True Confessions: A Poetic Reflection on The Philosophy of Old Age–Or, Roll Over Prufrock.
By Robert Whyte
There are some puddles I can’t quite jump but I’m not going to let it worry me.
I kind of get E=mc2 but I haven’t been through all the equations to get you there. Has anyone? Haemorrhoids and diarrhoea give me the shits as far as spelling is concerned, but I’m making decent progress limiting my use of the word “that”.
I drink too much. I fart in bed. I pretend to understand Antoine Artaud
and Albert Camus, but I don’t really. I know just enough to fake it.
I actually like Todd Rundgren, Daryl Hall and Boz Scaggs and I don’t think
they are lame at all. Or saccharine. But at least I don’t like The Eagles.
I’m no good at any sport at all but that’s OK. I can just say I don’t like sport.
I wish I did because there’s so much of it! And it obviously takes your mind
off stuff that keeps you awake at night, like getting the pronunciation
of hyper-bole wrong. It’s hy-PER-bol-e, by the way.
I like people who like me enough to laugh at my jokes as if they mean it.
Some people laugh at my jokes when they’re not even funny. Are they humouring me? I REALLY don’t like people who switch conversations in the middle of one with me. Could you at least say, “Excuse me I just switched off but I’m back now.”
I’m tall. That must count for something. I’ve probably achieved a few things
here and there that could be considered worthwhile. I can’t recall them right now. Why wasn’t anyone taking notes? Oops I just used the word “that” twice
in quick succession. There goes another worthy project down the plughole.
I wish I could grow a beard that didn’t make me look like a malnourished chimneysweep. Oops. Three times. But who’s counting? I wish I was totally confident my breath was always fresh like green apples and sunshine but who really enjoys flossing? That puddle jumping thing was metaphor of course, I didn’t mean it literally.
I’m up for adventure, really I am, just as soon as I finish this terribly
important bit of procrastination I’m working on. Can’t you see I’m busy?’
Is life a competition about who can be the most shithouse useless crap
and get away with it? Maybe it is. That would be good. I could be aspirational.
Maybe not. Remind me if I ever get aspirational I should lie down till the
feeling passes or if that doesn’t work trephinate myself with a chain saw. Four times. I’m going back to bed. You can send me your poetry too you know. Feel free. I’ll set up a filter to delete it before it reaches my in box.
You’ve done that already? That’s cold. How could you keep a straight face
when I offered to help move your mother’s furniture and clean her house?
What kind of person are you? I loaned you my dremel. Have you brought it back? It’s broken? That’s really cold. I got a new one anyway. No, you can’t borrow it.
APP Editors’ Note:
Mr Nemo, W, X, Y, & Z, Friday 24 August 2018
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