One Day, You’ll Have a Mental Breakdown, It’ll Be Beautiful & There’ll Be a Standing Ovation at the End
By Justin Karcher
One Day, You’ll Have a Mental Breakdown, It’ll Be Beautiful & There’ll Be a Standing Ovation at the End
By Justin Karcher
They say it’s healthy
to be an open book
to be honest
with no secrets
but no one ever
talks about the vulnerability
how it’s easy to be blinded
by bright colors
& confused by bold patterns
even your own
& despite your best efforts
to understand
what you’ve turned into
you always find yourself
in the same exact spot
as before:
cutting yourself open
because you smashed a whiskey bottle
against the wall of a bar
that doesn’t exist anymore
because you don’t like the song that’s playing
or because you wrote a poem
that confesses everything
but no one understands it
or because you got up on stage
& tried to monologue your way
out of this madness
but the audience was too tipsy
to help release you from your self-imposed psychiatric hospital
you always expect
everyone around you
to watch the literal or metaphorical blood
gush out
& go “Oooh” & “Ahhh”
like it’s a Marvel movie
like you’re a hashtag superhero
on the lips of the forever young
but that’s selfish
anyway, that kind of vulnerability
scares most people away
because blood never looks healthy
in or out of the body
on the page
or on the stage
& it’s easy to drown in
if you’re not careful
I just wish people
had stronger stomachs
for the animalistic self-sacrifice
of others
because it’s uncontrollable
the momentum of opening up
I should know
I’m an alcoholic
who has pretended
to be an open book
at every party
I’ve ever been to
in the center
of a circle that isn’t even there
spewing ink
like a squid
which is probably an image
I’ve used in another poem
but this is America
where we repeat the same ideas
over & over again
you know what’s interesting?
how on some nights
Buffalo feels more like Palm Springs
the kind of heat
that doesn’t belong
in a city like this
so when you feel it crawling
into your pores
you need to watch out
you need to just go home
politely abandon the people you’re with
because the heat
doesn’t play nice with your brain
it never has
it’ll melt the part that helps
you make good decisions
then where will you be?
it was a night like that
that I met Gerry
who told me all about this wedding
he was at
how he was surrounded by exes
& piles of coke from 1975
the moon looked like the sun
or maybe it was the other way around
it doesn’t matter
what I’m saying is that the stars
didn’t know where to go
they kept bumping
into pop culture
or news headlines
a world dressed in beige
that could never understand
your explosions of color
it doesn’t matter
what I’m saying is that the constellations
were all out of whack
but it was beautiful
watching Gerry
trying to connect the dots of himself
& to be honest
I was a little bit jealous
the kind of vulnerability
that gets a standing ovation
the acknowledgement
that even though you are at your worst
you’re trying so hard to be your best
afterward, we went out
celebrating
we first went to Matinee
where I tried ordering a Red Bull
but they were all out
so I got a sour beer
then the heat began to rise
I found myself staring
at the cardboard cutout
of Adam Yellen
biting into a cardboard taco
I decided I would one day
write a poem about this
this is not that poem
afterward, we make an appearance
at Q
where they have Red Bull on tap
but it’s not really Red Bull
it looks like it
but the taste is different
it’s tough to put that taste into words
but I imagine it’s a lot like
a marathon
where the spectators
hold out tiny cups of holy water
& when the runners run by
they grab the cups & drink
& their minds are like, “This is water”
but their hearts are like, “Something’s off
but keep running
keep doing what you set out to do”
so I get more sour beers
eventually I find myself dazing out
in front of the urinal
staring at the poster for Trivia Night
every Wednesday starting at 9:00
hosted by Dave Poole
some nights trivia is the only validation
that works for me
it’s nice to know that the useless knowledge
inside your head
is good for something
sometimes it’s the only thing
that keeps me from feeling like I’m dead
overdramatic I know
but I’m just trying to be honest here
then I think the night’s done
& I’m glad I made it
without breaking down
& pissing somewhere I shouldn’t
but then there’s a heatwave
& it’s decided we’re all gonna go
to a Grindr off the grid party
then suddenly I’m on a rooftop
with Gerry & almost everyone in the city
mostly everyone here is looking for love or lust
or maybe just a release
it doesn’t matter
shirtless boys passing around creepy baby masks
& putting them on
then dancing until they pass out
in the arms
of the devils of old age
or maybe they’re just sunburnt daddies
crawling out of the shadows
meanwhile I’m staring at a downtown church
that’s in the distance
trying to hurl smoke rings onto the steeple
Jesus may have once lived here
but he could never
get a good night’s sleep
on that uncomfortable rusted cross
which is about as comfy
as a stranger’s air mattress
in an apartment you never thought you’d end up
maybe a road trip gone awry
books on their bookshelf you’ve never read
anyway, I imagine Jesus looking at us
he’s hanging out on carpeted cloud coverage
getting stoned with pink angels
that look like flamingoes
I imagine him crying out
“I gave them my body
my blood
I have nothing else left to give”
he opened himself up
like a book
& a lot of people read it
but what good did that do?
well
I bet Jesus just wants us to dance
so then I notice
a table of uneaten donuts
a continent of sprinkles
& the sprinkles seem to be glittering
like tiny cities
you’ve always wanted to visit
for a moment, I wonder why there are donuts here
but then I wonder why no one is eating them
I debate hopping off the roof toward the table
because I love donuts
then I get distracted
imagining the human heart
as a muscle covered with sprinkles
left behind from all the people you’ve ever loved
you want them to stick there forever
but over time, they begin to flake off
in the best-case scenario, there’s a trail of them
behind you
like fairytale breadcrumbs
so you can retrace your steps if you want
rediscover the chemistry
that connected you with the world
but depression is a pain in the ass
it makes you think that your feelings
are unread books in a library that’s always burning
burn it down anyway
pray there are smoke signals
pray that there are people
whose lungs are strong enough
to handle the harshness
lastly I notice the liquor
next to the uneaten donuts
& I know I’m done for
I tell Gerry, “I’m gonna go get drunk”
so I run toward the table
& they only have vodka
which is a shame
but it’ll do
there are also jugs of Tang
for whatever reason
so I make low-quality screwdrivers
& start writing my obituary
pretty soon I abandon the Tang
because remember you’re the driver
of your own screw
pretty soon I’m wearing a baby mask
& I’m surrounded by lepers
telling them I write poetry
that they should too
it’s all a blur
when you’re an open book
& then usually
you black out
when I wake up I’m alone
there’s only leftover heat
& no standing ovation
but maybe one day
there will be
I wonder what Gerry
thinks about all of this
how tough it is
to be bright and bold