when Iím not cool.

 

Vicki gets manhandled by pigs in nightclubs, jumps 20 feet in air screaming, comes back down and apologizes to sleaze-pig,

 

Wow, sorry man, no, youíre cool, itís not you itís me.

 

Robin puts pearl-handled six- inch switchblade back into sheath.

 

This is all true stuff.

 

Vicki has worthless nieces and nephews, some already killed themselfs before age twelve.

Vicki working around the clock, designing schemes to save worthless lives, ditto to the max Miss Robin Plan.We write family savin floorplans hand in hand, drinkin coffee, starting over, Vicki leads in crying Robin follows, anytime anyplaceÖ

 

Vickiís boyfriend is afraid of Vicki.

 

Robin sends Vickiís lackey one quick, curt reminder:

 

Itís ok to be afraid of my formidable friend, incidentally you punk, you lack everything that moves in humans.

 

Actin crazy, we hate this shit. Crazy ladies Rob and Vic acting crqzy left and right, whole world stops around loony babble twitches,

 

The redheadís out there but

The brunetteís hot

Iíd fuck her.

Once.

 

We hear nothing but clarion call of bats in belfry,

juju music,

call and response.

As we must.

Respond.

We must

ignore

Whole planet of stoppers and stare-ers.

Stop, stare, now blatently eavesdrop.

Offer nothing but stock incredulityó

Maniac-mama and Psychorella.

Lucy and Ethel

Bustin out from beyond gates of hell

Bursting in on our family-saving floorplansó

 

Look what we brought you kids today.

 

Standin before us in top-hat and tails,

The way they wear their clothes

no,

They canít take that away from me.

 

We take on our moms man, me and Vicki,

Start actin like our moms

Like someone tryin to get in who canít get out because the deadboltís

about to or has or is still not finished

(weíre a work in progress)

shooting holes in the walls.

 

Whoops, make that deadbeat, not deadbolt, no they are not the same,

my daddy is a heroin addict, my daddy loves me, plus he plays

drums in a rock-n-roll band, taught James Deans everything they are too lame to get

But the deadbolt man,

No, no-oneís ever told me what thatís for yet.

 

Thatís nothing, says Vicki, wait til you hear what they do with

a stepladder.

 

Just yer average B-Girls trying to get some sleep,

Backseat divas

Horn non-stop blaring

Running down police roadblocks, sirens blazing,

Helicopters overhead

Crashing through bushes, hiding in drainpipes,

Come on Dad, letís get real real gone for a change.

 

Fuck yes that happened!

Can you beat that, come on Vicki,

gimme what you got!

Was that the first time your knees gave out,

did you fall on the ground too,

go boom, go dead?

How old were you the first time he forced himself to keep himself

from fucking you, should we feel sorry for them, is this a bad time or can I

give all you got back?

 

No back

Says Vicki, no the poet screwed up,

You really canít keep from how much and how fast

It all comes

Back.

 

Back? You ever seen my back?

 

You call that a bullet wound, my dear little junkyard sister?

Let me tell you about a sunny day,

then weíll head back to the first ravine and marry our memories,

whoops, I mean bury our memories.

 

You got it right the first time, it all goes back to the first regimeó

 

Oh golly oh jeeze oh shucks oh Robin you are the most incredibly exciting woman Iíve

ever tossed, think Iíll nickname you

 

ďLetís Get LostĒ

 

Prepare for the Clampdown.

 

Smartass, you there, runnin your mouth,

picking on police officers,

Mind telling me quick now,

Is that there toaster oven my mom again or is it time to rehabilitate this conversation?

 

Vicki and Robin get mixed up a lot,

Say crazy, scary, questing things out loud and in publicó

 

Hold on a minute here,

Wait just a second please,

Which one of us is you,

Which one of you is me?

 

ďThey must be studying the theatre, I bet theyíre drama students practicing their lines.Ē

Excuse me, vultures, voyeurs, and doctors of philosophy,

we are not the type of people who study fuckin theatre, the theatre studies

fuckin people like us.

The stage does not stand for your

Discretionary Spending Power.

The purpose of the theatre is for the sake of her and me.

Your favorite playwright earns a version of an honest living

detailing human theatrics he canít quite put his finger onó

All hail the canon,

the novels academics fight about,

are based upon uh-oh people,

almost always almost-people

also always not like you and mostly always almost Robin, always Vicki,

all yíall ever need

do with recalcitrant templates is

phil-in-the-blank

(Hi Phil, howís it hanging? Hope youíre feeding the llama its proper medication!)

Some real gong people are based upon the horsesí mouth,

articles of faith or fiction, all I know is

vegetables like me are good for you,

thatís an article of fact,

you can really put your clothes back on.

 

Pardon the histrionics,

On with the show

Your take on this will simply have to develop,

Like a picture, seeó

 

Take on personas yo,

Me and Vicki,

Robin falling over furniture explaining why men canít stand funny drunk womenó

 

If men didnít hate funny women writers so much

Dorothy Parker would be with us today, if youíre looking to get silly

you better go back to from where you came

(no thanx)

because the cops donít need you and man they expect the same.

 

Is it me Vic, or are they all of them cops, just cops?

Ever notice how men keep constantly somehow turning into cops and locking me up in a one-inch box stamped

 

Mental Problems?

 

Thank God for my hairpiece multiple wiglet personality wig

multiple waist-length hairpiece personality disorder,

doctor beware, join the marines,

weíre looking to confuse a few good cops, we got some hungry women here and theyíll really make a mess outta you

and my best friend Madonna wonít even say what it is Iíve got.

 

We spill the beans Vic and me on daytime teevee

Oprah wannabe: are you girls victims or are you artistic?

We cleaned up that place like

Whistlerís Mammy,

Vicki doing just fine, never been better,

Robinís house now haunted by Oprahís evil spirit.

Robinís doc says no more talk shows until I say so,

Vicki still scared of lackey boyfriend,

Stalking, calling, wonít take no.

 

Rob makes Vic shocking home-cooked meal

Iím in it,

Sheís in it

Parents all over us policing every second guess

Parents pouring poison into

Electric Purple

Kool-Aid Acid Test.

 

Again?

Those little shits are asking for a beating.

 

Vicki teaches Robin her brand new best thingó

Look at the world she says

Through the eyes of a camera,

Be a camera lens, she says

Goiní to California,

Make movies about us,

Nothin comes with me this time but the list.

How you cominí with the list, she wonders,

baggage packed and ready,

her dog in Raybansó

 

Santa Claus put me on lifetime probation,

No list Iím afraid, canít get nowhere from this

stuck-in-mud-place.

 

Weíre cool, says Vicki,

Man, that list she says, the ever-present list man,

Itís nothing and itís everything,

Itís nowhere and everywhere you ever wanna be

 

Or Not

Ha Ha

To Be

 

Am I right?

 

No. Yes. Answer me this:

What are men for?

Why are they here?

Are good men cops?

Where do they go if not at the

Top of our to-do list?

Decent men, top of the line menÖ

 

Good men, she reminds me,

Gassed up and ready to roll,

People like us man,

Thatís our soul salvation.

 

Doubt it.

 

Modern gentleman when he falls hard is like your typical, everyday

blood spatter specialist,

He wants to love

(Stop The Murders),

but canít exactly walk up and remove the gun from her outstretched hand so he

does his job

after the fact and from a distance,

the technology he uses is

different from the traditional man in love but the goal is the same:

 

deterrence.

 

These words have been brought to you by the

Certifiably Insane, or as

Lou Reed put it:

 

Arenít

You

Glad

Youíre

Married?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Home.

 

 

Copyright 2002 Robin Plan and troublewaits.com.All rights reserved.