Book Terrors...! VIII: DFW

I feel like I owe the dude
some kind of apology,
because I really don't mean
to suggest that I think
DFW was some kind of
worthless bum, or that
I was jealous of
the circumstances that
basically drove him to
his grave (though, seriously,
I would probably kill
for those circumstances,
maybe even a literaray genius
like DFW, and for that
I won't apologize).

The more I read his thoughts
in Lipsky's book, the more and
more I see him as a kindred
spirit, aside from any differences,
and I want to have been there,
to have talked with him
myself, to see if I could
have made things easier
(and not just to score some
connections), because he
really did make it tough
for himself.

I would liken DFW to
some wild turkeys me and
my sister saw the other day,
running (but also taking
their time) across the street.

I've previously written about
some other wild turkeys, which
I read about loitering in the Bronx,
which seemed pretty weird, and
eventually called it a Pelham day,
in remembrance of an old fort
near the sight of an archeological
dig of colonial days, when people
weren't just fighting, but fighting
to make it work.

I'd say he was like a wild turkey
completely unaware (or so we
think) that most people, when
they see one, can only think
of Thanksgiving, that it probably
would be better for that wild turkey
to be like Bigfoot, and make itself
scarce, because sooner or later,
someone's going to have to idea
to track it down again, just
in time for the feast.

Gobble, gobble.

He was a guy who was put
in the unfortunate position
of earning some hype,
but could only run around
wildly, because he couldn't
deal with it; he was the wild turkey
who put itself in the line of vision,
just waiting to be carved up.

I don't know, maybe I'll
actually have to read him
to really understand him.