Dan Lieberman — “Bob”Click on one of the links below to hear Dan reading the poem:
ASF audio ("streaming" audio, lower quality sound) [alternate ASF audio]
MPEG-3 audio file (larger file, higher quality sound)
(more info on audio links)an after-the-fact written version that is something like the audio version:
Feedback: email Dan Lieberman
I’d like to tell ya a story today, I’d like to tell ya a story today about a guy named bob, now, bob is a slam poet, he likes to slam, does it a lot, and he’s damn good, did I mention his name wasn’t really bob, but I didn’t want to lose you so early in this piece, so we’ll call him bob, so bob was a good poet, but not only was he good at slam poetry, bob was a good person, he loved his mother, did his schoolwork, and took a little time out of his busy schedule to show his little sister the right way to hold a joint. She never did understand that there is a right and a wrong way. So in any case, bob is good at slam poetry, and one day he wrote a poem and he called it seven ways to know there is a demon in your head, and bob knew there was no demon in his head, but he wrote it anyway, and he read it to his English teacher, she never liked slam poetry, preferred the classics solid rhyme that I can respect but that makes me want to smile blankly and drool, so, he read it to his English teacher who had already decided to hate it, and she called him crazy. And bob read the poem to his mother who he loved but who he couldn’t really stand and she called him crazy, and his little sister, called him crazy while holding a joint the wrong way, tsk, tsk, so bob, being a slam poet, but disliking confrontation anyway, kept his mouth closed and accepted what was given him, odd stares filled his vision and he knew there was no demon in his head because it was just a poem, right? So his mother, who he loved, but who was beginning to look more and more like a mirage, his mother took him aside one day, took him aside and said, bob, bob we’re going to get you the help you need, and bob never realized he needed help, and maybe he did, but what the hell, so he got it regardless, whether he needed it or not, he got it. Isn’t that the way things go, it’s there when you don’t need it, right? So bob, our friend bob went to see the shrinks, and wondered why they call them shrinks, and asked them about that and they all stared, hocked and asked him if the demons in his head told him to say that, told him to be so goddamned rebellious, and bob questioned, rebellious? Rebellious ? like a revolution, so bob decided to start a revolution, but never really got around to it, and anyway there still was no demon in his head. But they scoffed! Bob knew this was all crazy, they not him. ’Cause it was just a poem, right, just a poem. So they came to visit today, they came to visit him in that place, that hospital, that goddamned hospital where he couldn’t stand to look at the walls, they came to visit him, his mother who he couldn’t bear to smile at and his sister carrying a bottle of something or other, and they came, and stopped, put a hand to the glass, and said, bob, bob we know it’s alright, we know you think there are demons in your…NO !!!! bob knew there were no demons in his head but he couldn’t tell them because they had drugged him up and bashed him down until he couldn’t remember which arrow pointed up and which to hell, he screamed but said nothing, his mouth turned to solid regret and he could not object, what kind of justice was this, american, no, human justice I guess, because bob knew there were no goddamned demons in his head, it was just a poem but they couldn’t hear him explain, and they told him that because he was denying being so crazy, that made him all the crazier and it was enough to drive a man ………angry. And he cried out, but with no thought or sound he cried out, and knew that they couldn’t stand not understanding him, so they branded him as insane to block understanding, but they didn’t hear him object, and he figured they just couldn’t hear him over that now booming voice in his head that kept saying, that kept saying, that kept saying, hello bob, we’re old friends don’t you remember me ?, and bob knew there was a demon in his head, and he knew he couldn’t get it out, so he tried to write it out, he slammed like mad to relieve madness, and know he’s clear, and now he knows that he hates his mother and he sees his sister is dressed in crystal meth and watches as they meld into the shrink and politicians of the world and he knows they made him this way. And he knows, it was always just a poem to him, a threat to them. but nothing is ever just a poem right? Never just a poem.
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