RJ Walker – “Summer of Mania”

Alright, opening scene. I walk into frame carrying a six-pack
of Rockstar Recovery energy drinks because I almost died
on tour in the spring, and now I am desperate to know
what Recovery tastes like. So I drink all six, and a neckbeard Jesus
piston-kicks my limbs into gear. Cut to… explosive diarrhea
from all the caffeine. This is not what Recovery
is supposed to feel like. It’s disgusting and messy, and neckbeard Jesus is laughing
in the stall next to me. Cut to… Utah Arts Festival. Last June, a white lady is shouting slurs
at a black poet on stage, and I tell her to shut the fuck up. The stage coordinator
called security on me because apparently
I sounded too threatening. The white lady leaves,
security tells me that either I calm down or I get arrested. Cut to… the last day of summer. I don’t know why I’m yelling. Something has hurt me,
and that thing is probably me. Cut to… Cut to… I don’t know. Sometimes I’m doing so much
I don’t know where I am or what time it is. I just have to focus
on whatever’s in front of me and sometimes my friends think I hate them because all I can do
is look at my fucking hands. Cut to… It’s July, and I’m a tree,
growing from the stump of another tree, dreaming of forest fires
and old bird nests. Cut to… This fucking mania,
like an electric sun automating all of these bad decisions, making my mistakes so efficient. Cut to… RJ, dude. Shut the fuck up! Cut to… Man, I don’t even know
what I’m saying. I really need to shut the fuck up. Cut to… It’s the first day of summer. Five out six Rockstar Recovery drinks in,
I don’t know if I can finish the sixth one, but goddammit…
people only like manic RJ. Cut to… Halfway through the summer,
everybody fucking hates manic RJ, including manic RJ. Cut to… Myself, my fuck-up flesh. Mania is electric scissors.
Summer is the only time that exists. So why I even think of anything past it. Cut to… Okay, closing scene. It’s the first day of summer,
and I’m about to make a terrible mistake, again and again, and again and again,
and again and again… Look at this poem. All cut to pieces like last summer, an effort to survive the coming winter. I bet if you unfolded it,
it would look like a snowflake. (applause and cheers)

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *