playing chicken

I saw the movie Sin City, then a week later wrote this poem. Reminds me of Marv in the movie.

playing chicken

this is how it works:

God will decide that you’re it
then stare you in the face
kick you around a couple thousand times
just to see what you’re made of
see if you break

you’ll first try to weasel your way out of it
like there’s some kind of loophole or something
maybe negotiate your way out
through compromises and concessions

that shit works for most people
and they wind up walking the road instead of driving it

but not you
you’re it
you’re the asshole that God picked to be it, so you keep driving.

and that’s when you say to yourself
I’m not turning
I’m not turning
I’m not turning, go fuck yourself, I’m not turning.

and right before the big smash
God will snap a Polaroid of you

If your eyes were closed before you hit, you’ll see nothing.
If your eyes were open, you’ll see everything.

..

The poem also reminded me of Bukowski. His stuff kicks my ass, but I keep trying anyway.

The Secret
by Charles Bukowski

don’t worry, nobody has the
beautiful lady, not really, and
nobody has the strange and
hidden power, nobody is
exceptional or wonderful or
magic, they only seem to be
it’s all a trick, an in, a con,
don’t buy it, don’t believe it.
the world is packed with
billions of people whose lives
and deaths are useless and
when one of these jumps up
and the light of history shines
upon them, forget it, it’s not
what it seems, it’s just
another act to fool the fools
again.

there are no strong men, there
are no beautiful women.
at least, you can die knowing
this
and you will have
the only possible
victory.