Greetings. My rant for today is not so much a rant as a reflection. Looking back on one's life is frequently a healthy thing to do---but not always. Every once in a while it crosses my mind, "how in the hell did I get from being jimmydafreak in reality to being so only in my head?" It's a long row we hoe, sport fans, navigating from 18 to 18 with 40 years experience. It is something of a conundrum to chew on to find myself at such an advanced age while at the same time still trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. The following is a little piece describing an "occupation" that was not on my list when I was actually---as opposed to delusionally---18.
cutout (the middlemanifesto) 12-6/16-07; 1-30-08; 4-11-09; and counting
the middleman
he’s not quite right
but can’t really be all that’s left
(mal)adroitly barring the sinister
from somewhere in middle america
he’s the middleman
he can’t love, but he won’t hate
makes you want to eliminate
the middleman
the middleman
does whatever a middleman can
with his foot in his mouth and his head in the sand
the middleman
born in the middle of a month
in the middle of a year
in the middle of a century
in the middle of a police action
the ultimate middle child
child in the middle
jockeying for position with that proverbial monkey
he can’t run, and he can’t hide
right in the middle of either side
he’s the middleman
walking down the middle of a razor’s edge
teetering on the middle of a window ledge
he’s in the middle, the middle of life
he’s in the middle without any plans
in the middle of being
the middleman
maybe he’s a lonely man who’s in the middle of something
that he does not really understand
stuck in the middle with you
regularly knocked into the middle of next week
and in the middle of negotiations,
he breaks down
in the middle, loses his head
he’s the middleman
his middle is expanding, even as both ends
are played against it
no middleweight, this middleman
does whatever a middleman can
compiler, not a creator
well, maybe a little
taking his half out of the middle
fair to middlin’ suits the middleman
why don’t we d-do it in
the middle of the road
ain’t no private cul-de-sac
between iraq and a hard place
[in the middle between the devil and the deep blue sea]
plain as the nose in the middle of his face
long past the middle of a losing race
the middleman, the middleman
does whatever a middleman can
there’s no second fiddle to the middleman
from the middle of the fire to the frying pan
he just sits, so you can’t stand
the middleman
when he’s in the middle of a dream
lie in bed, float upstream
he’s sleeping, and right in the middle of a good dream
about changing horses in the middle of a stream
preoccupied with his back pages
lost in the dark of his middle ages
take down the tent and clean the cages
with the middleman
the stage is bare, and he’s standing there
overweight with thinning hair
this ain’t the middle of no vanity fair
for the middleman
right in the middle of his last stand
rich kid blank verse garbage can
with his head up his ass and his hat in his hand
bring down the curtain on the middleman
cut him out if you think you can
he’s just the middleman
he’s not quite right
but can’t really be all that’s left
(mal)adroitly barring the sinister
from somewhere in middle america
he’s the middleman
he can’t love, but he won’t hate
makes you want to eliminate
the middleman
the middleman
does whatever a middleman can
with his foot in his mouth and his head in the sand
the middleman
born in the middle of a month
in the middle of a year
in the middle of a century
in the middle of a police action
the ultimate middle child
child in the middle
jockeying for position with that proverbial monkey
he can’t run, and he can’t hide
right in the middle of either side
he’s the middleman
walking down the middle of a razor’s edge
teetering on the middle of a window ledge
he’s in the middle, the middle of life
he’s in the middle without any plans
in the middle of being
the middleman
maybe he’s a lonely man who’s in the middle of something
that he does not really understand
stuck in the middle with you
regularly knocked into the middle of next week
and in the middle of negotiations,
he breaks down
in the middle, loses his head
he’s the middleman
his middle is expanding, even as both ends
are played against it
no middleweight, this middleman
does whatever a middleman can
compiler, not a creator
well, maybe a little
taking his half out of the middle
fair to middlin’ suits the middleman
why don’t we d-do it in
the middle of the road
ain’t no private cul-de-sac
between iraq and a hard place
[in the middle between the devil and the deep blue sea]
plain as the nose in the middle of his face
long past the middle of a losing race
the middleman, the middleman
does whatever a middleman can
there’s no second fiddle to the middleman
from the middle of the fire to the frying pan
he just sits, so you can’t stand
the middleman
when he’s in the middle of a dream
lie in bed, float upstream
he’s sleeping, and right in the middle of a good dream
about changing horses in the middle of a stream
preoccupied with his back pages
lost in the dark of his middle ages
take down the tent and clean the cages
with the middleman
the stage is bare, and he’s standing there
overweight with thinning hair
this ain’t the middle of no vanity fair
for the middleman
right in the middle of his last stand
rich kid blank verse garbage can
with his head up his ass and his hat in his hand
bring down the curtain on the middleman
cut him out if you think you can
he’s just the middleman
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