Thursday, December 20, 2012
The place where I grew up
makes film noir look like Frank Capra.
The entire world is corrupt and smarmy.
The bad guys are vicious, and the good guys are worse.
Everybody is working an angle.
A smile is a predator showing teeth.
A pat on the back is just a search to find a soft place to put the knife.
Every man for himself.
You're on your own.
Trust no one.
Anger, resentment, lust in a pressure cooker
Ready to explode.
Beating back the existential angst
I score, therefore I am.
Gun at my back
Straight razor in my boot
Woman with a past on the arm
Of a man with no future
In a blued-steel, black leather, Chet Baker world
Take what you can; it's all you'll ever get
And if you go down
Sober, with a hard-on, and money in your pocket,
You're a three-time loser.
Man, sometimes I miss it.