sarcastic yet very honest and funny rantings about loving and asking to be loved

My previous blog reminds me of Beau Sia's slam poetry on love... This is quite long but it's really funny. His sarcastic yet very honest rantings dramatize his final plea.



video credit: KateJB2@youtube

"Love" by Beau Sia was first performed at Marymount Manhattan College, New York City, fall 1996. There are some lines in the text below that were not said in Beau Sia's performance at Def Poetry (in the video).

I think love is the most beautiful thing
in the world,
and I don't give a fuck,
because I have no original ideas.
I'm a pathetic man whose goal is to read poetry
in order to get women to fall in love with him,
and you'd think I was reprimanding myself and
revealing my horrible dark side by saying that,
but I was really saying
"women who hear this, fall in love with me, or else,"
because that's what it comes down to --
an ultimatum, life or death, and sure,
maybe I'm being extreme,
but you walk around and tell me
that things aren't extreme,
I've seen a man jack off to a gap window display,
so don't tell me that love isn't important.
and maybe you didn't get that series of lines,
that's OK,
most of them are subtext designed
to impress people who know too much about art,
all you need to listen to is the 12 percent
which contain words like "fuck," and "ass,"
and "ride my dongstick, you naughty schoolgirl."
because in a poem about love
we all need to know the relevant things,
because we're all looking for the complete definition of love,
if only we could open our encyclopedia brittanicas
and look up love and know, but love isn't that easy.
they say cupid loved my so called life
and when the show was cancelled
cupid cried and cried and cried and
decided that he was going to fuck up all of humanity, and
this is why China has a trouble with its birthrate and
Arkansas rhymes with date rape and
Iraq is Iraq, and
the fat lipo-sucked out of California
could be its own island.
but this isn't a poem about geography,
this is a poem about love,
the bane of my existence,
the reason why I hate Valentine's day and Halloween,
which is about ghosts and
I think you know where I'm going here.
I'm going to the land of girlfriends of Halloweens past, and
maybe I've only got three ghosts in this land,
but this doesn't mean that they don't bring their friends,
who are the ghosts of girls who have rejected me,
because girls rarely travel alone in this land
Lydia is from this land.
I used to kiss her
while listening to the Cure's "just like heaven,"
now I don't see her anymore,
so that song makes me sad,
why must we associate music with our love lives?
I'm not trying to be profound here,
I'm just saying that music really takes me back,
way back, and I can't explain the memory process involved in that,
because I am not a Psychology major, and
maybe my problem with picking up women
has to do with me always asking, "what's your major?"
But that only makes me as cheesy
as 90 percent of guys looking for women, and
86 percent of them have women,
So what's the deal here?
Maybe I shouldn't think of women
in terms of picking them up, and
maybe I should open up my sensitive side,
but really, the sensitive side sucks.
I've been there.
You can only imagine the kinds of sweaters they make you wear.
it's not fair, love is not fair, and
war is not fair, and
I don't care what anyone has to say about any of that,
I feel unloved, I'm sorry I need people to tell me I'm cool,
I'm just that way.
aren't you?
am I the only one?
I know that I can't be that misunderstood.
but you don't want to understand me!
you just want to hear the part where I talk about my small dick again,
because the Asian man will always be plagued by this rumor
until he is brave enough to fling it out and say,

"HA! WE ARE GIGANTIC!"

this is not the direction I wanted to take this poem.
honestly, I just want to be in the arms of my true love,
in a house,
in a room,
in a wonderful, perfect world with our two children,
a boy and a girl,
Helga and Lamar,
but maybe I shouldn't have said this,
Woody Allen taught us that marriage is a death trap.
I'm almost as old as his girlfriend.
she could be the long lost sister I've been looking for,
maybe my mother gave her away when we lived in China,
wait, I never lived in China.
I think I've begun lying in this poem.
I was hoping to talk about love for 3.4 minutes and
then come to a conclusion,
somehow defining love within the poem,
but I don't have any answers and
I'm looking for help from anyone,
because love has got me fucked up and dying,
because I feel retarded without anyone to hold me, and
maybe that's sentimental,
but what's wrong with sentimental?
I just need love --

to self: fuck you, I'm OK!

you see, I can't even decide what I need
much less understand what I'm saying.
you see,
all I'm saying is
someone...
love me.