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about
A sober and well thought essay on being a full time artist.
lyrics
Poets and punk rockers
age worse than gov't cheese and Thunderbird
And I'm both
So, fuck it
sour grapes and shitty macaroni it is.
Some friend's tell me they wish they had my job
or at least the hours
and I
give praise to the Great Sky Conductor for
every day I've never had to origami myself into a cube
but the clock I punch jabs back
below the belt
This occupation consists of
constantly putting your heart and balls in front
of the world's swinging knuckles
But I can't quit it because
there's not much else you can do when
your inner child is a spitting brat
and your power animal is
Joan Jett
My resume might as well read:
Jack Off of All trades
Master of jack shit
I can think of a lot of worse things to be
like World War referee
or fluffer
but glory glory
this kind of living is killing me
Hallelujah
These days, my sex drive
takes the corners like a spastic Datsun
Which is perfect 'cause
I got game like Pong.
Worse yet, Colecovision
outdated, dusty, and with a shit load
of useless buttons
All my get up and go must of
done jetted and stuck me with the check.
Maybe,
if I shook the devil horns out my mouth,
took out all the fuck you's put just one back in
wrapped up in dumb down
I could touch what my mother might call success
Maybe, just maybe
if I stopped shouting to, from, for, and at
all the fringe's reflections of me, I could be happy
I've seen friends hit it so big,
it has splattered my clothes like John F Kennedy's brains,
back and to the left out, pity party army of one
again
But I'm not bitter
You can ask any of my guts dead butterflies,
but all their brittle little skeletons will tell you is:
At least we died for a reason
I love my job, aching balls and all of it
If I didn't, I would've gone
full trip twiggy up a clock tower
after the millionth missed meal ago
I may have less than some, 3 hots, a cot, and the
alarm clock's static reassurance that this day
will have no more or less challenges than the next
but
I got a lot more than a lot, like the music
screaming that it will not stay my creaking jaw's secret
for one
second
longer
and shares itself full throttle, damn the honesty
or the hour
When a cigarette is all that's keeping me going
and 5 twine rope thrown over a crossbeam is
the only thing that could hold my head up,
I just gotta giggle, step down off the chair
and remember
I
am Hope's biggest bitch
Paulie Lipman has been a part of 8 Denver National Slam Teams(including '04's second place and '06's national champions).
His work has appeared in The Legendary, Borderline, and the Write Bloody anthology: The Good Things About America.
In addition to Spoken Word, Pauile is also a musician/composer and is available for hire for commercial/video game/soundtrack work....more
Poet Douglas Kearney and composer/producer/drummer Val Jeanty link up for a a compelling LP that feels like the written word come to life. Bandcamp New & Notable Mar 30, 2021