A JUXTAPOSITION OF PROTAGONISTS OF THE PROVERBIAL CHAMPAGNE GLASS HALF EMPTY-HALF FULL IN NEW YEAR
Another piece by surrealist Eric Lastick … touches of Burroughs and even Cohen are beginning to appear in his unusual work
THE TWO SIDED CHAMPAGNE GLASS, AS THE NIGHT SHAPES RIGHT INTO THE NEXT CALENDAR YEAR… Alone on new years eve.. an O’L Rocker’s look-about, attempting to find the key between the ivories & the sharps. ( A Champagne glass half full) In juxtaposion of a lonely female escort in a crowded bar—looking for an escape route, this new years eve—with her glass nearly empty—too a refill of shallow tomorrows!
(Glass half empty)
Jacolyn Rose Strumpet, tonight my love…shadow smiles & miles of dream’t up goings in her mind’s eye. Dark Mister, make way, this day. Large ambitions, yet rambling’s in one’s uncertain skews and reasons. Brake the glass of ice filled Scotch that rest just under his chin. “Is this real or a figment of the restless night of happen-place… and of boredom?” The lonely Martini of just one green olive. One umbrella twist…and one last drink, before all goes through the lone of night. Tie swing like the wild. The all out charm—-comes a man from the night air. No, not a Mickey Spillane, noir spoiled great crime swagger…and gloted column…bar girl Strumpet too meet? No Humphrey Buggard, glad to light her cigarette… & a call of another round for the lady? No, but rather a flagrant picture that extend the wall …and glare back down, after to many 7 & 7’s. Ms Strumpet, and Lady of the night, this New years eve. Confusion in what is real, and what of dreams? Night aires and holiday myths— mind her store. Search an early escape hatch…be her blunder. Street vent sided fate’s call. Early bird wake up call, officer of the law. No way for a lady to spend a brand new calender year—-with her glass nearly empty—-too a refill of shallow tomorrows. Family fun and dinner bells stretches— all along the Londondery square. Anxious shoppers and home makers—-scurry and rush like bus loads of fruits and assorted spice runs—-out-weigh the bustle of the double deckers. Beatle music on the loud speakers, speak easys. Jacolyn Rose Strumpet views from inside a local withholding cell… with a concellation of a window view of olde London new years day streamers. Sir Paul’s rest stop by a doorman’s hold of breakfast on a hardy cup of tea. Mr, Paul with O’L Penny lane eyes—-stares through the angered glares—-with connetive repetitives glances…sights and sees of Ms Strumpet. Yet this is no dream! Her chance to escort anyone of this calibor, or any calibor at all; is set on hold. As all her slaps on the faces of her charming but crazy date partners, returns ten fold…and right back on her! Now, a pawned picture of a midnight stab, here at booths of 7 & 7 bottled dream.
Roger, O’l Chap. Grand Rocker and high end music melody maker. Seat set alone, this new years evening. A glass you drink, as one lean and stretch of table. Corner glare through the shades of soft light; with thoughts of the company of words; there in riches, as of friends in good found circles that one addressess, better to senders. Restless are the gravel roads of old souls. An acquaintance drift in mind. Light up a smoke, as you watch,and it lingers. Good moves off bare chords and blues.The Champagne glass remain hardy and half full. Stay strung the memory. The tone of every good day’s done. Cars glances and shffles through this window you roll. In thought and in venture—too another rev-up, and peel out in that moment, like a new wheeled spin…blacktop fire of our old buddies devices…and of Thundercats…layin rubber—too the rye & call of the streets. Endless memoirs and silver linings. Signs set at every door. New age, old age—-reliving as one sits…the table swags in jukebox honor. Clear are the causes, the good friends to have, and still know. Raise a glass to them all in this moment…and at this very time; and know of the depth and character, you and they have built. You then, are never alone. Now you own the key between the ivories and the sharps. So good to be home.