Punk Stupid





Part One: Smoke Gets In Your Eyes


It was a sunny early afternoon
In late May.
A Saturday.

The kind of pleasant Saturday
That was slow to pass
Allowing young boys
To realize
Too much time
Was at their fingertips.

I had ridden my bike to
Gardiner Athletic Fields
And met some friends there
Proudly unveiling the fact
That I had some smoke bombs.

The place was packed.
It was the height of baseball season.

Always the comedian
I thought it would be hilarious
To throw a smoke bomb
Into somebody’s car
And create some panic.

Imagine smoke billowing out of someone’s car?!!!
That would be
“Awesome!”

I lit the fuse and threw it
Into some faceless window.

Everybody left their window’s open back then.
I wasn’t particular.

I rode away sniggering to myself
To watch the action
From a distance.

My friends did the same
Focused on the car
Amongst cars.
Nothing happened.
There was no smoke.

I knew I lit the bitch.

After a few minutes
I was like
“What the fuck”!

I rode back to the vehicle
To see what had happened.

What was up
Was that the fuse made contact
With the vinyl of the back seat
Causing it to melt away
Spreading quickly
As flames
Started to fan up the rear cushion.

There was no smoke...
There was fire!

In horror
I quickly rode away
Hoping to not get caught
As yet
Another part of my innocence
Drowned a fiery death
Stuck melting on the back seat
Of someone’s
Boring suburban car.


Part Two: The End Of Television

You had me at
“Motherfucker!”

But the TV was already raised
In locked arms
Up above my head
Atop the Mount Royal Bridge
Over the Northbound lanes
Of North Avenue

And as I heard
“What the fuck are you doing?”

The TV had already started on it’s journey
Over the concrete rail
Spinning
No longer plugged in
Showing grainy imagery
Of game shows and soap operas
Anchor News and sitcoms.

No.

The screen was grey and blank
As it fell heavily
In the city night
Electrical cord trailing
Like a useless parachute
Unopened.

The hippie
Was beside himself
Having a panic attack
As the TV exploded
And bulbs burst
Glass shattering
Plastic
Caving in.

He was crying
As a car swerved to miss
The remains
Illuminated by a flickering
Street lamp
Wheels tapping over pieces
Of television
Broadcast over the pavement.

I told him to
“Relax”
That I would go and clean it up
But I don’t think he ever got over it.

I didn’t watch much TV.
Didn’t care for it.

I was into action.
Doing stuff.

TV bored me.
It made people inanimate
And dull as well.

But I watched TV that night
With a hippie dude screaming
Raving and unhinged
Next to me.

Totally out of character for him
Wishing he was at home
Stoned
Watching
Don Kirschner’s Rock Concert
Or
The Mutual Of Omaha’s
Wild Kingdom.

For me.

It was the best television
That I had ever seen.


Part Three: Post Industrial Art Geurilla Tactics

It’s not a cereal.

It was a way of living
For years
For myself and several of my closest friends.

The yellow and black metal signs were there
But we never thought of it as
‘Trespassing’.

The ghettos
Abandoned buildings
Ravaged piers
Forgotton industrial complexes
Train tunnels
Empty breweries
And factories

Called to us
From Brooklyn
Baltimore
DC
Bethlehem and Pittsburgh.

The dirtier
More dangerous
The better.

We were on a mission
For imagery
Experience
And supplies
Most of them extremely heavy metal.
Giant wrenches and gears
Were covertly lugged to a spot
Where later they would be picked up
By a car with it’s headlights
Turned off.


We didn’t see it as stealing.
I mean
They weren’t being used anymore.

So
This one time I got caught.
Actually
We got caught.
This girl and I.

I took her into this one stellar
Abandoned factory
That I would frequent
Because it was easy to get to.

I found a way to get in
Down by the polluted stream in back
Through the dark, damp metallic smelling basement.

We made our way to the upper floors
And were exploring
When I heard a helicopter
Keep hovering around the building.

I had noticed it subliminally for a few minutes
Not thinking anything
But then I paid attention to it
And wondered what was going on.

I looked out the windows
And said to her
“Something must be going down outside”.

“Let’s go check it out”.

We made our way back
And as we were exiting the way that we came in
I heard

“Freeze!!! Don’t move or I swear I’ll pop a cap in your ass!”

I was like
“Holy shit! Take it easy. We weren’t doing anything!”

I looked up to see him shaking
Holding his gun with both hands
Pointed directly at me.

“You got someone else in there?”

“Yes. A girl!”

“Bring her out here then! No moves!”

Now
I must have looked strange enough.
A tall skinny punk
With a shaved head
Earrings
Chrome belts
Doc Martin’s
Rings
Leather jacket

But when she came out
In her wild clothes
Colored mohawk
Short skirt
And stockings

He was on the radio
Calling for backup.

The SWAT Team moved in.

We were cuffed and separated.

They found my butterfly knife in my pocket
And one cop was threatening me with it
Spinning it around on his fingers.

“What you doing with this punk? Do you even know how to use it?”
He said as he flicked it in front of my face.

I spent the next twenty hours in the city jail
Filled to overflowing throughout the night.

I was paired with a crazy
Psychopath
And couldn’t sleep well.

I tried everyone
With my one phone call.
By everyone
I mean my parents.

Nobody picked up.

Finally
I got a hold of a friend Riley
Who posted bail for me
And I was set loose
Sometime
The next day

To find out that they released
The girl the day before
On her own accord.
Hilarious.

I was told to turn it down
When I had to appear in court
And I did
Somewhat.

I brought in photos of my sculptures
And examples of my paintings
Explaining my reasons
For trespassing on abandoned property.

Me
A stupid punk
Explaining my artwork
To a courtroom
Instead of a classroom.

How could they take me seriously.


Part Four: Love Your Mother Well (a)


There was the time
Where I got busted
For shoplifting
At Rockaway Sales Department Store.

Security nabbed me in the parking lot.

I was busted with a bag
Of records and cassettes.

What was I thinking?

You’re right.
I wasn’t.

And they held me in a piss yellow room
With throw away office furniture
And the smell of burned coffee.

They kept ‘mock cop’ threatening me
Telling me
That a punk like myself was going to jail.
I, myself, the shoplifter
Was gonna get it up the ass
For sure!

They had me call my mom
On their phone that smelled of bad breath
And cigarettes.

They relished my discomfort
As my mom answered the phone
And I told her what had happened
And that she needed to come up
And speak with them.


It should’ve taken her fifteen minutes
But it crawled like hours.

I held it together that whole time.

Until I saw her enter through the door
With tears on her face
And I broke down
Right there
On the spot
In front of the
‘Mock cops’
And cried
Honestly.



Love Your Mother Well (b)


“What are these?”
My mother asked me
Standing over me
Holding a bag of quaaludes
That I had forgotten
To take out of my pants pocket
Before I put them in the laundry.

The dryer was going
Buzzing and making noise.

I was laid back in a bean bag chair
The TV going.

Damn.
There were a hundred of those in that bag.

Either way
I was sure they were gone.
I was so pissed
At my stupidity.

I made up some elaborate lie
About
That I was holding them
For a guy at work
So he wouldn’t get in trouble
While he went in for a meeting
With the boss
And I had completely forgotten about them.

Total bullshit.

Over the top bullshit.
Good as down the toilet.

If she didn’t believe me
She didn’t let on.
Perhaps she felt safer just confiscating my drugs
Than admitting to herself that her son
Was taking them.

It wouldn’t be the first time
That I lied to my mom.

I had no problem lying to my dad.
He could be a real bastard
Inflicting physical pain
With a leather strap
At the drop of a pair of pants.

Usually mine.

But my mom was soft, kind, domestic
Nurturing.

I was her first born
And she was on my side
Quite often.
Maybe she didn’t want to know the truth
And that’s probably fact
But
She really didn’t deserve dishonesty.


Part Five: Insomnia Or The Devil At Large

Dave
You fuckin’ crack head.

You were a speed freak truck driver
And you lived
By their rules.

Which weren’t any.

I had sex with your stripper pole girl friend
Because you were too fucked up to.
She wanted attention
From somebody.

She was a complete dolt
Right out of a porn video.
She was cute though
Kinky blonde hair
Dramatic make up
Tight little body.

She loved sex
But other than that
It was hard to take her gum popping
Squealing
Giddy

Air headedness.

I lived right across the street
From the two of you.

She was a trick and a half!

And I always got nervous
Thinking about
That crack handy magnum
That used to sit right out in the open
When I would go over to visit you.

The rest of your arsenal that I knew of was hidden away.

I looked you right in your eyes and told you
That nothing was
“Going on”
Saving my ass
Because I didn’t want
A bullet
From some sleepless
Crack demented zombie
In the back of my head
When I wasn’t paying attention.

I saved her ass too.

You were all tweaky anyway
And I knew that you beat her.

I saw the blueish jellyfish bruises
Under her pale white skin
And sometimes she cried
And I would feel bad
But I didn’t really want to get
Involved that deeply.

There was nothing ‘deep’ about her.


The blue lights of cop cars
Were seen flashing on the ceiling
In my bedroom
On several occassions
Way before they came and arrested you for good
Emptying the house
And your girl moved
Back in with her parents.

I found out later
That she was the one
Who called the cops on you.

Love hurts
Doesn’t it.


Part Six: The Resurrection Of The Kracken (magna cum laude)
Finale



Do you remember the time
When you and I were children
At the playground.

This was before we had dreams.

It was before we had ambitions and disappointments.

We were free
Until our moms called us for dinner.

We would run around
And chase each other
Until we were red, sweaty and out of breath.

I would push us on the Merry Go Round
My feet running as fast as they could
And then I would jump on
And we would all hold on really hard
And hang over the sides
Letting the centrifigal force work it’s magic
Spinning around fast
Looking up at the clear blue sky and clouds
Shuttering by amongst the trees.

I would push you on the swings
Running underneath you
Giving you a huge advantage
While I got on the swing next to you
And pumped until I caught up to you
And then we would join our feet together
And swing in unison.
We would laugh so much
And tell each other secrets.

We would climb up those tall trees
Just to see how far we could see.

There was a whole world before us.

And now that I’ve grown much taller

Those trees don’t seem that high anymore.

They’ve taken down the giant metal slide.

Liability hazard.

I like risks.

I like running around
Until I’m flushed red and panting
Feeling my lungs breathe in
This magical mystery of life.