the aging hipster

by Dan Leo

illustrations by penmarq studios

I am the aging hipster,  and everyone despises me. Yes, I’m just an aging hipster and everyone’s finally wise to me. It’s horrible to be old when you peaked at twenty-five, And I’ve no need to be told that no one cares if I’m alive. I only thank God for the internet For Facebook and for Youtube. I comment and chat all fucking day and yet To these brats I’m just a boring old boob. I’m thinking of making up a new Facebook account and pretending that I’m young and cool again; I’m tired of being called a superannuated cunt By every callow smart-ass hooligan. Don’t they know I once shook hands with Iggy, and even shot up once with Basquiat? And, yes, I even once got jiggly with Patti Smith when she was drunk at Max’s Kansas City. So why do I feel so shitty when I look in the mirror? I’d even settle for some pity, but the contempt could not be clearer in the eyes of the young fops in the bars and coffee shops; To them I’m barely visible,  and if I am at all I’m risible. I’m just an aging hipster with my moth-eaten black beret. I’m just an aging pathetic hipster. And, I know, I should just go away.

arthur

arthur was born in a little town under a pale and tired sky the fields were the color of the sun and the river was the color of the sky arthur had a long neck and his eyes were the color of the stones in the bed of the slowly moving river the windmills were red the pale red of the blood of the holy innocents arthur sat in the back of the schoolroom with the older children because of his long neck he saw farther than the other children his long eyes looked into those of the bugs crawling up his pants he heard music in their desperate scratchings and knew that everything was connected in a poem without words in a symphony without notes only colors there were animals in the colors animals that existed nowhere else arthur went for long walks along the river sometimes he heard shouting in the distance one day he met louis known as "the louse" louis had never been to school and poled a barge that carried passengers along the river mostly old women taking their pigs and chickens to market every pig and chicken had a different color and had its own story to tell arthur listened to them all until one day he saw a young woman walking along the river bank she had long hair the color of the story of king arthur and eyes the color of the story of joan of arc *** arthur did not care much for human stories preferring the stories of pigs and chickens and goats and cows which blended with the sky unlike the stories of humans which were solid like rocks or beetles or at best like clouds louis the louse pointed out the young woman to arthur and said "there goes genevieve" the next day arthur arrived late at the riverbank louis had already pushed the barge into the center of the river he waved to arthur and arthur waved back arthur walked along until he saw genevieve approach this time she was not alone but had a black dog with her the biggest dog arthur had ever seen the dog growled at arthur and genevieve passed him by without speaking or taking any notice of his existence arthur felt sadness for the first time he sat and watched the river flow one drop of water at a time each with its own color until the sun went down that night he slept in an abandoned barn and in the morning he left for paris