The Transitive Nightfall of Diamonds: A Collection of Bad-Boy Poetry and Other Assorted Fish Tales - Softcover

Schrott, Fred

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1491739169 ISBN 13: 9781491739167

Publisher: iUniverse, 2014

Synopsis

A collection of unique bad boy poetry, The Transitive Nightfall of Diamonds is sure to send the reader into a cerebral tizzy-just keeping up is half the battle and all of the fun! The proverbial, "Long-time listener and first-time caller" takes readers on a journey of sight and sound, that both titillates and tantalizes the auditory senses. The poems can only be described as a psychedelic stew of various addictions meets whining divorcee, meets mental health, meets mid-life crisis, meets renewed youth, meets reality check, meets recovery. Quite simply, it's a compendium of everyday problems for everyday people with a couple of solutions thrown in for good measure. In 2006, while contemplating divorce from his wife of thirteen years, author Fred Schrott left his home to travel around the southwest and Northern California in his Coachmen trailer. He was urged to start journaling by his marriage counselor but normal writing seemed a bit boring, so the author decided to purge his brain in poetic form. His goal right from the beginning for The Transitive Nightfall of Diamonds was to communicate with anyone and everyone through observation and humor. Don't Hate the Player Hey, don't hate the player. Get your hate on the game. I'm the same old bad boy with just a different name. Seventeen long years ago everything was all the same, but then the crazy traveling sent me to the zoo again . . .

About this title

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

The Transitive Nightfall of Diamonds

A Collection of Bad-Boy Poetry and Other Assorted Fish Tales

By Fred Schrott

iUniverse LLC

Copyright © 2014 Fred Schrott
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4917-3916-7

Contents

Preface, xvii, 
HUMOR, 
DAYDREAM, 
ANGER, 
PSYCHEDELIA, 
DIVORCE, 
REALITY CHECK, 
LUST, 
DEPRESSION, 
SELF-REALIZATION, 
MUSIC, 

CHAPTER 1

Humor

    Disclaimer

    Because of this—that might happen.
    As a result of—there's a chance that ...
    I cannot guarantee it, if not administered properly.
    Since you may now understand there's a slight
    possibility that I might too—given all of the facts.
    Get it?
    Got it?
    By no means do I in any way claim that I am
    the one and only—officially licensed and team
    sponsored by Sears Craftsman Tools—in direct
    conjunction with Toyota Racing Development—
    Bad-Boy Poet.
    There is plenty of room for everyone.
    We are all around.
    I am bad.
    I'm a boy.
    The poet part is now for you to decide.
    Be nice, because I have marshmallows.
    Hey, we like s'mores too—and your point is?
    Just strap in and hush up, hmm?


    It's Always Raining

    High-pressure system
    with nary
    a cloud in the air,
    the weather so fair,
    but then
    it's always raining
    in my head.
    No coastal Eddy.
    No monsoonal Flo.
    The turtles take
    a pounding
    because
    they move
    so damn slow.
    And, as per usual,
    it's always
    raining in my head.
    I had better check
    the Channel Seven
    Eyewitness News
    live
    Doppler
    radar.
    Simi winds
    are always blowing
    out of my mind.
    And, just in
    the nick
    of my
    totally wasted time,
    I begin
    to gather my
    boxes of rain
    that
    fell
    mainly on the
    plains in
    Bahrain.


    Gasoline

    I've been oh so cold
    for oh so long,
    fragile inside but
    I seem so strong,
    so fat in the head
    but I look so lean.
    I love putting out the fire
    with some gasoline.
    Dressed to the nines with
    clothes that are ragged,
    a butter knife was dulled
    by a spread that was jagged.
    Rising from the milk, let me
    show you my cream.
    First I'll put out the fire
    with some gasoline.
    At one time so molten it
    seemed I was on fire,
    gained the control but
    soon lost my desire.
    I meant to be nice yet
    I gleam when I'm mean.
    I'll just blame it on more
    heat from my gasoline.


    Model Year-End Clearance Sale

    Hi, friends! Ralph Williams here—
    Yes, it's model year-end clearance time once again.
    It's time to trade up, folks, so, bring that used clunker back in
    here, and then you can again experience that new-car smell.
    Forget all the phony factory rebates—we have them every day!
    Free hot dogs for the kids—and we even have plenty of games
    for the little brats to help keep them quiet while you are busy
    beating me up like a red-headed step-child that talks smack—
    I mean hurry in, because you just won't believe your eyes!
    Damn Tourette's fucks me every time.
    Come one, come all!
    You're really going to have yourself a ball.
    Remember, as always,
    se habla español!


    Pole Position

    I want to start just one race not
    so far back in the pack.
    I want to begin in pole position.
    Let me see how I can do
    in pole position.
    Let them all come to me.
    Fresh start,
    lead the way,
    drive hard,
    kiss my tailgate,
    quick pits—
    Just one race
    I want to start in pole position,
    low on the turns and accelerate
    hard on that long straightaway.
    See the checkered flag?
    Now it's time for the backflip.
    Where's my bottle of sour milk?


    Don't Hate the Player

    Hey, don't hate the player.
    Get your hate on the game.
    I'm the same old bad boy
    with just a different name.
    Seventeen long years ago
    everything was all the same,
    but then the crazy traveling
    sent me to the zoo again.
    So please hate the game
    and not this franchise player.
    Are you a glass half full or
    another wise naysayer?
    Should I scarf some emerald Vicodin?
    Or pop another Bayer?
    Everything is the biggest headache
    for this injured-reserve player.


    Keep My Drive Going

    i need short passes
    underneath the coverage
    just over the linebackers
    run the counterplay
    to the strong side
    good for five
    quick slant
    third and one
    up the gut with a fullback blast
    another first down
    with the clock running
    inside the fifty yard line
    looking long oh
    incomplete
    second and ten play action
    thirty-five thirty
    twenty-five twenty
    out of bounds at the eighteen
    that safety really bit hard there
    post pattern in the end zone
    oh my, knocked down
    got lucky on that one
    second down play action
    touchdown, wardo
    holy smokes what a catch
    the kick to tie it up
    with a minute left
    he missed the extra point!
    oh sheboygan
    note to self
    fire kicker on monday
    hire old
    kicker
    on tuesday


    New Partners

    Officer Feddup, meet the new rookie, Hadditt.
    You two will ride together now.
    I paired you two because I felt that your personalities were
    similar and that you will click well for some reason.
    It's something that I see every now and then with some
    guys that I team up together in the field.
    So tidy it up, you two, all right?
    The commissioner is coming in later on, so get ready for
    roll call, and don't forget to shine those shoes—or else!
    So, do I make myself perfectly clear?
    The most important thing now is that nothing changes.
    Stay safe, and please, not too many maple bars or quick
    naps behind the Walmart on Washington, hmmm?
    That's what you said last time, Feddup!


    Jack Ace

    People often refer to me
    as a total Jack Ace.
    I just tell them that, in fact,
    I'm more like a rabid K-9.
    Don't mind the foam in my mouth.
    When the king goes a floppin'
    don't even bother knockin'
    Numbah nine.
    Numbah nine.
    Your tens just lost their
    perfect shine, I'll
    soak you up just like
    Brawny
    cleaning wine.

Big Words Are Definitely Not for Me

Opulent horizons that optimistically transcend into the vital yet overvalued dormancy for the venomous tantamount designees elected could slyly don squeamishly higher barometric and subterranean pressures—which are often subsequent prerequisites for many a tongue-twisted rudimentary quagmire. Anything that is accompanied by such an amalgamated intricacy could most certainly adjust to a hypothetically choreographed "mastication fest"—since we run the risk of losing the entire quintessential domain that was sacrificed. Jurisprudence, along with laser-based titanium bionics, sends us into a subpar dichotomy of transfixed partitions and never remedies the situation. Speaking of situations, that idiot on Jersey Shore is a Douchasaurus rex. Additionally, a multiple corporate trust of a recapitulated nature tends to lead us into an elevated quasi-normalcy—which will more than likely raise the proverbial barcode of life's continuous and ongoing regurgitations.

Um, come again?

Really wasn't talking to you, fool.

Frikkin' rabbit ears!

    Four-Twenty Is My Three-Sixteen

    I am an altar boy inside the Church of
    Continuous Wasted Opportunities.
    Smell that pungent incense?
    It is most definitely all that it seems to be.
    This God's gift to mankind is what the three
    wise men were really trafficking—bringing
    forth a dank Exodus unto the Savior's parents.
    They didn't inhale the serpent's lure, of course.
    Rejoice, one and all, across the land!
    Hallelujah, all ye indigo children of the desert!
    Now, a reading from the Book of Wardo,
    verse four, passage twenty:
    "And it was told that the ancient Aryana region would
    offer up such magical wonderment, derived from the
    sacred Kush bush, assisting the holiest disciples who
    prefer a mystically passive respite—for these blessed
    aficionados represent the completely frazzled and yet
    cautiously chosen few."


    How Mach Is This Bird?

    If a mockingbird went
    and mocked me
    while flying
    just past
    the speed of sound,
    is he now
    considered
    to be
    going about town
    somewhere
    in the neighborhood
    of
    Mach
    Three?


    You Had Me at Come

    come one, come all
    really going to have a ball
    come here, come there
    come before you sit in my chair
    come in, come out
    if you come, let's hear you shout
    come once, come twice
    do it now—that's my advice
    come to work, come to play
    come on, ladies,
    do it twice today!


    Habitat for Insanity

    a crystal-clear conscious calamity
    is created by a dry and callous majority
    house of mirrors with a twist-of-fate reality
    i'm building my own habitat for insanity
    a much too pretentious debutante sorority
    dominates its little greek brother fraternity
    there's hardly a dip in our local criminality
    i'm really getting used to a lower-class society
    i've lost to some degree a bit of rationality
    as this salve is reapplied oh so patiently
    and i don't want to meet your almighty deity
    because mine is so much better
    you're all eventually going to see


    Tripping on a Ji

    So I was over at my friend Ji's house
    all the way across town the other day.
    His home reminds me of when our kids
    were also little rug rats.
    There was literally crap everywhere—
    Fisher Price was taking over the kitchen,
    the living room was a total cluster fuck,
    there were plastic toys all over the place.
    Then suddenly I went and took the friggin'
    tumble of a Little Tikes lifetime!
    I went and tripped on a G.
    Those damn wooden alphabet blocks just
    seem to sneak up on me every single time.
    I mean, of all the Ji joints in the world, I had
    to go and choose this one!
    He did mention I could buy a vowel at half price.


    Metro Nightmare

    I must have fallen asleep on
    my way home today.
    Son of a begonia!
    How in the world did I end up
    on friggin' Q Street?
    It seems a little foggy over here.
    I must be somewhere on
    the Westside.
    This is exactly the reason that
    Angelinos don't bother to take
    public transportation.
    We appear to be in a real sketchy area.
    I wonder if I can transfer
    to another line?
    The nice guy in the wheelchair says that
    I most certainly can—but it will run me
    just a little bit extra.
    It will probably cost me an arm and
    a leg with my damn luck.


    Coastal Eddy

    Swirling onshore breeze from past Point
    Concepcion to the southern border—
    Fritz Coleman just loves the young lad.
    We call it June gloom, but lately it's been
    starting closer to April and lasting into August.
    Is global warming to blame, Vice-President Bore?
    Or is it just La Niña?
    There is always someone to point the finger at.
    What ever happened to our hombre, El Niño?
    In the past, that dude was living like a rock star.
    I guess he already spent his fifteen minutes.
    You can be dropped fast when ratings are down.
    Old Coastal Eddy,
    He hangs out with his Boo, Onshore Flo.
    They go by the stage name Flo and Eddy.
    Not that sixties pop group, The Turtles,
    even though they are so happy together.
    Nope, this is the Weather Channel's version,
    so let's rock and roll this muggy joint.
    Damn it, Zuma Beach is socked in again!
    I don't think Neil Young would be very happy.


    Cat with Ten Lives

    Pressing luck to the legal limit
    could lead to a feline's demise.
    It's a reality show, not a video game
    that earns you extra lives.
    The next crossing could be the last,
    so look both ways and be wise.
    A cool cat that has but a worry—
    well, you know, he eventually dies.
    You just hit ten, one more than the rest,
    so, my friend, you're fresh out of tries.
    Perhaps there's a way that we can talk
    to the cougar with big brown eyes.


    Postgame Press-Conference Interview

    Well, gentlemen, it all came together in the end there as
    you will see when you study the game film later on. You
    will notice that we controlled the line of scrimmage during
    the entire second half, which is what turned the whole thing
    around after falling behind. The way that we mixed it up on
    offense, there was no telling where we were going to attack
    from. That is what we have struggled with all year long. We
    have been inconsistent, to say the least. But I'm sure that you
    would all agree that we are starting to jell at just the right time.
    Now, after a rough start to the season, it's on to the playoffs.
    Now is when we really need to focus, or it will be "one-and-out"
    time. I can guarantee you one thing and one thing only. This
    club has yet to reach its full potential. If we can just bang on all
    four cylinders from here on out, then we might make a pretty
    damned good run at this puppy. Frankly, I'm looking forward to
    the challenge; I know that our guys are. They've worked their
    butts off all year long. Forget about the record. I've never been
    a real big fan of statistics. There are other factors involved at this
    point in the season. It's been a pleasure, folks. It's been a long
    time coming, and I am sure that this will not be our last rodeo.
    Or is it last song and dance? Well, you know. We've got more
    bulls to ride, and this is going to be like the Calgary Stampede
    now. It's time to saddle up and to man up; that's all. Giddy up.
    Punch them doggies and call in the cavalry. We have arrived!


    To Whom It May Concern

    So I've been praying a bit as of late.
    I'm not a real member of any particular
    denomination; at the present time,
    I pray to: "to whom it may concern."
    Not sure of his name—
    Actually, I suppose it could be a her.
    Sorry, Gloria Allred.
    Let's see there's God,
    there's Buddha,
    then there's obviously Harry Potter.
    There's always Eric Clapton,
    especially in the sixties and seventies.
    There's Pablo Escobar's legend.
    There's Christ the Savior.
    My ex calls the mighty one Yahweh.
    I might refer to him as Yogi,
    or is it yoga?
    Wait—I meant Yngwie Malmsteen.
    There's d-lysergic acid, courtesy of Owsley.
    Then there's always Tai Chi.
    It's whatever you want to call it in order to
    center yourself in this slightly slanted world.
    I need to pick one of the above, because I
    really am dragging my feet at this point.
    Any one of my friends would agree that the
    bottoms of my shoes appear to be charred.
    Holy friction burn, Batman!
    I'm not a little off center—I'm on full tilt!
    I guess it's time to head to Rishikesh.
    Hinduism is already in my hip pocket.
    Turn off my mind,
    relax, and float downstream.
    It is knowing.
    It is showing.


    The Excretion Meets the Oscillation

    Based on the
    extremely
    windy
    conditions,
    I never
    would have
    guessed
    that it
    would adhere.
    It defies
    all of the
    natural
    laws
    of physics.
    Apparently
    it takes
    two
    to tango,
    even if it
    does leave
    quite
    a mess.
    Could I
    borrow
    a few
    Handi
    Wipes?
    The fan
    didn't
    even
    put up
    a decent fight.
    It met the
    pimp hand
    of the
    one and
    only
    Dirty Sanchez.


    Plagiarism

    I sure hope that Sir Paul has a decent sense of humor.
    Maybe I should send him some Skywalker OG Kush.
    I know I'll have to get Mick and Keith some nice cognac.
    Hopefully Jerry's family has enough Benjamins already.
    I'm just a lost soul living in a fishbowl—and the owner
    of this dive hasn't changed the toxic water in ages!
    I don't copy you, but I certainly do honor you.
    John helps me along with my pen, so I would have to
    say that he is definitely on my side of the notepad.
    Do you hear me, Sean?
    Earth to Yoko!
    Earth to Yoko!
    Come in, Yoko.
    Seriously, do you really need to sue the world's
    biggest fan of your late, great husband?
    His portrait speaks to me in such ancient tongues,
    tongues of Krishna,
    tongues of a glass onion peeled and sautéed,
    tongues of a loaded legend in that infamous cab ride.
    George tells him that all things must pass, including all
    of the verses that appeared so convincingly dastardly at
    the time of that big, bad civil trial from hell.
    Before that it was just simple, classic, poetic brilliance.
    I guess bad publicity is much better than hearing crickets
    in the hallways at the Rolling Stone magazine building.
    I'll take the free advertising; no problem.
    I better get a nice haircut and some new duds.
    Oprah and Kathy Lee are indeed wondering,
    "What is this darn fuss all about?"
    Oh, and by the way, Weird Al says, "High."
    He told me that I was indeed being a bit of a bad boy.
    That shout-out cost him a cool ninety-nine cents and change.
    Then I told him, "Beat it, because you bother me."
    He flipped me off and replied, "Eat it!"
    He ain't so bad, but now I'm the one that's nationwide.
    A smart dressed man always wears them cheap sunglasses.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from The Transitive Nightfall of Diamonds by Fred Schrott. Copyright © 2014 Fred Schrott. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse LLC.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Edition details

• Publisher: iUniverse
• Publication date: 2014
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 1491739169
• ISBN 13: 9781491739167
• Binding: Paperback
• Number of pages: 300