Man In the Media (Pt. 1)

Man In the Media is an excerpt from my book of shorts and poetry called "Poetic Just Ice, Cold." @elloydk

Photo by Adeolu Eletu on Unsplash

“You are not here to think, nor are you here to speak the truth,” he’d said. “Just go walking those boots.” So, because I think that this is really good, and because I want so very much, to share good things with folks, (especially with my folks,) as should. Because I know that; some of you don’t read very much. Well, so it was said, in my hearing aid, and such. That is why I had to read it for them, and you. In somewhat of a familiar voice, vernacular terms, and tongue too. Which is, actually, the reading voice of a people. The very few of us who liked anything to do with reading, in the vehicle. They are my people, though, and yours too, but, who are you? Wait, don’t shoot just yet. Not before you hear this.

I’m talking about the man in the media, he’s getting you to change your ways. Waste you and your fore-parents goodness. Things that had served you since the ancient days. To show that you’re mine, though, go. Go walk the lines, in-toe.

He puts out his messages before your gaze. Anchoring it there, in the palm of your hand. Settling it in there to thrive, and to rest comfy upon your beautiful thighs. He tells you beautiful lies as no one else can. Lies such as these, and just like he knows you wanted to hear it. Oh please! Look, look at them there, those big eyes, so very clear. And you, what did you do? You swallowed them off his charm, as he tells you yet the more beautiful nonsense, as is the norm. Like, what he wants you to do, to become, or to be. Guess what you became, like me? Come on over now and take a look, see? Come now, take another look and tell me, can you still, see? Well then, look at this, and that.

He has got his carefully set out plans, you’ve got none. One of you is just lazily dragging the walking feet along, like a numb. While singing the beloved old Swan song. Make a wild guess and tell me, which one? But whichever of the two the lot should come falling upon. Answer the other nonsensical question. How long will those draggy feet be able to stand, oh, ye perception less woe-management plans? Just asking a rhetorical question. Well, you know. To show that you’re mine, though. Go, go walk those lines, in-toe.

Somebody is wrong, but it isn’t you, or me. No, not at all — booboo Bumblebee. But as for him, he, the other man-Paul who?

“You mean, Mingh?”

“Yes he, him.” As for him, he ain’t nothing at all, either. Or is it because of them killing you dead with laughing to please her? With those things that are shining and glistening? The “cool and deadly kinds of ‘something’ things?”

“Debt,” I think they are called sometimes. Like, when called into the mines. That same thing that is there reeling you in. Some of the time, or something. Still calling, though, and some are tripping over themselves to go answering that same debt call — thing, no?  What’s your name again Paul Mingh? Even though everybody is bawling. Bawling for love, and all other manicured fingers, wrapped up in gloves. Anyway now my turtle dove. Look at this, come, take a look at my love. Look at what they have done done to you, and yes, to me too. Got us, like, you, me, them, and him. All of us, and Mingh, not the children yet though, just us, you bet, we’re who comes first, or fuss.

Got us to believe that the prize to win is a girly thing. Smooth nonsense talks, and wedding the rings. Nothing else is worth our efforts working with him. Until you, not us this time, just you. Until you’re forced to face up the divorce litigation. And forced further upon other things in the worst directions, courting the court system. Hauling off all those things from the hinder-side of the curtain. Departing and aborting from everything that you’ve ever known often, and which you once owned, and have called in.

You would have called them all your belongings and blessings. Well, I’m just guessing this one Mingh. But the madam is there upon the podium spheres and rocking those speaker systems there, again. Trying to get you to think that there’s nothing wrong. No, not at all, mister man. Surely, nothing for you to plan, you know, nor to plan for. Just like she had done done to har. Yes, to her very own beautiful daughter, the best. The other after-the-darkness half to which you sometimes run to, and fast. But alas, look! That one is in Content town now. Done with worrying about the frown — wow!

Gone are the lines from down there below her crown, and the causes are? The horse will soon be coming in through the gated door of sorts — sir. With the bright Knight of the night coming on down to go do her a riding vice or, to run off with her. Come that time when, you know, and then do it to her again, and again. Until then, though, just go on down to Churchill Falls to fall in and dump it. You know, the worrying scald, nearer my god to the armpit. Yeah, that’s it. Go hang it all there, anchored unto an altar call chair, and go on a-calling still. And wait, yes, wait there upon him to come riding. Bringing all of the weary wonderful things in, with the glad tidings.

So, is it any wonder that the mister man der. Yeah, look at him right there. I’m talking about me, him, and all of those steers, yes, them. Those of us who do nothing other than any and every other sin ting. Any and everything that wears an apron string. Will even do his dear old sweet mama in, if they let him. Just so that he, we, us, and them, just so that we can say that we can win. Always whining at wanting to win the woe men fling, you know? No, don’t do that. One should never do that to them. Okay. So, let’s now go back to the old-time saying. “The wonder woman prize, to go window dressing?” well, I’m just guessing. And then to the other one?

Until he’s tired of this, and that one. Or both of them, even. Both of them, there on the lot — tory scam — Mingh. Then he heads on out and over to Lilliput. To go and put another spin on the Lilly puss. Yeah man, like, this little one, the kitten right here. Nearer my god to the barber chair, and covered up under shaving skin there. Where? Look. In wastebaskets near the dustbin where all those barbershop droppings, cast-out, hairy clippings. Worthless good-for-nothings are to be found hanging out and hiding. Listening to the quartet’s latest hyping. But man. What a man! Look at him.

Now he hops from limb to limb. Trying to win other fine things to fill out his cravings. But he would have done gone and taken the Rev up. But not before there was to come her crosses and now, the Rev is… you know, like, standing up for those rights of his, again. Standing firm for another term upon the offered ring stands, too, is that other person who is liked by, guess who? Yes. Like only she can be, not you, nor me.

He would have gone and taken her up, upon offering the collection cup, again. And hitched an anchor unto an altar, call. And is waiting there in vain for him to come bringing something good to haul. But in vain she waits for love, from him, even. And for them to come bringing something else in his glove, in the evening. Like, something pure, good, and loving. Go on now go, get her the things that she wants so much so. Like, things she likes and wants a lot. Like daily bread, and food for the pot. Other steamy things too, good for the home on the lot, yeah, perhaps.

Like that brood of chicks that she lacks from the chicken coup. I mean, a whole lot of them from the hatch, that’s who. And coming to her at the hand of the man, preferably, a good godly man like — Mick. And firing off the shots fast and quick. Quite unlike how it used to be with Dickson — dick. Go give her Matt Hammatick just the way you know she likes it. A good one though, more or less like,  Joe. Or that selfsame Manley bro to fit firmly upon his toe. But don’t go sweating too much over it no, no Siree. She has never that worrisome road, toes the sticks to see. Yeah! I was to hear it when she said so to me…       

“There are a few things that I’m perfectly sure of.” Said that said broad hip-shotted gal from over at Glengoff. “I will fix him up fast, with skills I never did get on grasp.” Nor did it come to her falling off the learning tree crops…”

“Oh, wait a minute, that’s it! now I see what you’re talking about, but. To show you’re mine, though, go walk the line again, in toe. Go on. Just go walk those boots. No? 

I hope you were made better by even one thing that was said here, in truth. Thank you.  

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