My rating: 4 of 5 stars
Ponyboy narrates the story of his teenage life within a sewn together band of brothers and young ‘greasers’ in small town America (reminiscent of American Graffiti) who include working class orphans, school dropouts, criminals, athletes. He provides an emotionally-centered account of these trying circumstances for kids on the back side of the mainstream. Desperate times give rise to fierce loyalties, and it’s easy (as a reader) to love Ponyboy and root for him and his friends as they fight the rich kids and steal the hearts of their girls. The action includes drive-ins, cars, turf wars, switchblades, leather, cars, hair, grease, cocacola, madras, cops, heaters, music, ‘weeds’ (smokes), denim, runaways, sunsets, vacant lots. A whole lot of fun as you get to know some of the characters on deeper and deeper levels. Ponyboy’s not afraid to give you his opinion on people and things, and he’s not cool with all the greasers, either, but he sees the good in people when he can. It’s a sweet and tragic story and you might feel it all ends too soon.
all i got this morning is you
all you got is me
and two battle ax lounge ax young
suffer some more and you will
we are daft
we are punk
tough shit if anyone thinks they know
how we will work out
peanut butter jelly
me and you of all the meanings
could be derived. like the mountains
a long long time ago
even when it was now
me and you got drive.
and never will be
i kinda wish sometimes
we were still
boys dressed like men
girls dressed like women
punks dressed like punks
ima hopeless punk
An eighth day was added to the week and Gregorian calendar, without approval of the Church. This allowed the populace a seventy-two hour yawn, aka ‘seventh day stretch’, before returning to the essential five day work week. And archived the general american angst.
The State Department Store sold the new issue calendar copy out of refurbished former Sears franchises, which offered ample square footage for safe houses and the novel Homeland Security and Exchange Commission.
The HSEC was setup as a critical watchdog to oversee and protect American interest overseas, now that shares of the United States, Incorporated, sold at a slight premium to its initial public offering on the New York Stock Exchange.
The trillion plus dollars raised in this remarkable, unprecedented, scandalous public offering, spearheaded by the now defunct President Trump, Donald
(whose final veto of the critical congressional legislation set to block his party’s ‘Incorporation of the States’ initiative preceded his impeachment)
was now being issued toward the most unfortunate application of architectural mindtrust ever known to man, aka the blueprinting of a male counterpart to miss america herself, the Statue of Liberty.
The giant slab of poured concrete was already spiraling up out of the waters like a Dairy Queen soft ice cream cone, to house the new symbol of grand patriarchy ever alive and well.
Apollo, of course, was the model.
The Trump Tower affiliate, of course, had been jettisoned.
But plans to use the hollow carbon fiber globe situated firmly within Apollo’s head of reinforced steel, for home offices for the New Chairman of the Board and CEO of the United States, Inc.
(and not necessarily the President)
were subpoenaed by the Justice Department, and were now being relentlessly scrutinized by the tired eyes of the Attorney General, with the Supreme Court perched precariously over his shoulder, overlooking the whole sordid affair.
Meanwhile, an Pan-Euro-Middle-Asian Investment Cabinet of whose who, had been vetted atop the tallest edifice in Dubai, and was now casting its first votes under a mirrored ceiling, over pi
nk champagne on ice, to determine what would really happen across the Atlantic.
Sitting at the head of this VIP table of leaded glass with platinum trim of inlaid pearl, was none other than the greatest surprise of the evening, most touching to all… the prime beneficiary of all global casino holdings and friend to all four seasons, fair women and men.
might sound crazy but i was holdin on to a memory. of you and me. before all those things happened. ya.
might sound crazy but it was the first week we were together. we were in the old Impala with the flat tan finish. ya. we were gettin high.
you had a baseball cap on backwards like that tomboy from the bad news bears. the original. skinny acidwash jeans and long hair like axl rose circa 1987. Indiana.
i was all my tore up old self. like usual. a taller and possibly skinnier you. bad hair day. like always. no bra. ya. walgreens wool cap spinning around my middle finger.
there we were clear as day in my mind just now. scratchin’ bingo with my switchblade. gettin’ high. wow. must have been twenty ten. just look at us then.
i know it sounds crazy but even with the madness what with the sadness that followed and haunted us so…
god i must be crazy but i long to be back there again with you now. the way the love full of light filled our eyes. the way that you touched me and gave me the chills.
the weight of the eighty impala beneath us. reading our poems aloud and again. feeling the fortune of finding a friend.
did it all
katya mills © 2014
this is dedicated to k&k
Ima tween age
Wearing hand me up
On my wristwatch laptop
Gotta date to comic
With my teenage
ima tween age