Wednesday, March 7, 2012

"Pseudo-Sapiens" and other lost causes . . . .

In helping my mother go through all her "stuff" she's been storing and holding onto . . . sorting, shredding, tossing, and saving the meaningful keepsakes . . . I came across a few of my writings from the past, among other things.

Here are a couple of poems/songs/lyrics I wrote, just to share for fun . . . . I remember well when I wrote them--I was 15-16 years old, around 1977-78 . . .  and mostly composing on piano at that time.  It wasn't too long after a second divorce upended my life and I had become rather . . . er, contemplative, withdrawn and cynical towards the world . . . .
[lit. notes:  As seems to happen in my old writings, there are odd little apparently "pre-cognition" slips . . . anachronisms . . . where I used words that didn't have the seemingly obvious meaning that they do now, ie., below where I say the dog "raps in rhyme" . . . . I don't think the term "rap" was in usage at that time--at least not popularly.  Rap was just getting started in the South Bronx and I certainly didn't know that term . . . .

Also, the word "syngamic" . . . is kinda funny and startling.  I have no idea where I would have come up with that lol . . . . I had to just now look it up to see if it's a real word . . . and there is an actual word "syngamy" which means "the union of male and female sexual cells" . . . .

The "Sirloin" poem . . . reveals my longtime love of animals and typical teenage angst at the horrible ways they are treated to . . . fulfill the Burger King injunction . . . .

In the bottom poem/lyric . . . "Joe The Lion" refers to a David Bowie song of the same name from his album "Heroes" which had just been released and was an artistic inspiration for me at that time . . . . "Joe The Lion" for me symbolized the rat racing, workaday, materialistic drone of dysfunctional modern society, though the song is actually a tribute to an eccentric performance artist who nailed himself to his Volkswagon . . . .However, another possible pre-cog-oddity . . . my wife just noticed . . . . Bowie, about 20 years after I wrote the poem, wrote a song which was a minor hit for him in the 90s called "I'm Afraid Of Americans" . . . . In it, the main character's name is "Johnny" . . . and it IS a song about the typical, drone life of consumerist materialism . . . . There is a line in it:  "Johnny wants a plane, Johnny wants to suck on a coke, Johnny wants a woman, Johnny wants to think of a joke". . . . which seems a sort of odd echo of mine: "Johnny . . . sips at some coffee, laughs at some jokes."
Perhaps... the time shifted synchronicity loops strike again? Heh....

Man Is Crying

Silence on the airborn strip, saucers glide
into town
Scrapers leap to tear the skies, fast food
hover around
Wars have ceased, disease is gone, no such
thing as dying
but on the white-washed thoroughfare
someone's softly crying

Rockets race from star to star, students
trip out through time
Mother picks the size of her child, metal
dogs rap in rhyme
Synthetic, syngamic ecstasy, guaranteed love
but hidden in the sterile brush, a
young man softly cries

If fish were around to swim, they'd see
the water clear
Birds could fly through skies pure, around
a stainless sphere
Universe corners are done, scientists, bored
are sighing
but on the grass, head in hands, Man 
is gently crying


Sirloin Stakes

It's like glass that divides us; cow
shouting through hollow space
I'm bleeding my nails to tell you
it's my brothers who stuff your face

You're ignorant under the sun
scratching your back on a tree
resist the call of life's longing
You're born with no destiny

Stretched out over the quicksand
lost, I've nothing to say
"know" I'm not fond of my brothers
who think they must "have it their way"

We're keen with stones and stars
boys may play on the sun
but you may run no more
"Sapien is The One"



Johnny, his bucks, and martini glass
are all that matter to one of such class
his smiling doll, with digital face
it walks, it talks, it too can race

Johnny looks out at every gone day
steps in his money and drives away
ignites his smile to synthesized folks
sips at some coffee, laughs at some jokes

"Kids are screwed but that's alright
they see the shrink on Monday night
they got it down, know all the tricks
they hate our guts, but that's just kicks"

That's the story, the way it goes
they kick like mules, but see like moles
the "Joe The Lions", they golf at nine
but it seems to me, a waste of time 


This is a photo below of me in the last year I played football which I loved sooooo much!  I was 14 and my mother and lawyer "step" dad were just about to get divorced, though I didn't know it yet.  It was a time of innocence and probably the last of simple, unimpeded happiness.

I was a bit of a football prodigy . . . played running back and broke all kinds of scoring records and I also played on the defense as linebacker . . . and I was the kicker . . . and the kick-off receiver.  In other words, lol, I never came out of the game--which was fine by me as I simply loved every second of it.  I was just starting to get scouted and creating a "buzz", and athletic scholarship was starting to take shape . . . .
But, I was so shocked by the sudden divorce, that I decided . . . as an attempt to get attention and show my pain and devastation . . . that I announced one day that I wasn't going to play football the coming season.  I secretly had hoped that folks would rush in to say, "Oh, you've GOT to play football!  It's your love!  Your passion and talent!  No, you play football and we'll get through this."

Heh, but no one noticed.  No one said anything.  It was a shrug and a "ok, whatever" . . . . Which drove me into a deep, internal withdrawal . . . and hardening of my heart against the world.  I became numb and detached so as not to feel pain and disappointment anymore.  In some of my self-referential poems, I nicknamed myself "Porcupine" . . . "Iron Man" . . . or "Little Boy Gray" . . .  to denote the inner, cold, wasteland my emotional state had become . . . to cope.  I wrote a whole rock opera called "Tom Diotto: The King of Puppet Rock" . . . along the lines of the above poem "Psuedo-Sapiens" . . . which expressed my resentment and disdain for materialistic, "Me-Generation" people . . . parents . . . who wrecked their kids' lives through divorce . . . while they were oblivious, out seeking pleasure, money, status etc.

Hey, I'm not complaining . . . :) It is was what drove me to find the higher meaning and purpose to life--to seek and find God . . . . I'm just sharing a couple of things from the past, recently come to mind as I've sifted through the memorabilia my mother has kept around . . . .
Heh, not only is time short, but it flies too! God bless, bro,T


Trish Daniel said...

awesome brother Thomas! you are so cute too in the picture.. :) great poems ... God bless you!

Linda L. said...

All very interesting, especially your pre-cog slips and interests of youth. Thanks for sharing :)

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