Plastic Town by Damon Freed

Everyone goes downtown these days.

At night they pretend to have had a hard

day’s work and sit, retired, at the bar. 

The old industry also sits, once beautifully 

decayed – now – refurbished – like it’s

spanking new. Old crumbling facades

repainted, reworked, like the olden days.

And I remember some of those days. No

neighbors; the grit, the grime, falling down

fences, no restraint, the old candy store,

butcher shop, dollar store. Boom boxes 

blaring upstairs and on the streets. The

run down brothels. The alleyways at night.

But now, you can’t play your music so 

loud. The gentries don’t like it that way.

Their souls are tired, as if tired, and have

lost sight of the hard-road. The tough bloods

are all but gone. And the blondes are artificial

like the windexed panes of glass on the 

store fronts. And all the cats still roam the 

streets, but are fat and well-fed. 

And that courthouse flame still flames, but

no one has the balls these days to light a 

joint off it. They just smoke their cigarettes

by it and talk about justice, as if it exists.

And like it or leave it I’m here to watch

the overflow, and to criticize the fat-assed

lawyers who haven’t needed a drink to get

through the day in 30 years. The tears don’t

get cried, the cheers don’t get sighed, and

the crickets and cockroaches have all but 

died.

But tonight I’ll be pretending like it always

was and used to be and playing my radio

loud as white lightning. Maybe something like 

Jungleland at three quarter’s volume

will suit the mood, if I’m lucky,

before the brooding sets in even worse.

Then, I’m bound to join in with all those

fake showboats at the bar – sitting there, 

pretending like life never mattered or existed

in this godforsaken town. 

I am an artist who cherishes balance, reason, and ambiguity; and I express it through a variety of working methods, from abstracted realities to nonobjective paintings of grids, I believe reality exists on the edge of perception. And while my Dad has been my best and greatest influence Agnes Martin and Brice Marden’s work are among them. 

I received my B.F.A. from the School of Visual Arts in New York City where I graduated with honors. Freed taught at two places for 10 years at the college level. His first year was in ’09. His M.F.A. is from Hunter College, City University of New York. Freed has studied with such luminaries as Jack Whitten, Marilyn Minter, David Chow, Juan Sanchez, Sanford Wurmfeld, Tobi Kahn, Lucio Pozzi, Tim Rollins, Alice Aycock, Susan Crile, Anton van Dalen, Suzanne Anker, Donald Kuspit, and Katy Siegel among others. He has been exhibited in galleries in New York City, Saint Louis, Kansas City and Columbia, Missouri. 

In writing, my influences are my mom and dad, sister and brothers, and friends, mostly. My inspirations are my family and dearest friends, and the people I meet in every direction! Freed has not been formally trained in poetry but is an avid writer of works and spoken word. He has nine books of poetry published by himself. 

You may find his collections of poetry in the Sedalia Public Library as well. 

Freed may be reached at damonfreed@gmail.com or by going to his website online.