Barscrawl: Vending Machines for Psychosis

By Randall C. Von Hartman

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 17, 2010
• ISBN: 9781469120980

Randall C. Von Hartman

Randall C. Von Hartman has written several books, including novels, short story, and poetry collections, and is suffering a penurious existence in Belfast, Northern Ireland.

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Copyright © 2011 by Randall C. Von Hartman.

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Contents

A forward of sorts by the author

Just Beyond the Incoming Line

The Handmaiden’s Method

Message from the Sponsor

A Young Land

Gold Pining

Hangovers Come Heavy

(She’s a better woman than I deserve)

My first Donut Dream

The Irascible Critic Converses with

the Writer again

Keeping the Faith

Upside down Trade-In

In the Old Neighborhood

Languid Reflection

Listen Carefully… There Have Been

Recent Changes to Our Menu

We Do Stuff

The Gods

Why It Is (the Complex of Y Chromosomes)

Two Citizen ‘Friends’

The Ellipses of My Woe

The Chuckle

The Old College Try

Recreating at My Own Expense

The Absorbent Cold psyche

Things I Think about while Banging

My Head against the Wall

Withering Blossom

Who’s a Sour Puss?

Remembering the Time Ol’ Harry Caught

a Social Disease from Farm Equipment

Imperative Key Issues

Skinny little column (with no answer)

After the Bullshit Ball

The Almighty God-Mart

Pedestrian

Forlorn and Girded

Salvation

Residue

Smashing the Fiberglass Ceiling

(promises, promises)

Late Blooming

Departure

The Sad Sack

Worse than any Poetry the Gods May Hath

The American Way

’Til it Starts to Make Sense…

The Norm of Late

Constant Companion (BFF)

best friends forever

Resting in the Peace Zone

When all Hell Breaks Loose

She Went Into Academia… Sort of

We Just Don’t Deserve It

Adventures as the New Guy in Just another Red Neck Town

The Clichés We Cling to for Whatever Reason

After the Half on Borrowed Time

Visitor

Crawling Blindly Amidst the Convolutions

Should You Translate the Lunar Orb,

There Sometimes Remains a Consistency

of How You Hail It

Hazy Mornings after the Crapulous Event

On the Road Rash

A Noite foi Rápido Quando ela

Capturadas meus Olhos

The Alarm Clock

The Bard and his Nemesis

Scrambled Dementia

You Can’t Go Home-It isn’t There

(or Dementia setting in)

Phone Calls

Cuss Fest Reactionaries*

Where Does She Find it Inside of Her

Strike Up the Band

The Broken Circular Saw

Old Home Permanent Memorial Parking Lot

The Men who Made Deals with God

before they were Born

Spanakopita on Toothpicks

When They Call for You to Believe…

Podunk Prom Nights

The Plight of Quality Guy

(and reality TV websites)

The Goddamned Discovery

You Know Not How You Go

Bedside

Simmer Down Man

’Til the Day Dawns

Intimidación

Griping ’bout Death at the Grocery

God Doesn’t Want Us to be Happy…

Ever had one ah those Moods?

Workplace Storage

Virginia Beach

(circa 1959 if race were no issue)

A Conversation when We are Ourselves

Tracing the Dream Trails

The Governor Cap

Trapped in the Stratified Snapshot

The Midland Odessa Song

(written not so much for the eye or the mind, but for the ear)

The Chorus of another Song

Ode to Joe Hill (IWW song writer)

The Innocuous Plague

Maybe More of a Forward than Poem

Remembering Fondly the Guts of the Hull

Not Out of the Woods Yet

Verse in Freedom

Going from Hunting and Scavenging to Secret

Societies and Hoarding Golf Trophies

A forward of sorts by the author

The Scrawlings Scribbled Herein do indicate something… some may say a decline—perhaps of clarity-perhaps of morality or sobriety, and yes, even of creativity in places, but I have to say: so what-who bats a thousand-one hundred percent of the time? Actually, there were moments when I thought I was really placing pen to pad and being poignant or profound, if not profane, most of the time. A hearty stout might do that, especially if it follows a dozen prior. I am reminded of the time a good friend (who shall remain unnamed) told me of when he wrote of great epiphanies and of universal mysteries revealed, after having dropped acid, and thought his written recordings so intensely valuable, that he should hide them so that others wouldn’t steal them-or worse: that they might be lost and mankind would not benefit from them! Later, months later that is, in the midst of a spring cleaning, while vacuuming behind his sofa, he discovered these documents containing such powerful truths and began to read through them. Initially, he had trouble discerning just what it was that he had on his hands and then a trace of memory seized him: these were the very papers with crucial inspiration about the complete schematics of ‘the grand design’ he had sought to guard with clever concealment. In truth, the sloppily written material was not only barely legible, but essentially incoherent. The whole event served, if nothing else, for some extensive guffawing which lasted for days.

While inscribing these ‘powerful truths’, I did use some greats for inspiration and somewhat comically if not shamelessly butchered the likes of Blake (When All Hell Breaks Loose), and generally revamped some typical life experiences and discovered that I do tend to write more when a bit bummed out, so I take stabs at the Grim Reaper too, but that’s all in fun mind you. Some of the stuff is heartfelt and other portions of it are dreary, little, anecdotal, thought scatology.

As far as the title goes, it might draw confusion to the loyal reader, as it was originally the title of a separate collection now known as  . . . at the Drop of a Hat… (The title was changed at the suggestion from long time friend, Coleman Barks). The truly observant reader will notice the difference in subtitles ("The Swagged Prattle of a Poetry Whore"