Experimentation

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I’ve experimented with a lot of things in my day.

I mainlined Romanticism and heard Genesis in a creaky, quiet singing voice in Oakland, although the Slim staccato said it was Dakota.

I took a shot of Surrealism and Dallied with daguerrotypical dandies as if it were 1931 and I was the only one who couldn’t read the hands of the crooked clocks (pointing posthaste towards a past purgatorial pointillist punishment), all polka dots and sunspots.

I freebased Existentialism and spent many an ethereal evening evoking egotistical poltergeists and fishing for cracked psyches in the carpeted psychoses of an existence that wasn’t entirely mine (but not entirely not mine either).

I downed Modernism like the last dregs from a Parisian wine not suitable for modern times and, lo and behold, it just made me whine and laugh all the way to the Left Bank.

I tried Transcendentalism and saw transcendent beauty in a pair of tarnished transvestite eyes on the corner of Turk & Taylor, with a tailored truth trying to be female, downing ale to forsake the male.

Then I racked a rail of Realism and really regretted the rush, man. Ain’t nothing rawer than realizing that reality is realer than the most ravaging night terrors.

Sturm Und Drang made me strong and drunk, and I still can’t figure out whether or not I sold my soul to the devil. But I do have a diabolical contract lying around here somewhere…

I bought some Beat poetry off a beat junkie off Skate & Thrashbury, but the words beat me down like a sad, sad clown until I forged my own mental Coney Island. I was starving, hysterical, but never naked, so I took the tempo and the credo and put it in my pants pocket for my own cruel devices.

I’ve been achy for Aestheticism and dopesick for Dadaism, after I got a taste from a tasteless turncoat in Orinda. It all seemed Shakespearean to me, but it was mostly beer and shakes, as far as I could see.

Now I’m sniffing Sentimentalism and seeing stars,

And literary schools are like classic cars:

They look real radical from afar–

But try to buy one and you won’t get far.

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