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Tuesday, June 15, 2010

The Usual Bullshit a Go-Go...

An addendum to the previous entry: the cat I caught stealing from the till last week was officially given his walking papers on Friday night... when someone else caught him dipping and ATTEMPTING to get away with the same activity.

Karma is indeed a bitch.

Another interesting factoid, which I only discovered upon his firing: the lying, theif/bartender/cat just happened to be the nephew (in-law )of the bar's owner. Hmmmm... so, maybe he felt it was cool to take and rob from the boss, since it was all in the spirit of keeping it in the family.

Odd that!

In keeping with the nightlife theme, the following piece deals with my life as a bartender... the things I see, the emotions I feel, the impressions I come away with.

It is a repost, I call:

The Usual Bullshit a Go-Go

Sometimes and some nights you pick up the gist of these conversations your ears are virtually held hostage to hearing. You don’t want to hear them. You’d much rather, not know, because people are far more noble and more attractive when they retain a little piece of their mystery.

But you’re hurled into this cacophonous arena. You’re caught inside this land of ventriloquists, throwing their voices from the slick lips of the jagged, and the twisted. You’re caught… like some reluctant spectator, as the smooth and vicious volleys of nightlife play out.

Everybody wants to be a star, at least after midnight... Everyone wants to shine brighter, to be hotter, and more brilliant than the rest.

If you work in a bar, you begin to intuit this, know it instinctually, detect it in the mirrors. You can smell the smoke and bravado of it. You get to know it intimately. You hear the riffs of its blatant braggadocio, its egotistical emoting, its convoluted conversations seasoned with slick words, slick proposals and slicker motives that will make you go, “like Whoa!”

You know the routine, and you've seen it all before. You know the stagger, the swagger, the vogue of faux emotions, the scam, the scandal, the hustle, the quick buck, and you even become familiar with the woo and ways of the opportunistic fuck…

And it all makes you lose just a little faith in humanity, especially the drunk and the distraught, the lonely and the desperate, and the despeartely lonely kind.

This all paints a wildly psychedelic/imagistic landscape inside the mind how people so easily become victims to the night's carnal crimes, and forge foundations of potentially core relationships on a tradition of paper houses that sit and waver upon acres of bullshit.

However, once, just once, I’d like a night of nostalgia, of respect, of charm, of something on the fringes of finesse. Just once, I’d like some lively intelligentsia which rubs my cranium with a mouthful of lovely. Just once, I’d enjoy the give and take, the ebb and flow of a buoyant conversation that doesn’t hurt so much, or nulls my senses, make me feel so nauseous, used or abused, or to become just another sad citizen of the usual Bullshit, a Go-Go.

In short, some people can astound me with their sadness… this way they attempt, yet fail to mask it with manicures or too much make-up, with gym memberships, or impeccably groomed wildness, or with cologne or perfume to drive away the stink of it. I’ve seen and watched them pickle their sadness into fits of supercilious arrogance. Seen them erect their genital sadness; get it to wink, to smile, to do risqué somersaults and parlor tricks in the neon-lit darkness.

I could be far more specific. I could name names and events and even describe, in great detail, the outcome of these retarded little incidents. But why, when doing so would only blast a light upon it and add more sheen to this sadness; this barren piece of celebrity?

I’ve come to see the Saddest Truth of all is this: people, even barflies, even drunks, even users, even thieves, even adulterers, even bitches, even bastards, even bullies, and even hacks like me… all want a little piece of acclaim.

It gets lonely out there in that fog of horror to head back home all alone, untouched, unkissed, unfucked, unfelt, unloved.

I guess.



Felicia Monique said...

Oh, I'm loving this piece! Raw, poetic, and thoughtful!

"Just once, I’d like some lively intelligentsia which rubs my cranium with a mouthful of lovely."

That's hot! ;)

BigmacInPittsburgh said...

I'm like Felicia,still trying to digest it all,great writing and stimulating!

Mizrepresent said...

Good stugf, loved the visuals in this piece. One of my favorites!

Wizardress said...

I'll bet he's hating that he didn't come clean and stop with the stealing when you called him out. Oh well- he did it to himself. Miss you xxx

Kit (Keep It Trill) said...

This post has to be one of the best pieces of writing I've ever read in BlogLand. Your talent with words, mood, nuance, the whole nine yards and much more, leaves me grateful that you share it here, and I hope, no, pray, that one day soon your name will be a household word among readers. It is truly phenomenal.

CareyCarey said...

Well, it looks like another love TKO and the truth will set you free.

Moanerplicity said...

@ Felicia: Thanks, my sista. I'm pleased and flattered that, as a fellow writer, this piece moved you. (smiles)

@ Bigmac: Thanks very much for the luv and the pimping my page. I really appreciate that!

@ Miz: Good morning, Lovely. I think this was one of the first entries that you commented on a while back, so I thought it was time to revisit it. (smiles)

@ Wizzy: Hey, my Wiz-Woman! Yep, if ONLY people would rise when they should, speak and take responsibility for their actions.... this world would be in a much better place. Miss YOU, too, my friend! ;-)

Trill: Wow! Thanks so much, Kit! It's very nice to awaken and have the first thing I read in my email be a comment as flattering and encouraging as yours. THANK YOU! It's always been my personal aim to narrate existence as I see, feel, and experience it, and then to have others recognize pieces of themselves or people they know inside the beauty, the ugliness, and most of all... the TRUTH of it.

So, thanks for feeling me.

@ Carey: Appreciate the drive-by, bruh. Yep. It appears that a TKO is in full effect. But on that subject: I don't think love, Real Love, can truly exist unless there's some element of recip going on.

One Love.


Lovebabz said...

YOu get to it don't you? I love it and Hate it all at once. I am those folks...the messes that sit at the bar with their wounds drapped like jewelry, elgantly placed as to not be noticed as pain on the fist glance.

You notice tooo much. I'd fuck you just because. And I swear I wouldn't want to know you or your life. But who are we and what do we want. God we are all wounded souls lookin gofr wholeness or at best less pain.

Your writing can be too much and yet I drawn to its honesty. Damn IT!

I am not flirting...truly. Your honesty is too bright for my eyes. I have been too long in the shadows. I want love that is uncomplicated. Maybe this is my blog post. Maybe I need you to be therapist/brother/friend/stranger.

Your writing is too intense. I am bleeding...