Tuesday, July 23, 2013

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.

Sunday, July 14, 2013


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