Soundtracked

Big Grab

Hey folks! I know I said I wasn't gonna participate in "Pursue the Horizon - Open for Signups" ...I don't own the collection of poetry I used to have, and I can't just whip off some names and verses from my favorites from memory, but I think from time to time I might be able to share something here and there. Cinn suggested one night to check out Tony Hoagland, and after some of her recommendations and a li'l Google help, I took her up on it. The only book my local library system could get in was Unincorporated Persons In The Late Honda Dynasty  , and I recently finished it so I should probably talk about that a little bit.

First off, when Ky suggests something, you take it. If you didn't already know this or you're just finding it out, she knows her shit. Her rec wasn't casual, it was informed...and she was absolutely right when she said he'd be right up my alley. I recommend stuff all the time because I think the unwitting uninitiated might enjoy it; she knows. It's like a gift or something.

So yeah, I made it through Honda Dynasty and took sparse notes here and there, and of course not all of the ones I liked are available online via a tidy Google search and I don't have the book in front of me anymore to hand-type some favs (nor do I have that kinda energy), but here's a few I dig for reference in case you decide he's the kinda guy you wanna kill an afternoon with like I did: "Hard Rain", "Poor Brittney Spears" (I wrote something like this once, and used her name as well for similar effect...damn if I can remember what it was right now, but I have an idea where it might be, and it's probably nothing like how I'm imagining it now ), "The Loneliest Job In The World" (which reminded me of playing hockey- more specifically, being a stay-at-home defenseman or a goalie, both of which I often was- and The Tragically Hip's "The Lonely End Of The Rink"  ), "Visitation" (where I couldn't help but remember the feeling of being 15 again and messing around with the first girl- Ellen, a younger, adorable cheerleader who lived a block over- I'd ever been physically involved with), and "Disaster Movie" (an item that calls to mind the current political climate in a medium made more acceptable for and by the masses other than just talking politics).

"Cement Truck"   is a beast of poeticism that I think everyone who has ever tried to write any kind of poem, or more specifically, certain poems for certain reasons, can relate to. The imagery in relation to the feelings we all get when we have a line or a "perfect title" (and right now, I have more titles than poems at the ready for my own personal "Give It 100!"  challenge spot), and how we have to work all that in into another body of words and hoping it'll all fit so it looks like it's already been there and not like some freak of concrete embarrassment or word salad...y'all know that's real. And "My Father's Vocabulary"  ...again, very relatable. Don't we all have dads or uncles or older family members that speak a language inherent to where they came from? They use their words and turns of speech and catchphrases from their youth, still to this day, and you're like "Huh?" Like kids in the next generation will see this and wonder why we say shit like "lol" (which I fucking hate) or question everything sarcastically (or not) with a high-pitched "Whaaaaat?!". It happens...some things resonate more over time than others. We can have a conversation now about the same places 25 years later like it was 1991 all over again and be like "Rad!" as if it were nothin', but then y'all kids be lookin' at us like we're speakin' Jupiter or some shit...meanwhile, you're havin' babies who will have no idea how on fleek your eyebrows were when you met babydaddy and how turnt up shit was that night of conception. Hoagland says "tits", and I understand that, but I also understand that not only to mean "breasts" but as something being amazing or good, like "Oh, his Nintendo is tits!" like we'd now in our more decayed society would say "Xbox is the shit!". I'm rambling now, but you'll get it someday. I still think "tits" and "titties" should mean more than "amazing", "awesome", and "boobies", but I'm no linguist either [I-ther, not ee-thur].

Anyway, the piece I wanna talk about most of Hoagland's is "BIG GRAB"  . I will gladly copy/paste it here now for your enjoyment...

The corn chip engineer gets a bright idea,
and talks to the corn chip executive
and six months later at the factory they begin subtracting
a few chips from every bag,

but they still call it on the outside wrapper,
The Big Grab,
so the concept of Big is quietly modified
to mean More or Less Large, or Only Slightly Less Big than Before.

Confucius said this would happen:
that language would be hijacked and twisted
by a couple of tricksters from the Business Department

and from then on words would get crookeder and crookeder
until no one would know how to build a staircase,
or to look at the teeth of a horse,
or when it is best to shut up.

We live in that time that he predicted.
Nothing means what it says,
and it says it all the time.
Out on route 28, the lights blaze all night
on a billboard of a beautiful girl
covered with melted cheese--

See how she beckons to the river of latenight cars;
See how the tipsy drivers swerve, under the breathalyzer moon!

We’re in the wilderness now,
confused by the signs,
with a shortness of breath,
and that postmodern feeling of falling behind.

In a story whose beginning I must have missed,
without a name for the thing
          I can barely comprehend I desire,
I speak these words that do not know
where they’re going.

No wonder I want something more-or-less large,
and salty for lunch.
No wonder I stare into space while eating it.

That's batshit everydayman geniusery! That's the shit we don't know we're missing! Day-to-day simplicities broken down with a language we can all understand about something we all experience. But why is that so amazing? Why does it resonate? Why am I in awe? It's a "close the notebook, put down the pen, and take a nap" sort of closure. An "I can't beat that, so I'll join it" movement. Big Chip has our number, our details, our souls...the package remains the same size as the contents slowly wane throughout time. How he...how they...how he and they- they know us. They get us. We struggle with serving sizes, they struggle with profit margins. Either way, we'll eat ourselves fat. We'll buy anything if it's bigger. We see value in bullshit. Because we've let these people do it to us for so fucking long! Sonuvabitchin' advertizin' fuckers! They get us comin' and goin'! Because who's truly economical when they shop? Who has time for the analysis of who carries what and for how much and what's the worst it can do to me and/or my person? The belly fucking wants what it wants. If them damn chips go up ten cents in price, I'mma still buy them, even if I don't notice that every year they're going up. And every so often they slip a few chips out of the bag, to the point that I may need to buy two (arbitrary) single-serve bags to achieve the same feeling of contentment one used to give me? So fucking be it, because my once-nonfat-now-fat ass needs to be happy because billboards and adverts implore me to be happy with their chips like I'll feel an empty spot in my heart without them. Damn you to hell, all of you!!

And how many things do you buy because they're packaged as "multiple servings" but god forbid you can stop yourself from saving some for later? Are you fucking kidding me? Pints of Ben & Jerry's ice cream? "King Size" candy bars? Bottles of pop at gas station convenience stores? Naw man...none of that's meant to be consumed over a few days. It's one sitting, or fuck it- throw it out, because it doesn't stay fresh. "Let's get the masses hooked on this, and then make it smaller, so we can sell 'em more...and then we'll make a slightly smaller package, but charge more per ration." Fun fuckin' game they play, those highly-educated pricks who only care about taking your money and not how your now-fat ass is gonna work those extra calories off. This makes me angry, and I can't do anything to change it because I can only change me, but god damn this is a fucking problem...and here come the big-biznitch supporters to tell us that corporations are right and people are wrong, but corporations are people, and durr-durr-durr and lose some fucking weight and get a job and don't be sad because you have this big-ass bagga chips to make your broke ass happy, poor peasant. My lawd...

Ok. Sorry for the slightly off-topic rant. Seriously though, go read Tony Hoagland if you can find him in your neck of the woods or the concrete jungles of your neighborhoods. Do it for your soul, so it knows it's not alone in the intricacies of your everyday life. It won't hug you to let you know you're ok, but it'll stare at you in solidarity at least. Like a creep who wants you more for your understanding, and less for your social security number or demographics.