Rollin’s Reptilian Lie
Henry’s up there on the stage
lookin’ mighty lizard.
Certainly not lethargic lizard mind you.
Don’t want you to visualize that.
More like lizard on meth.
A lethal lizard amped
amphetamine mean.

He looks to the band behind him,
…and he looks to you.
To the band…
Then to you.

It appears he want to
strangle someone with
that microphone cord.
It LOOKS that way.

Oh, not that Henry would actually
garrote anyone in his namesake band.
His band…
The Rollins Band
is pumpin’ out a pretty sinister
groove at the moment.
No need to buzz-kill the kill-buzz.
Nah. Our iguana of ill intent
needs his solipsistic soundtrack of
soul sin self.
We in the mosh are expendable.
If Henry goes komodo,
it is our hearts he will devour.
And I cringe
and cower and
genuflect there at the back.

Now that you’ve got the visual,
I have one question to ask you:
Ain’t this a load of crap?

Henry Rollins does not actually
want to kill you. No,
but he wants you to THINK he would.
A certain suspension of disbelief
is in affect here.
In this case, it’s kinda fun to
pretend that at any moment,
Mr. Henry Rollins
might just attain a level of agitation with, oh…
let’s say his slightly out of kilter mojo,
that some sort of sacrifice would be in order.
And he could do it.
He could really do it.
He could leap off that stage,
pounce on willing victim and…
Again.
What a load of crap.

You’ve got your Wolfgang Mozarts.
You’ve got your Duke Ellingtons;
your Lawrence Welks.
You gots your Henry Rollins.
All them dudes wanna be lizards,
but I’d say they were closer to feline,
‘cause I call ‘em pussies!

That’s right. I said it!
Wanna know who rules the stage?
Poets!
Mother F-in poets!
Rollins wants to act all lizard n’ shit?
He should try poetry.
But nah… He can’t do that
‘cause he’s a pussy.
Scary? Poets
are freakin’ scary.
I know.
Just talk to one after the show.
Whoa!

Bust up the stage?
How many times
you seen a poet
mess up that microphone’s switch?
Yowsa!
Damn straight!

Smash amps?
I can DO that.
Break a guitar?
Well… I don’t have a guitar…but
look at this!

A pencil!

[snap]
Look at that!
Hoo-yea!

Henry Rollins a poet?
Poet my lizard licked butt!

Nothing like Walt Whitman!

Walt rocks!

©06 Jack Hubbell