Tuesday, March 25, 2008

Mr. Fred's Poetry Corner (Parental Advisory)

The real question

So the real question is,
has all of this exposure to Buddhism
had any impact on Mr. Fred’s core being,
the bitter, hateful man that is his reality,
the bloody, murderous core that Mr. Fred has to live with,
and keep carefully in check, for fear of societal reprisals?

The answer, you may be comforted to know, is yes.

My shit list is whittled down to almost nothing,
fifteen or twenty people tops,
and I don’t dwell on it,
nor do I conspire to promote people to the hate list.

(Those on the shit list are merely misguided, and I do not hate them; those on the hate list are hateful, you’d hate them too, I certainly do.)

The Death List is down to almost nothing,
two or three people tops,
you know who you are,
I remember everything.

But now my heart is full of love and joy and happiness, so you may all take heart, miscreants, because I am not coming for you.

If you want to get boils,
or be horribly burned in a fire,
please feel free, you Death-Listers,
I will take my quiet pleasure in your third degree burns,
and I can only hope that the boils are in a deep, dark place.
I have been to the burn wards,
I have seen the terrifying black, dead areas left by the plasma,
the fire, the truth giver, the equalizer,
and I have listened to the drug addled moaning,
the fate that you deserve, you low down, filthy pests.

But it’s not by my hand you will suffer.
Life and fate will do my work.
My genes will take me to the future,
were I may check up on you,
it’s easy these days, automatic,
did you think you had any secrets?
Well, you don’t.

So I will know just when you die,
and I will quickly find your grave,
and I’ll be spry enough to go,
and piss with fury where you lay,
it won’t be like an eighteen year old,
who pisses like a thirsty race horse,
rather I’ll piss haltingly,
like the old man that I am,
but bear in mind that makes it worse,
old man piss, just think about it,
smells bad, there’s nothing about me now
that smells like roses.

Take your time. I’m waiting.

(Transformed from prose, February 4, 2008, and slightly revised)


Anonymous said...

Even at your age
you still dont get it?
Your puny hatred
only lets them control you by remote control.
Watch that blood pressure, man.
you aint worth it.

fred c said...

1. No, I don't
2. Yes, I agree
3. My pressure is fine, thanks
4. Yeah, but did you like the poem?