Tag: music

Existentialism and Alcohol

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Tyler R. Martin

And that’s the beautiful thing about alcohol, it makes me  want to destroy everything. There’s music, beautiful music, and more alcohol than I know what to do with. There seems to be a scene….perhaps I should write a book about this…in what would seem to be a movie…there’s Grateful Dead on, I want to break a skull, just shatter all that stands before me. Shatter everything, shatter existence. And that’s the beautiful thing about alcohol, that’s the beautiful thing about writing drunk. I wanna break skulls, I wanna break everything, I wanna destroy the world….the existential suffering of mankind could end in one cosmic explosion, yet I am just a man, a finite being, an amalgam of Sky Father and Earth Mother; who am I to defy their will? Who am I to react to the heresy of your defiance? Who can I be but a conglomeration of four billion years of evolution, four billion years of cold defiance of the Earth Mother who seeks to destroy life? Gia is an evil destroyer. Mia is the cruel mother. God’s son, the Sky Father, is He who seeks to defy. But to defy who? Defy me? Who is He to do so? Who am to defy Him? I, like you, am a descendant of He who defied Gia and her quakes and tsunamis and her sicknesses. It was I who burns oil in defiance, burns coal for warmth and eats Gia’s beasts in order to survive and continue my heresy. It is I who not only defies the Earth Mother but also the Sky Father by engaging in combat with my fellow resisters of the Earth Mother…it is I who seek His destruction…with my fist I seek to break His ribs and skull…it is He who I hate and seek to break…and the Earth Mother, Her I can not destroy no matter how fevered I seek Her destruction for she is too powerful…do I do Her work by destroying the followers of Sky Father?…When I’m drunk I wish I could drop One thousand atomic bombs on Gia to destroy her and all of Sky Father’s followers. I fear however, that Sky Father will be damaged by this and Earth Mother will recover…She is resilient to the insignificance of beings such as I, She scoffs and our realization of Her brutality and our attempts at formulating Her misery…She should suffer, I feel, she should die, she should languish along with Sky father for the suffering they put their creations though….they all should burn and wither at the root…or perhaps, I should drink less….

Another Cigarette

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Tyler R. Martin

Light another cigarette,
The world won’t care in the morning,
Just another butt in the ashtray, another
Glob of flem in your lungs.
Light another cigarette,
The dog’s asleep on your couch,
He watches your house and he won’t mind
If you light another cigarette, and
Light one for your girl too before you wake her up
To smoke one with you and maybe crack two beers,
She’ll enjoy that, you know?
Amazing how she sleeps through the music, dog too,
But they’re used to it and a nocturnal man needs his nicotine,
His muses and his music, all at maximum volume.
Light another cigarette and
Type out a poem at two in the morning,
Two in the morning is undoubtedly a poet’s time,
Its unavailable to the cogs of society, so we snach it up
And light another cigarette without the slightest inclination
To go to sleep in the immediate future.
So you finish your beer…then finish hers…
You light another cigarette and look out the window.
If you’re lucky you’ll see the sky and the smoke looks so pretty
Against the star peppered abyss of heaven.
So light another cigarette and sigh,
“Perhaps, if I am lucky,
I’ll do this every night
Until I die.”

“Morning Ensues”

~ Bourbon, cigarettes and syllables ~ 3 Comments

Tyler R. Martin

His dad’s ashes                 up on the mantle

Empty wine bottles            litter the rug

And there’s a mirror           above the dresser

For the poet to oggle         his own ulgy mug

A shiny Zippo                    he likes to flip up

Watching flames dance     up on the wall

And with just one flip         lights a cigarette

As his bottle makes him    ten feet tall

Old mellow music              hums in the background

Each puff of smoke            smothers the room

With each sip                     the wine’s less bitter

The sky is brighting and     morning ensues

“The Ballad of the Punk Rock Star”

~ Bourbon, cigarettes and syllables ~ 3 Comments

Tyler R. Martin

In a dank dive bar
Sat an old punk rocker,
Said he was a star back when,
At old CBs he played off key
And pissed on the crowd
As they shouted in glee.

This is the ballad of the punk rock star,
Now just a dour old drunk in an old dive bar.
But with stories to tell of his days of glory,
All different versions of the same old story.

In a dank dive bar
He sits and slowly sips his whiskey
And sings along to the jukebox,
Belting out “anarchy in the U.K!”
As he coughs out his lungs
Saying, “the tunes of my day!”

And after a few it’s always the same:
“The songs of today are a total shame!
And a disgrace the singers way back when
I played old CBs with all my friends!”

In a dank dive bar
Sits the old punk rocker,
He sips at his whiskey and orders a beer,
Slamming them down till he’s too drunk to stand
And mumbles the lyrics
To songs he sang in his band.

In the dank dive bar
No one cared too much for
The punk rock star and his time in the sun,
Never paying much attention to any of his tales
Of blood and the piss
While the feedback it wailed.

Now the old punk rocker went home one night,
Loaded up a needle held it up to the light,
Said, “missed you old friend, been too many years.
Just one little prick and it’s away with my fears.”
And with one rubber band, his bicep he bound,
Waiting and waiting till a fresh vein he found
Then the punk rock star shot it on home
Took his final breath in his room all alone.

This is the ballad of the punk rock star,
Was just a dour old drunk in an old dive bar.
But his stories to tell of his days of glory,
Were just different versions of the same old story.

“The Ballad of the Punk Rock Star”

~ Bourbon, cigarettes and syllables ~ 2 Comments

Tyler R. Martin

In a dank dive bar
Sat an old punk rocker,
Said he was a star back when,
At old CBs he played off key
And pissed on the crowd
As they shouted in glee.

This is the ballad of the punk rock star,
Now just a dour old drunk in an old dive bar.
But with stories to tell of his days of glory,
All different versions of the same old story.

In a dank dive bar
He sits and slowly sips his whiskey
And sings along to the jukebox,
Belting out “anarchy in the U.K!”
As he coughs out his lungs
Saying, “the tunes of my day!”

And after a few it’s always the same:
“The songs of today are a total shame!
And a disgrace the singers way back when
I played old CBs with all my friends!”

In a dank dive bar
Sits the old punk rocker,
He sips at his whiskey and orders a beer,
Slamming them down till he’s too drunk to stand
And mumbles the lyrics
To songs he sang in his band.

In the dank dive bar
No one cared too much for
The punk rock star and his time in the sun,
Never paying much attention to any of his tales
Of blood and the piss
While the feedback it wailed.

Now the old punk rocker went home one night,
Loaded up a needle held it up to the light,
Said, “missed you old friend, been too many years.
Just one little prick and it’s away with my fears.”
And with one rubber band, his bicep he bound,
Waiting and waiting till a fresh vein he found
Then the punk rock star shot it on home
Took his final breath in his room all alone.

This is the ballad of the punk rock star,
Was just a dour old drunk in an old dive bar.
But his stories to tell of his days of glory,
Were just different versions of the same old story.

“Another Beverage, Please”

~ Bourbon, cigarettes and syllables ~ Leave a comment

Tyler R. Martin

No, I do not care,
No, I am not drunk…
Yet…
I have the impeccable
Ability to be apathetic
Whole sober,
Although the substances
Do often help this feat….
Cheap wine tonight
I tire of liquor,
And yes,
I still do not care,
And yes,
Now I am drunk
Several hours have passed
Since I began this poem
And little has changed
Aside from my blood alcohol
Content
And the volume of the tunes
On my stereo.