David Jewell
To:jewellphoto
May 21 at 11:59 PM
even the snow is cold
even the ice is freezing and gritting it's teeth
sea gulls whirl through the snow
trying to remember the smell of salt
the wind blows them like dust motes
and the trees bend and shake their hair
like young rock and roll goddesses
but it is freezing and frozen and the
tundra shines and calls you out and
you stumble and tumble and dream of
dr. zhivago slide on the ice mumble
her name look for her house hidden
in the blizzard even the street is
covering itself up praying for spring
and you can't find her you look
everywhere she is under the snow
your heart is barely beating and
the wind freezes your lungs
you want her and you want
her warm in bed under flannel sheets
her hot feet pressed against your belly
her words melting your brain and
the taste of her tongue like the
fire that was the first fire
the first taste of flame
when the universe began
Friday, January 9th, 2004
11:05 am
from the carnival last summer
she said he shouldn't have disrespected her like that.
they were frinds. she couldn't put up with that. so she hit him.
she showed me her hand--toward her thumb and wrist--
she hit him sideways and there was a bruise--she said her hand
still hurt real bad from hitting him.
she hit him and knocked his glass eye off center. so it doesn't
quite fit right anymore. whoops. she said. but. he was my friend.
i don't put up with anyone disrespecting me like that.
2.
she filled up the balloons with air. the tiny tiny young boy
stepped right up to buy his 3 dart chance at the balloons. she
gave him the darts and said--don't throw them yet. then she
turned to the board and found all the least inflated balloons
and blew them up real big. so when the kid threw the darts
and hit one, and then another, he could barely miss.
i told her it was nice of her for helping the kid out and
she said when they're so young like that she can't bear to
see their faces when they miss. they're just so sad, she said,
like they think they'll never get anything they want, ever.
so i try and help them out a little.
Thursday, January 1st, 2004
6:58 pm
it isn't random or arbitrary
possible or impossible
it doesn't change
a connection is made
something simpatico
like two snowflakes
stuck together
as they fall
the sky is infinite
but the earth is limited
and untamed.
there isn't an ocean
or a desert i wouldn't cross
if you were standing
on the other side.
Wednesday, January 22nd, 2003
12:02 pm
inside the raindrop was a snowstorm
inside the cigarette it was summertime
the limousine drove through my memory
ran a redlight
and smashed into a billboard
advertising lipstick
.
morning knockout
.
speckle laughter daybreak diversion
i'm counting my toes in the dark
i'm hearing laughter in the other apartments
and someone sobbing outside the window
the moon glows like something mad
like an insane lightbulb owned by gypsies
and i see her face and smell her
but she is in some other room
in another city
i can't pronounce
the water is dripping slowly
in the bathroom sink
i try to predict the next drop
but can never get it exactly right
until eventually
then i crawl out of bed like a python
crawl to the sink to make my face,
put on coffee and daydreams
and head into the fresh air
& sunshine
to begin again
yet again
to begin then
to be.
Saturday, November 17th, 2001
11:03 am
random saturday.
he kept running out of words
he kept checking his pockets to see
if somehow he had overlooked some.
it happened to him constantly.
he'd see someone he knew on the street
he'd dig frantically in his pockets for words
and come up short, or come up empty.
he thought if he didn't have words
he could at least stand there and try
to look pleasant, or try to get them to
bring out some of their words and maybe
get some momentum going that way.
sometimes he felt so ashamed to be out of words
that he turned down an alley
just so he wouldn't have to go through the ordeal.
he wanted to talk. he wanted to connect.
but it was hard when the words kept evaporating,
kept falling out of some hole in his pocket,
kept breaking on his teeth on the way out of his mouth.
=======================================================
the elephant racetrack was next to the earthquake factory
and next to that was the thunderdome that had rock-n-roll
every saturday night and although the resident complained
constantly, there was nothing that could be done about the
incessant noise.
Climax and the King of gravity checked into an Exhaustion Motel and turned the tv on the the Causality Channel.
People warned them against this but they paid no heed...for once they were in agreement, it was one of their favorite things to do.
The Causality Channel did more than give you a weather report,
it gave a consequence report also...but it went into so much detail it was decades behind and would never get caught up.
What was the danger of watching the Causality Channel after checking into an Exhaustion Motel? Well...there were many reports of people losing their minds, contemplating the complexity.
The King of Gravity had a nightmare at the Exhaustion Motel. He dreamt he was a Causality Criminal and that Climax, his lover, had become a bounty hunter paid millions of dollars to catch him.
He felt her eyes were a huge camera in the sky that could track him like a bug walking across a map. He tried camoflage, false identity, but her eyes burned through his disguises and her laughter was the screech of an eagle with its talons open, ready to puncture his skull and carry him into the clouds.
He'd tried so many incognito's that he'd lost track of his original personality...he'd become a shape shifter...but the will to shift shape had moved from his conscious into his subconscious, and he no longer knew what he was becoming or who he was supposed to be at any given moment.
In the dream he was crammed into the hatchback of a red honda civic. A tall bird-like woman was riding shotgun and she had the face of a serpent and her speech was poison. All the fingers of her right hand were hypodermic needles and she wanted to scratch his face off and inject him full of truth serum. "Tell me how much you hate me! Tell me how much you hate me!" she screamed and lunged over the seat to jab her needles into his eyes.
Somehow he broke the hatch-back glass and fell out of the car onto the road, a semi swerving just in time to avoid crushing him, honking its horn in disgust. Glass shards flew up into the sky, all colors of them, until one of the shards became an eagle, and the eagle became Climax, diving from the sky to pluck him off the road...
The king sat up so fast he knocked over the lamp on the bedside table. Climax was asleep, barely, just waking up, next to him. Outside the door was the maid, twisting the knob, yelling...
"Maid service...Maid service..."
And the king began to dream of the open road.
Buying maps. Plotting courses.
Dreaming what monument valley would look like
in the sunrise.
The king wanted to fall asleep beneath a sky so full of stars it would make him dizzy--next to a campfire spitting more sparks and stars into the sky.
He wanted to know physical exhaustion after a long day,
make love to a woman in the desert night
while the animals howled and clicked in the distance,
and then sleep, with a purely relaxed body and heart
for the first time.
The hitch hiker grew tired of the constant motion but could not stop.
Fewer and fewer people picked him up the older and more peculiar he became. He felt boxed in by oceans and sky, locked onto a grid. Scenery repeated itself, everything he saw reminded him of the time he saw it before--there was no more novelty in motion. Nothing unique about strange situations. No more charm in his thousands of stories and anecdotes.
He began to dream of power--of a perfect Palace where he could stay indoors--roam the halls--order people to cook his food, draw his bath, rub fragrant oils into his skin.
He wanted to stare out a window
where the scenery changed only with the light of day
and the seasons, so he could study the landscape
with endless patience, and not be jolted awake,
suddenly finding himself in the Mountains, then by the Ocean,
then on the Prairie in a swirl that made him deranged.
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Monday, May 14th, 2001
10:20 am
woke up this morning.
blues pounding down on my head
woke up this morning
blues pounding down on my head
don't know where i think i'm going
don't know what's left to be said
want to hit that big highway
drift off to another town
want to hit that big highway
drift off to another town
go get coffee in some theater
meet some woman in a gown.
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Wednesday, May 2nd, 2001
9:22 am
interview with an obsession
.
.
red time tulip factory disorientation and
birds chirping morning through my ears
like warter drops or ticks from clock
chirp high pitched chirp chirp I'm whatever
dawn hits or dawn rises or dawn lifts like
a blanket from a bed then memory flood
random cocktail jaunty kaleidoscope
hodge podge jig saw memory here then there
what I could have said what I should have done
what I should do want to do won't do not
today not tomorrow who I am looking for my
identity like some lost sock w/o it's mate
Wednesday, February 21st, 2001
10:34 am
the cigarette is subtle.
i drop it off at the train station
full of tearful good-byes,
then turn around and see its shadow
behind a pillar.
i walk to my car and for a moment
see it sitting in the drivers seat
relaxing.
i hear a phone ring and an invisible
cigarette hand grabs my lungs
and pulls me to her.
i say good-bye and say good-bye and say good-bye
to my darling cigarettes. but their good-bye
sounds like laughter. sounds like see ya later.
their is a phantom cigarette in my chest right now
a little embryo cigarette
a craving that's building
making me hallucinate more and more
hello cigarette
hello hello
how are you today cigarette
so silly of me to think you were leaving last night
there you are
of course
hello
come on in.
Sunday, January 14th, 2001
12:25 pm
shame monkeys
.
the shame monkeys gathered with their broken
martini glasses drunk already and loud
demanding more gin something to eat
cutting each other with the sharp edges
of the broken glasses 3:30 a.m.
and i woke up and turned on the front porch light
and let them in.
Sometimes it looked like there wre five and
sometimes it looked like there were a dozen--
i just didn't know
They rushed into the living room straight to
the liquor cabinet and got out all the booze
and poured it in their broken glasses and drank
and poured and drank and poured
climbing up on the bookshelves
opening volumes and reading random passages
then laughing and ripping pages from the books
eating the paper washing it down with my
15 year old scotch and expensive russian vodka.
But, Rumi said to invite them in, so i did.
They'd come knocking before--but i'd always
pretended to be asleep, or i'd turn on the radio
to drown out the racket. But, after talking to Rumi
i decided to let them in.
make my house a guesthouse for these mad monkeys
give them anything they wanted and see
what happened. maybe they'd burn the place down,
maybe they'd rip up the carpet and find buried treasure.
i didn't know but i was ready to find out. 3:30 a.m.
and a party of angry crazy monkeys with broken
martini glasses pounding on my front door.
i let them in.
maybe they'd be some kind of guide from beyond.
maybe they'd just trash the place and leave
making it rough to go to work the next morning
and a trashed out house to come home to
but my good friend Rumi siad to let them in
so i let them in.
Saturday, December 16th, 2000
11:32 am
to continue where i left off
.
thought again. unuseful. non-functional. without
purpose or goal. no aim. just a thought. random
arrow stuck in a random tree. my brain is a magnet
for certain kinds of thoughts. other brains for
others. different radio signals. different radio
staions. different. similar.
this thought. walking down the street with me.
inside my body. or my body generating the thought
from inside.
a thought or a feeling. a feeling or a thought.
and then a conversation. barking sounds of laughter.
like dogs. are dogs always laughing when they bark
the way we always bark when we laugh.
thought again. here in my belly. laughing. here
in my brain. sputtering. air in the pipes makes
water jerk and shudder out of the faucet. faulty
transistors breed radio static. stations fade in
and out. melt and merge. the ideas in the body or
in the brain. human discomfort seeking a freedom
from the awkwardness. the restless sleeplessness.
the hungy gluttony. contradictory states. both and.
nothing in between.
Saturday, December 2nd, 2000
10:41 am
slight aside
water is a sleepy man trying to wake up.
the moon is the size of a bowling ball.
seaweed smells like turpentine and feels
like cold wet silk. when it burns it sounds
like fireworks of all colors intio the air
popping like popcorn. and when you eat it,
it tastes the way ice cream would look if
it were invented by lightning bugs.
Current Mood: sleepy
Current Music: the phone
Saturday, November 25th, 2000
7:39 pm
a very darla day
"The day's just gone," she said into the phone
staring out the small apartment window at the
treetop shaking slightly in the summer breeze.
"I don't know where the time goes, but it doesn't
seem to leave any room to actually do anything.
I see what some people accomplish and complete
in their lives, and I don't know how they do it.
I can't concentrate on anything more than fifteen
minutes anymore--and given all the hundreds of
things to concentrate on, I can never figure out
which one I should concentrate on at this very
moment."
She dug a Marlboro Red out of the flip-top box
she kept in her desk drawer and lit it with an
antique silver lighter she kept on top of the
desk next to the crystal ashtray nestled among
a chaos of papers and unanswered letters.
"I mean, look, it's almost six p.m. and I haven't
even left the house yet--and I haven't really done
anything in the house either, except make a few
phone calls--so--what are you going to do today?
What do you think is important? Do you think
anything is important at all?"
><><><><><><><><>\
Johari.
words are physical things like flowers and bullets
last year i drove
twenty-five thousand miles
but couldn't get away
from myself.
today i drove by a place
called "Self Storage"
and thought i might
try that next.
half asleep at Barton Springs the other day.
people, a few, maybe five, in the water
paddling by, swimming, making lazy, muffled
splashy sounds, hypnotic and restful.
and i put so much of the past to rest,
realizing all the times i'd been there
all the various things going on and all the
emotions that made them seem so important and
endless and nerve wracking were gone. over.
and yet i was still there. the pool was
still there. and all the things now. it will
be the same with them. and in a way it's
that way with them now. they're over.
and when my body is gone and i am gone
the pool will still be there. and the
earth and the sun. and the people will
still be swimming. and there will be
no more trace of all these worries and
hopes and dreams, just as the swimmers
leave no trace in the water, after they've
swum by.
from the carnival last summer
she said he shouldn't have disrespected her like that.
they were frinds. she couldn't put up with that. so she hit him.
she showed me her hand--toward her thumb and wrist--
she hit him sideways and there was a bruise--she said her hand
still hurt real bad from hitting him.
she hit him and knocked his glass eye off center. so it doesn't
quite fit right anymore. whoops. she said. but. he was my friend.
i don't put up with anyone disrespecting me like that.
2.
she filled up the balloons with air. the tiny tiny young boy
stepped right up to buy his 3 dart chance at the balloons. she
gave him the darts and said--don't throw them yet. then she
turned to the board and found all the least inflated balloons
and blew them up real big. so when the kid threw the darts
and hit one, and then another, he could barely miss.
i told her it was nice of her for helping the kid out and
she said when they're so young like that she can't bear to
see their faces when they miss. they're just so sad, she said,
like they think they'll never get anything they want, ever.
so i try and help them out a little.
.
11:03 am
random saturday.
he kept running out of words
he kept checking his pockets to see
if somehow he had overlooked some.
it happened to him constantly.
he'd see someone he knew on the street
he'd dig frantically in his pockets for words
and come up short, or come up empty.
he thought if he didn't have words
he could at least stand there and try
to look pleasant, or try to get them to
bring out some of their words and maybe
get some momentum going that way.
sometimes he felt so ashamed to be out of words
that he turned down an alley
just so he wouldn't have to go through the ordeal.
he wanted to talk. he wanted to connect.
but it was hard when the words kept evaporating,
kept falling out of some hole in his pocket,
kept breaking on his teeth on the way out of his mouth.
<><><><><><><
shadow finds a home
the shadow fell on the stones but very softly and
didn't say ouch
the shadow fell on deaf ears what do
you expect
the shadow ate lettuce it stole from a bunny
there are so many of you, it explained.
short in the morning, long in the evening, my work is never done...
except in absolute darkness and silence and just try finding
that in the city these days.
the shadow met the photographer for lunch
I can make you beautiful, said the shutter-bug
I'm already beautiful, said the shadow
the shadow fell on the lake and stretched out against the surface
but didn't get wet.
the shadow went on living in a dark forest with the fireflies.
><><>
breakfast at your place
your spanish hair
like golden leaves
like rain on the edge of a mist
you revlon eyes revolving
around and around
falling down the stairs
tripping on the skateboard
hiding from the sunshine
i hear the elephants charging in the other room ferocious
on their way to hidden graveyard
you pour orange juice in one glass expect us to share it
i try not to worry about germs--after all we have been
kissing--but I worry anyway
and the coffee is enormously
strong
your silken tongue
your chinese ears
your spanish hair
and secret promises.
<><><
through with you
the water still falls but I no longer dissolve.
the hammers still swing but they no longer break me.
I remember your face
but it is like watching a cloud
it keeps changing
and then it is gone.
<><>><><><>
delusion angel
daydream delusion
limousine eyelash
oh baby with your pretty face
drop a tear in my wine glass
look at those big eyes on your face
see what you mean to me
sweet cakes and milk shakes
I'm a delusion angel
I'm a fantasy parade
I want you to know what I think
don't want you to guess anymore
you have no idea where I came from
we have no idea where we're going
lodged in life like two branches in a river
caught in the current
flowing downstream
I'll carry you you carry me
that's how it could be
don't you know me
don't you know me by now...
><><><>>><><>>>><>
she is
she is the gold coins
that dance on the water
one second here then
there
when I grab I hold
water and reflected light
when I watch from a safe distance
my eyes are amazed
my heart floods with desire
to be baptized by her love
what I want is elusive
to swallow the sun
so the warmth and the light
will shine from within
so her gold coins will reflect me
not call me to depths
I don't
understand.
><><>>><><>><<<<<>>>>
I put my love at your feet
my love is a python wrapped around your feet
you struggle
my love becomes a bird
you reach into the air
I land on your finger
you close your fist
my love becomes a big bear with claws and teeth
you're scared
my love becomes a fish flopping out of water
you throw me in the bathtub
my love becomes a dragon
you lock me in a cave
my love becomes smoke and leaks out the door
your eyes water you can't breathe you plead
my love becomes a human being and hold you
in my arms and you hold me.
<><>>><><<>><><<<
inspiration angel
I didn't know where she came from but I knew I wanted her
and was afraid of her
skin the color of typing paper
and her tears like thunderstorms
when she danced she spun so fast
I could taste her in my dreams.
roller coaster love machine
see your hair fly baby
thirsty for you
those eyes my soul plugs into bring me to life like a pinball machine.
who are you?
where are you?
sometimes I howl way past midnight with
my hands on my guts my knees on the floor
thirsty as a dried up river in the burning desert
I close my eyes and see you but my memory can't fix you
my vision can't tame you...my tongue can't quite call your name...
I'll know it's you even though I've never seen you.
you'll slip into the world through the crack a lightning bolt makes
in the sky
I'll call your name and I'll lift my face to a sky full of rain
open my mouth and drink and drink
drowning in every drop
the dogs of hell guard my loneliness and you will come to me from the sky like water and put out their fiery eyes
and it will be you and it will be me
and we will lay down knowing there is no other place
that this is where we've always been
I dream and wake up I dream and wake up
I dream.
><><>><>
concrete picnic
--you sure are acting distant and strange lately and it's making me nervous
--why do you say that dear?
--don't you agree that you' seem a bit far away lately?
--no....maybe.
--well, why do you think I keep feeling like you're on another planet?
--I don't know.
--don't you get tired of having these conversations?
--I guess so.
--then why don't you say something?
--I don't know what to say.
--well...think of something...
--what time is it?
--almost 8:00 I guess
--oh my god I've gotta run. I'm supposed to meet Sharon downtown.
--well, can we talk when you get back?
--yes, of course, silly.
><>><<<<>>>>>><<><<<<<>>>>><><<<<
love police
speeding through Houston at 3 a.m.
a cop appears form nowhere
like a quantum particle
and pulls us over
why was I driving so fast?
was I trying to get somewhere important?
she and I had been talking
and she said she wasn't very sure
she wanted to be involved
involved in what?
weren't we already involved?
we were in a car together
going about 90 miles per hour
that seemed pretty involved to me
the cop shines his light in my face
asks me if I knew I was speeding
I tell him, yes
he says he'll let me go this time...
but the girl and I broke up later
anyway.
><><>><<>><<>>
4.
just like a brand new bad dream she walked into my life. who am I
to complain, who was I to turn her down. my loneliness,
like an empty bell jangled by the leopard's roar. I needed to go through some changes. she took care of that all right.
before you go
><><>><<
chill me with your best story of the angels you left
on my doorstep that haunted night before we met
tears like footballs caressed my eyes
and tv stains all over the carpet
like a wax dummy I stared and forgave you of your sins and then
before the sun came up I was alone again and hungry
the refrigerator was empty but I couldn't go outside I couldn't let
anyone's eyes see mine I was that hollow
I survived until the next day when you ran your Plymouth fury through the plate glass window but
I had already moved out by then.
><><<>><<<<<>>>>
shotguns of love
we were standing eye to eye
shotguns of love
straight at each other
she on her way out of town
me with my fist in my mouth
we fired at the same time
I’ll never forget it
we had something that lasted
about fifteen minutes but you can't take that
away from me.
><><>>>><>><<<>
green highways
your eyes are green highways
they carry me away
your lips are crimson spaceships
they slip me to the stars
the snowflakes outside my window
dance jazz inside your soul
and the moonlight on the ocean
carries me your gold.
><><<<<<<>>>
stills of couples having sexflash
a. on the ceiling
b. in the air
c. on the floor
d. in the road
e. of the sky
f. from the earth
let's you and me make
a universe.
.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,
shadow at the diner
I forgot to laugh but not to cry
scarlet season
tongue dry like bark
the shadow eats
at the diner
hunched over coffee
pornographic delirium
I forgot to cry
but not to laugh
touch myself
in all the places
at the wrong moments
at the right moments
catch her eye
the waitress
ask her out
she doesn't know me
what difference is that
which direction
me no tango
yo no tengo
what are you mumbling
oh dearest it's dark
here at the edge
toward the end
of the world.
><><><
If I were
if I were a machine I’d wan be efficient
if a car I’d go real fast
but I’m just a man in love with you
and I wanna make it last
if I were a boat I’d sail the high seas
if a building I’d stand real tall
but I’m just a man in love with you
and I want us to have it all.
chain smoking
chain smoking past midnight reflecting on failed romance
sometimes easier than being in the middle of love where there
is no exit
you know how trapped you can get sweet porcupine baby
call the shots
whiskey vodka tequila prose soaked in booze and pain
evenings full of summer rain
take your damn clothes off and never again complain that
no one ever loved you baby I wait here for you
forever.
><><><><<>
1.
Good-bye can be said a thousand ways,
a thousand times,
and you never know which one is real.
Which one means it.
Some you think you'll see again and never do.
And some you think you'll never see,
and one day, there they are.
Good-bye pretends to be so solid,
but it is really fluid,
always flowing, always restless––
even when stagnant it is rising,
evaporating into the thin dry air.
Nothing is forever, but
everything is forever.
And memory is random––
full of emotional projections, snapshots,
moments––frozen in time.
Appearing in the present,
hiding in the future,
Sinking suddenly, or sluggishly,
back to the past, like a trunk
full of old photographs lost at sea.
You travel through time and space.
You move in circles and straight lines.
You say hello, you say good-bye,
you say hello.
You never know what the day will bring.
2.
It's over now.
Like the final bow, on the final night, of a play
that ran so long the audiences became thin
and sparse––and the applause, at times
full of thunder, dies down to a sprinkling of rain.
The fat lady is singing,
has already sung.
And the set must be struck, and swept,
and cleared away, leaving the stage as empty
as a sea shell washed up on the shore.
Memories of opening night linger
as you step off the stage for the very last time,
turn around at the exit door and see the ghosts
of every rehearsal, and every show, and
every triumph and missed cue fade back to
the ether.
It's done with.
Something else is moving in already, before
your car is off the lot. And you drive away,
and get home to a quiet house. The night is long
as you wait for dawn, when new, unknown lines
await you
in a story not yet written at all.
3.
During the trasition––not an intermision––no––
the show is over––the new one not begun––
it's a time of transition, and maybe––if you're lucky,
of transformation––
but that may be too grandiose––
but during the transition, things are loose and
in a tumble, like a house being packed up––or a
house just moved into––everything
all over the place, and nothing
in it's proper place––and finding things
you might have tossed away
but couldn't at the moment––and not being able
to find the simple things you need
one moment to the next––the screwdriver
is packed in the box with the toothbrush
and unpaid bills––the silverware is hiding
in one of the boxes of books.
It's a transition time and anything goes.
The rules of everyday are suspended.
You eat, and you rest, and you trudge
across the swinging bridge, over the
abyss of time.
4.
I’m angry as hell, but I see all too clearly,
I brought it on myself.
The chain of events has broken.
New links, to some other story,
must be forged.
It may never make any sense.
It's just a bunch of stuff that happened,
I suppose, in the only way it could,
in spite of the efforts to create some other,
more cheerful, or pleasant, or continuous outcome.
The dream suddenly vanished, like a film reel
breaking and falling off the projector in the
middle of the movie, and all that's left
is the bright, blindingly white screen
with no image, and no sound, and
everyone looking confused––
like they just woke up someplace unfamiliar.
The show is over.
There is no refund.
It's the middle of the afternoon.
There's nowhere to go in particular.
5.
In free fall until I hit,
and hopefully start walking again.
It will take a while to digest these
facts, and figures, and images––
maybe months or years––or,
who knows, maybe the worst
is over, and it will all be forgotten
soon enough.
It took a toll. The damage is obvious.
The debris covers the whole landscape––
it must be cleared away.
But I'm in free fall, and haven't quite hit.
I may hit hard, and maybe I'll bounce.
But while I'm falling, I'll just flail away,
and twist around, and try not to land
on my head, or my ass––
and hope to get up fast, and start walking,
anywhere, just for the motion.
In any direction.
Just to get it behind me. Follow the roads
and telephone lines. There must be something
ahead––a nice waitress to serve me coffee,
and let me linger, while I stare at a map, and
pick a place to go.
Starting all over. How many times
can you do that?
6.
It's time to say good-bye.
I didn't want to. Not at all.
But it's high time I moved on.
I can't blame you for going your own way.
I don't seem to have what you want, or
what you need. You say you don't know
what you want. But it's very clear
what you've chosen, and I have to
let you go and wake up from this dream
that you will love me again.
Maybe someday you will.
Maybe someday we will say hello, again,
and it will all be new, and unknown, and
exciting again.
But for now, you're not with me,
and I have to make a new life for myself.
It isn't easy to let you go, when
I want to hold you so tight––
but I'm all out of options.
Life is so full of mysterious twists
and turns.
Hello. Good-bye. Hello, someday.
d><><><><><><><>
another discussion about what we are doing together
a sweet voice in the clearing
reaching a point of understanding
having nothing particular to say
waiting for the cat to leap
from the bag of memory,
watching television
upside down, listening to
commercials backwards,
culling the time--waitng
for a toothache to disappear
in the worn hypnotic night
drinking cognac every minute
and lighting expensive
french cigarettes
with gold lighters
after dining at the castle
while waves licked the
shoreline and everything
was forgotten once again.
><><><><><<>
It’s like being lost, except you
know where you are.
It’s like having amnesia,
except you know all the
details and facts.
You know your name and
address and history––
but it isn’t yours anymore.
It all belongs to someone else––
><><><<>
comes from nowhere the jet overhead the lightning bolt like a diving board launching a ten year old cannonball boy into the water as you are swimming by he almost hits you but you keep swimming he looks at his friends and laughs what a little twerp.
gut as empty as a strip mine deep as an eye socket hungry is what I'm trying to say so controversial what is good for you these days tired of eating things that make me feel lousy but then again it is so much work cooking rice all day everyday what's a boy to do.
---
Waiting with fire paused beneath surface of storm whale bubbling from disaster with inkstains and blueprints your lost teeth in that dream you had would never plant themselves like seeds to sprout all the lost words you could never say to yourself
in a moments notice with the sun an octopus glaring in the sky
water all around you but you aren't dressed to dive in
you crave the silence if only you could submerge and be finished
with land and all its gravity and demands for action
8-11-95
spilling the token weariness car coughs shutters wallet sneers how
urban heat barks cantankerous dog probably rabid don't run don't show fear they can smell it no one ever thinks about you as much as you think about yourself if you'd just get over it wake up o.k.
red car desert floor and scorpions sliding into your sleeping bag campfire gone to dull cinders of heat rattlesnake in the distance coyote howl get the flashlight check the map again take a pee don't go too far let's hope we're not totally lost let's leave now.
frozen no parachute no laughter falling like an ice cube into a shot of gin then burning fire and flame tongues lashing heat of conscience and super-ego heat of retro-ifs only if only if only you'd stayed inside and never talked to a stranger.
8-14-95
polar bear on igloo diving under to fetch big fish blood red against fur and snow small bears clamor round a domestic scene like a documentary but this one far from the cameras far from any human witness except myself watching my brain pictures
no evidence just emotion no reasons or justifications except feelings when time doesn't heal what is left but driving your car into a tree maybe a weekly massage but who can afford it why talk to someone so far away they will never hear you whisper
two beers last night as medication for nerve vertigo nausea feeling of hanging upside down on perpetual roller coaster ride strange disease of nerves two beers brought me down somewhat this morning zombie-sluggish sloppy gut mellowed but too ripe
saw alfred hitchcock notorious spellbound genius great ingrid and cary and camera like a hidden character beautiful shots angles photography great subtle humor and two beers for spellbound had me laughing then reality pushed back after the end writ onscreen
felt distant as a wolf howling alone on the snowy hill with full moon like some postcard my emotions sometimes programmed and automatic like cliche but pain real enough if someone lies or betrays or doesn't know you'd rather be alone than feel that again
fixed camera overhead if my life were slow motion I might have the know how to edit as I go along and change direction before obvious disaster manifested but in real time it's over before I know it's begun and then there's only picking up broken glass
8-15-95
monkey in a tree of dreams earthqauke rattles sky and thunder rolls bowling ball of heaven threats to the tender morsels of flesh eaters hidden by the fruit basket gather the supplies for the surplus tents while you can the wind is howling no on is laughing.
On top of one hangover 2 margaritas the next night and decision on hold about whether to climb back on the wagon drinking is so much fun you get to be someone jolly for a little while even if it isn't real at least you pretend for that night everything is wealthy
at least eight movies in the past three days until reality feels like a lobby until the next show is decided upon would a purely passive existence be possible wake up read a book go to two movies eat watch tv read go to bed day after day is that living?
8-19-95
they come to the bar with money in hand usually no bravado and quite a bit of clueless duh wondering what we have what they want no we don't have that we do have this o.k. gimme one of those no wait what's that well I can't decide and then no tip
hanging from a chain while the rain pours down and the lights eat your skin naked as a photograph with a matching startled eye
brows makes me wonder who you modeled your modeling after in your eyes I see all my hopeless dreams burning with abandon
8-20-95
still asleep but dreaming of beer cans and popcorn buckets will that be a large or small large or small one-fifty or two-fifty on and on put the lids on the cups run here and there take a deep breath stay calm convince yourself you don't really give a damn
the elephant racetrack was right next to the earthquake factory and the thunderdome that had rock shows on saturday nights was just down the street from that although residents complained and called the police nothing could be done about the incessant noise
so many I know have this sense that something has been lost and they actually hope to replace it that home is still within reach if only they could find it that someday a door will open and they'll find the place they belong at last but the door is inside the heart
sweet swans swimming in the pond outside of the cemetary like ghost soldiers or alien angels protecting and soothing the souls of the buried outside of Danville on the Dixie Highway my friend Debbie in a mausoleum maybe she sings to the swans I miss her
<><><><
jungle perception
what would it be like
comfortable inside my own skin
less certain of tomorrow
than any flower.
a beautiful rainy day. showers and more showers. fall upon the ground little raindrops. all the little spring raindrops wanting to feed the flowers and the trees. wanting to shed their shell of water to feed the blooms abundance dance of birth and new life lovely spring rain lovely rain raining down.
--
raining and raining all day.
lovely rain raining in a rainy sort of way
dripping and dropping from the windows and trees. making everything shiny and shivery and soaking and free. sweet rain and cool air, full of oxygen and sleepy afternoon naps, or a book on the couch listening to the tires glide by outside in the rainy rain rain the sweet rain the lovely cool very wet rain.
--
ipso haphazard law of houndstooth
horatio coming up in the world
his alligators flashing his boots aflame
mr. locomotion jumps into the rain
his car is careening his brain is upset
he hasn’t eaten or slept since he can’t
remember when.
--
until then she wasn’t late but then after awhile she was late and on top of everything else there was really no ignoring that anymore. so. what to do.
“don’t take it personally,” said someone wise inside him.
coffee
she ordered coffee
then stopped
and turned to him
I don’t drink coffee, she said.
o.k., he siad.
why did I order it , she said.
I don’t know, he said, maybe
you wanted to try it.
oh, I know what it’s like, she said.
well, maybe you want some, he said.
it’s been a long time, she said.
maybe that’s why, he said.
but I don’t really want it, she said.
I’ll drink it, he said.
what were you going to get, she said.
I was going to get some coffee, he said.
really? at this time of night?, she said.
it’s o.k., he said, it doesn’t keep me awake.
I don’t know why I ordered it, she said,
but I’m going to drink it anyway.
green light train ocean dog
1.
The dog stood by the light green ocean and became a man on a train headed out of Moscow in the Russian Revolution. Yuri Andreivich offered him a cigarette but neither of them had a light.
2.
Red light, Green light, All the other outs in free. . .
Tommy Guy’s dog always gave him away, easy to know where his hiding place was, just follow the dog. Tommy guy hiding there in the bushes next to the power generators for the whole neighborhood with his ear pressed against it --listen--he said--you can hear the ocean--and my mistake was I always took him literally. Just then a major power surge jolted us to the ground and I said--the earth is a train just leaving the station--and John said--what are you talking about--I don’t know, you know, the earth is a train--and Merrill said--no, it’s not, let’s play another game.
3.
the ocean waves roll in like trained dogs doing somersaults at the county fair.
the big waves win and get a green ribbon make of seaweed but since the wave can’t wear it we paste each green ribbon to our bodies until we become giant seaweed monsters barking like trained seals on a train headed for the Hinterlands. We want to live by the ocean but I don’t know who it is with me. Maybe my imaginary friend made of green light who fades in the mist as the years roll by like waves.
4.
the green dog took the train to the ocean to look for the light. the light is within--said the guru dog, who spent all its time barking at and chasing the waves. Oh--said the green dog--and got back on the train and headed for the other coast.
bank
the wind is blowing
some rain fell--
enough to wet the streets
and make the sidewalk
steamy.
I was standing in line
at the bank. I thought
nothing slows down
or stops
for a second
when
we’re gone.
luxury ride
brand new
cream colored
mercedes-benz
with lambs wool
seat covers
pulls smooth and slow
into the street.
he is eating a muffin
she is sipping her
cafe au lait
on this cold
rainy morning
in their luxury car
in no hurry
to get anywhere
so snug and
cozy
in their cocoon
of money.
sometimes
they are grateful
for all the comfort
and cushion
and sometimes they
are very generous
to others
and sometimes
they die
too.
walking down 43rd street
the memory junket and the
pony express logic of the acrobat
frozen in the crystal palace of
daydream and
dementia
dice rolling like
eyes into the
head playing peek-
a-boo with neurons
creating chaos that propels
another footfall down the street
to check the mail or rent
a video
a leaf falls from
a tree across the street in
the dark lit by a streetlamp
a stray cat whispers and
disappears into an evergreen
a car tire squeels
you notice
your tongue would like the
sting of a shot
of whiskey
your plans for the evening
take a whole new turn
the heart keeping time
to memories hidden
deeper than you
could ever
dig.
bobby obsolete was getting a new channel on the super-portable TV he had in the closet. He kept that TV in the closet because he liked to have TV sound always filling his apartment--but he didn’t want the TV in the living room on all the time because he knew he wouldn’t do anything else. so he got the tiny TV and ran a wire into his closet and plugged it in and it was on all day and all night. he thought there was probably a part of his brain that was like that TV in the closet. always making noise--saying things he could vaguely understand but not always--sometimes muffled and sometimes just jangled noise of jingles from the jingle jungle, the TV desert of selling and buying. but now he was getting this new channel that would fizzle and splutter like a candle then snap in sharp for maybe two hours here and two hours there.....
silence
so much silence
peaceful silence
restless silence
silence that soothes
silence that taunts and teases
silence that laughs joyfully
silence that laughs cruelly
silence all around the silence
and sounds inside the silence
that are part of the silence
the silence of loneliness
creating panic
making me want to call
but call who and for what
call her or him or her
or them
for what
a break
in the silence
to spill my brain thoughts
bounce them
off their brain thoughts
while their brain bounces off mine
call on a friend
to fill the silence with love
and the silence is no longer
lonely
you sit in the silence
and you wait and wait
not knowing what
you are waiting for
except a silence within
to match the silence without.
dream
now and then the veil is ripped aside
and I see who I am
through the eyes of someone I love
or who used to love me
I had a dream of my ex-wife last night
she was distant for a while
didn’t know why I was there and
wasn’t very happy to see me
I can’t remember what we talked about
I think I told her that I could understand
why she left, that I was really sorry
I was such a blind fool back then
we do the best we can given where we are
and sometimes the best we can do
falls so short of where we could be
without our even knowing
in the dream she showed me around
a little while and even apologized
to me for some of her behavior
and before I left I kissed her good-bye
a passionate kiss then the phone was ringing
and two or three people were calling her name
and we quit our kiss
and her friends were all around
they talked to her about the pressing matters
of the day in her world
and I saw my cue to walk away
so I walked by her and squeezed her hand
we looked at each other and went back
to our separate worlds and
as I walked down the street away from her
it started raining.
>>>
silence is everywhere except the hum of machines
refrigerator air-conditioner the huge, monstrous,
beast machines outside that eat
the street and dig up the pipes and ruin cars.
morning is always tropical even in the dead of winter
even in Canada the act of waking up is a
tropical act. the body wants silence and time
and pleasure in the morning. the sound of waves.
morning is a time to forgive yourself for all the
days before and for the day that will unfold
even when your schedule book is full with every minute
booked--the day is a mystery stretching ahead.
there is no way for you to know what will happen
the day is a mystery even when you project yourself
into the future and imagine everything that is
supposed to happen--you never know--you
can’t write the script of what other people will say
or what mood they’ll be in--
maybe your car will stall and you won’t
get to work on time--the minute you step
outside, the minute you open you eyes--even
if you are inside all day--a story begins to unfold--
someone calls or doesn’t call--your feelings
boil up and send smoke into the room.
thoughts and feelings like molten lava bubble and
boil constantly in your heart and your mind
and all that is random just a jumbled cauldron
of impressions and desires and ghosts
last night may be an image of your ex-lover
with another man and your heart contracts
and your brain is black and in the morning
you miss her and wish she were there beside you.
and the machines roar and pulsate and punctuate
the dull time breathing smoke from the pipes
sounding infuriated by everything that stands
in their way while harried grown men attempt to control them.
the activity outside the window is endless
will be endless until the end of the world
until there are no more windows--at night
nothing happens, or it happens slowly
and the season turning so finally there is a cloud
in the sky finally we aren’t bombarded by sun
and light this morning finally a cool thought
and a quiet light except for the restless machines
morning is a juxtaposition of desires and restless activity
the cluelessness and impatience of a new day
the fluttering landscape of too many possibilities
and the seeming inability to clear the calendar
clear the head and heart and celebrate the simple.
motion is fairly important but probably over-rated
it isn’t a matter of age anymore and never was
but that doesn’t mean anything in particular
#1
lightning fizzle again on backyard swing
memories drenched under heavy water
soaked to the gills like schools of fish
moving mouths rhythmically and silently
speaking only in air bubbles the mystery
lost once the bubble breaks the surface
no sound except water hitting water
rain falling and lightning running always
zig-zag never straight to the point
but point always well made and striking--
behind the picture window a match flares
and lights a cigarette another flash and
the power goes out and another match
lights a candle conveniently on the
table. Rivulets of rainwater running
vertically outside the window making
reflected face with cigarette distorted
staring out into the past into other
rainy nights now silenced by time
other rainy night with conversation
and touching and a certain odor of
perfume lingering more pungent in
the heavy damp air and the other
smell of animal wanting animal
flesh bites teeth tearing slightly
secret soft wounds in gentle places
and sounds of no language or the
universal language of pleasure and
passion and surrender and the lightning again
makes everything disappear.
>>>
1.
It was making the headlines.
they were talking about it on cnn.
People all over the city, Manfatten, were growing more and more concerned.
The food was disappearing. The food everywhere was simply vanishing right in front of their faces. Even the people on the west side were starting to feel the pangs of hunger as their emergency supplies began to dwindle.
Leroy Fats--criminal. fatso. billionaire. genius. madman.
Penelope Pacemakerbreaker--reporter for cnn. Kid Wizards babe and connection to the outside world at large.
Kid Wizard--was taken up in a rocket when he was a little kid, his father was an astronaut. but he was taken up too young and fell into another dimension. When they
returned to earth he was living in two dimensions simultaneously and always has been. He has the power to through bolts of lightning--and can travel through warps in space and time--however this kind of travel is dangerous and exhausting and has to be reserved or emergencies.
Psyche Savage--illegitimate son of Sigmund Freud. When Sigmund lectured in America, early in the century, Psyche Savage’s mom was a sort of intellectual liberated woman and Sigmund groupie--and when she realized she was pregnant with Freuds child she was thrilled. Though, Sigmund would not answer her letters or her phone calls and ignored her and her son completely. This made Psyche Savage very bitter and he used his powers of extreme intuition and psychic manipulation for cruel purposes, until his mother sent him to a shrink, and now he walks a tenuous line between light and shadow, usually coming out on the side of the good, and helping stop criminals and bad elements etc. But he sometimes takes a round about way of getting there.
Sirens
Cyclops
police, reporters, citizens.
Basic Plot.
Story opens with Leroy Fats driving around the city in his Supersonic Vacuum Truck and stealing food off all the supermarket shelves. The Supersonic Vacuum Truck (SVT) travels too fast to be detected by most people’s vision. He can drive by a Supermarket and collect all the food in the whole place, leaving behind all the non-food items, except the ones he needs at any particular time, and leave before anyone knows what has happened. Someone might reach out for a loaf of bread and watch it vanish into thin air, their hands close around nothing. The SVT makes it all vanish instantly, or seemingly instantly, it’s just that he speeds time up for himself and slows it down for everyone else. Plus the very selective settings on the vacuum and determine any specific items and target only those for instant transport. After hitting a few stores Leroy takes all the food back to his lair, the basement of the Flatiron Bldg.
Kid Wi\zard and Penelope are in a restaurant, out on a date, celebrating something or other, they toast each other, and the moment their glasses clink together, all the food in the whole restaurant disappears. It’s a bad sign. “He’s hitting restaurants now,” says Kid W. “supermarkets were bad enough, now restaurants too, whoever it is, he’s got to be stopped.” Penelope suggests Kid track down his good pal Psyche Savage and get a profile on him.
Psyche Savage is at a club called The Sirens. It’s a sort of jazz club and strip club all in one. more co-ed than your normal titty bar, but full of women who entice men to spend all their money on them and seem to promise them all sorts of things they never intend to deliver. The men fall to ruin all over the place. Outside the club are dozens of men who were once wealthy powerful family men now destitute and debauched begging passersby for money to get back into the club. Psyche Savage has ordered a double martini and a steak and just as they are delivered to his table, the food and the booze disappear. All that’s left in the bar are the cigarettes and the cigars, and tapwater.
Leroy’s lair is full of food. But Leroy has acres of storage space, so it’s no problem. The more perishible items he sometimes distributes to the areas of the city where most of the people are hungry most of the time. That way, he’s popular, like a food Robin Hood, and the cops never even think of looking for him there, so it’s safe too.
His lair is high tech and vast, like the Bat Cave, except this is the Fat Cave. Leroy thrives on being fat. He loves being fat. He figures the more of him there is, the more of him there is to like. He’s got a girlfriend, Veronica Salt. But she is very thin, she’s a model. And she just likes Leroy because she thinks he’s crazy and admires his inventiveness.
=
Psyche Savage and Kid Wizard meet in a coffee shop to talk about what’s going on.
Psyche tells Kid some jargon and lingo that is actually a fairly accurate profile of the Fat Man and which helps kid immensely in tracking down Leroy. But Leroy is no dummy, and feels the pressure of being tracked down by the Kid and he kidnaps Penelope Pacemakerbreaker. He knows Penelope is Kids girlfriend, plus, she was getting too close to revealing his whereabouts on her newsprogram. She had Psyche Savage on her show and he told the whole country the basic information he’d told Kid Wizard, except he left out the detailed information, so no one else would be able to use it to track the fat guy.
Eventually, the whole town is out of food. Not a morsel to eat in the whole city. It does no good to drop food from heliocopters because it vanishes before it ever hits the ground. People are leaving the city by the thousands, all cranky and very hungry, Leroy did leave some brands of junkfood around, which people eat, but it just makes them even more miserable and cranky than they were before. The rest of the country is afraid their food supply will start to vanish too.
Kid Wizard figures out how the SVT is working and builds one of his own. When is the SVT world, it is easy to find Leroy, because his is the only other visible vehicle. But Leroy is obviously far more familiar with the idiosyncrasies of the SVT world than Kid Wizard, but after chasing around a while Kid throws a lightning bolt at Leroy and crashes him into the flat-iron buildnig. Penolope is still in there, Veronika is keeping watch over her, feeding her nothing but cake and ice cream and cookies and milk. So, Penelope is gaining weight and going crazy from blood-sugar psychosis.
Psyche Savage shows up and hypnotizes Leroy and restructures his criminial impulses into a desire to work for food distribution centers across the world trying to feed the hungry and redistribute surplus to areas of famine. Veronika continues modeling and helps spread the word through the media. Psyche Savage goes back to the Sirens Lounge, and Kid helps Penelope back from blood sugar psychosis and gets her on an exercise program.
The cyclops scene would take place during the scenario where Penelope is kidnapped and thrown into the lair.
Looking backward
Nitro-division of the plus side of the oblivion module
situation detached from spectravision and nightshade
waiting for the lights to shine on the decision paradigm.
To swim in the rain or simply stand
in the middle of the fairway with your nine
iron held high pointed to the sky during a
lightning storm. Not that I want to tempt fate
or bring harm upon you or myself but when
I see the rain slide slinky through the air
like a velvet mist making the perfume of
the flowers leap for me like flappers in
a corny 20’s movie it makes me sentimental
and it is the ache of loss and the hunger
to possess the past that creates these
thoughts of seductive oblivion.
>>>>
spaceman was looking everywhere for the woman of his dreams, Starwoman,
who was lost in the vortex of time.
spaceman was sent to find a new planet. Ever since time quit being linear. At least for him. They wanted him to be able to travel much faster than the speed of light. The speed of light was much too slow for their purposes.
spaceman was more or less an average guy in extraordinary circumstances. He has a slight drinking problem which only appears from time to time. and smokes cigarets on rare occaisions. he can smoke without eithr blowing up his spacecraft or the planet and has cigarets at the same time.
still absent still vacant
space empty full of room
wanting to add
or keep letting go
wordless with words
things to say not meaning
it can be said
if I knew the language
these feelings
travel through time
are quantum
non-linear
resteless
but always returning
spaceman felt the pressure building
as he knew he would having already
lived this moment infinite times
in infinite variations. It’s the
variations that kept things interesting--
that made everything feel like it was
happening for the first time
no matter how many times he had
been through it--all the universes forming
and splitting and combining
with each variation.
Ned Speed ground the camel non-filter beneath
the heel of his black beatle boot--exhaling a cumulous cloud
of smoke.
Spaceman felt himself becoming weightless floating in the capsule.
It was sort of sick and helpless feeling at first, letting go of his gravity
and his ability to control his body. When he moved his arm to the right his body would float to the left--when he tried to go left he drifted right. tryhing to walk he might suddenly be un\side down with seemingly verry little warning. What he hated most was trying to eat in this environment--it disgusted him trying to swallow while he spun around.
>>>>
a day at the beach
maybe a snowstorm or a blizzard
some howling wind with teeth and icicles
maybe some unknown configuration
or a frustration of confusing impulses
silence as the street boils in the rain
red cars drive past yellow umbrellas
puddles reflect stoplights and go lights
quiet underneath and above the whispers
pluto and jupiter in frozen reaches
shivering places lost in reflection
reaching the horizon and fires
fingers of flame shivering nerves
wires stretching through us asking questions
always hungry and serious and sensuous
sometimes bursting out in laughter
sleeping is such surrender waking is not
falling fish and flying fish looking for
an ocean to swim--no sooner does my
mind make the fish than it makes an
ocean--beaches and hotels and tourists
some sense of where to go or who to be
with time for a change when it is time
for a change and things drop away
and sleepiness conquers blind ambition.
hornets nest of speculation and delirium moving sideways
to another landslide into the sea drowning again
moving every muscle in a complete futile symphony
of non-salvation drowning not finding land sinking
nowhere trouble again surface far above frothy water
cloudy sky sunbeams streaked like banners or
razors of light learning helplessness holding on
to water trying to hold water in your hands
trying to grip and climb water to climb out of
this liquid grip this removal from air and light
trying to step up on that which has substance
which only gives way collapses does not support
again and again the details change but the outcome
is clearly predictable although unbelievable creating
an illusion the outcome will be wholly unique
which it never is nor probably ever will be
sun falling through water or slicing water penetrating
inky depths with erratic light surprising stillness
and utter silence reflecting some certain outcome
lack of favor or flavor doomed to repeat the same song.
thankful
in spite of the pain
in spite of the madness
the humor and absurdity of it
for another breath
another minute
another chance
to start again.
maybe calling her was foolish
maybe not calling her would have been
even more foolish. maybe in the
scheme of things it isn’t/wasn’t
all that important. maybe the
important thins is to look right
at it. and laugh your ass off.
different energies
in different bodies
all with the same destination
all with different things
to leave behind.
he didn’t want anyone to know what was really on his mind
and that took a lot of energy
the thoughts swarmed inside him--like a cage full of monkeys--
or a cage full of parrots being shipped from south america to a pet store.
how do you keep these little gremlins from leaping out
at the most inconvenient times.
he ran into Jackson on the street and got asked how he was doing--
and there was a long pause--
a blank--
because he knew he couldn’t really answer such a question,
they’d be there for days, taking inventory of his plans and bad habits.
so, he usually simply said “o.k.,
I’m doing o.k. Jackson, I’m doing just fine.
how about you, my man.”
and Jackson would give the normal answers of a man
trying to keep every single thought inside his brain from leaping out.
Charlie felt like everyone in the world might as well be a secret agent--
not that he know what he was afraid they might find out. but,
he knew if people could see his thoughts--as if they were projected
on a movie screen--they might run away from him, screaming--or, worse,
laugh and point,
fall down, roll on the floor, stumble on the sidewalk with laughter.
><><><><>
a leaf falls from
a tree across the street in
the dark
lit by a streetlamp
a stray cat whispers and
disappears into an evergreen
a car tire squeels
you notice your tongue
would like the
sting
of whiskey
your plans for the evening
take a whole new turn
as your heart
beats time
to memories hidden
deeper than you
could ever
dig.
><><><><><><
bobby obsolete was getting a new channel on the super-portable TV he had in the closet. He kept that TV in the closet because he liked to have TV sound always filling his apartment--but he didn’t want the TV in the living room on all the time because he knew he wouldn’t do anything else. so he got the tiny TV and ran a wire into his closet and plugged it in and it was on all day and all night. he thought there was probably a part of his brain that was like that TV in the closet. always making noise--saying things he could vaguely understand but not always--sometimes muffled and sometimes just jangled noise of jingles from the jingle jungle, the TV desert of selling and buying. but now he was getting this new channel that would fizzle and splutter like a candle then snap in sharp for maybe two hours here and two hours there.....
I’m ready to live again
whatever that means
I want to take
a camera and a pen
and a tape recorder into
the world and leave
a stack of questions
behind
silence
so much silence
peaceful silence
restless silence
silence that soothes
silence that taunts and teases
silence that laughs joyfully
silence that laughs cruelly
silence all around the silence
and sounds inside the silence
that are part of the silence
the silence of loneliness
creating panic
making me want to call
but call who and for what
call her or him or her
or them
for what
a break
in the silence
to spill my brain thoughts
bounce them
off their brain thoughts
while their brain bounces off mine
call on a friend
to fill the silence with love
and the silence is no longer
lonely
you sit in the silence
and you wait and wait
not knowing what
you are waiting for
except a silence within
to match the silence without.
dream
now and then the veil is ripped aside
and I see who I am
through the eyes of someone I love
or who used to love me
I had a dream of my ex-wife last night
she was distant for a while
didn’t know why I was there and
wasn’t very happy to see me
I can’t remember what we talked about
I think I told her that I could understand
why she left, that I was really sorry
I was such a blind fool back then
we do the best we can given where we are
and sometimes the best we can do
falls so short of where we could be
without our even knowing
in the dream she showed me around
a little while and even apologized
to me for some of her behavior
and before I left I kissed her good-bye
a passionate kiss then the phone was ringing
and two or three people were calling her name
and we quit our kiss
and her friends were all around
they talked to her about the pressing matters
of the day in her world
and I saw my cue to walk away
so I walked by her and squeezed her hand
we looked at each other and went back
to our separate worlds and
as I walked down the street away from her
it started raining.
silence is everywhere except the hum of machines
refrigerator air-conditioner the huge, monstrous,
beast machines outside that eat
the street and dig up the pipes and ruin cars.
morning is always tropical even in the dead of winter
even in Canada the act of waking up is a
tropical act. the body wants silence and time
and pleasure in the morning. the sound of waves.
morning is a time to forgive yourself for all the
days before and for the day that will unfold
even when your schedule book is full with every minute
booked--the day is a mystery stretching ahead.
there is no way for you to know what will happen
the day is a mystery even when you project yourself
into the future and imagine everything that is
supposed to happen--you never know--you
can’t write the script of what other people will say
or what mood they’ll be in--
maybe your car will stall and you won’t
get to work on time--the minute you step
outside, the minute you open you eyes--even
if you are inside all day--a story begins to unfold--
someone calls or doesn’t call--your feelings
boil up and send smoke into the room.
thoughts and feelings like molten lava bubble and
boil constantly in your heart and your mind
and all that is random just a jumbled cauldron
of impressions and desires and ghosts
last night may be an image of your ex-lover
with another man and your heart contracts
and your brain is black and in the morning
you miss her and wish she were there beside you.
and the machines roar and pulsate and punctuate
the dull time breathing smoke from the pipes
sounding infuriated by everything that stands
in their way while harried grown men attempt to control them.
the activity outside the window is endless
will be endless until the end of the world
until there are no more windows--at night
nothing happens, or it happens slowly
and the season turning so finally there is a cloud
in the sky finally we aren’t bombarded by sun
and light this morning finally a cool thought
and a quiet light except for the restless machines
morning is a juxtaposition of desires and restless activity
the cluelessness and impatience of a new day
the fluttering landscape of too many possibilities
and the seeming inability to clear the calendar
clear the head and heart and celebrate the simple.
motion is fairly important but probably over-rated
it isn’t a matter of age anymore and never was
but that doesn’t mean anything in particular
#1
lightning fizzle again on backyard swing
memories drenched under heavy water
soaked to the gills like schools of fish
moving mouths rhythmically and silently
speaking only in air bubbles the mystery
lost once the bubble breaks the surface
no sound except water hitting water
rain falling and lightning running always
zig-zag never straight to the point
but point always well made and striking--
behind the picture window a match flares
and lights a cigarette another flash and
the power goes out and another match
lights a candle conveniently on the
table. Rivulets of rainwater running
vertically outside the window making
reflected face with cigarette distorted
staring out into the past into other
rainy nights now silenced by time
other rainy night with conversation
and touching and a certain odor of
perfume lingering more pungent in
the heavy damp air and the other
smell of animal wanting animal
flesh bites teeth tearing slightly
secret soft wounds in gentle places
and sounds of no language or the
universal language of pleasure and
passion and surrender and the lightning again
makes everything disappear.
based on the confusion of the moment
erased from the frozen phlegm in chest and nose
keeping him up late late into the night
what is the picture now little trooper
it is a mind going blank or feeling erased
i can’t help it i’m just describing experience
i saw her there i might have said hello
but i was trapped behind a different wall
go pumpkin go pumpkin
whereabout layabout
fire around the sound
impulse mechanic vagabond
he’s losing his dang mind
he’s losing his dag gone mind
he’s losing ground look at him
he’s pulling his hair and
pulling long faces and
he’s restless look at him
pace
><><><><<><
bobby obsolete was getting a new channel on the super-portable TV he had in the closet. He kept that TV in the closet because he liked to have TV sound always filling his apartment--but he didn’t want the TV in the living room on all the time because he knew he wouldn’t do anything else. so he got the tiny TV and ran a wire into his closet and plugged it in and it was on all day and all night. he thought there was probably a part of his brain that was like that TV in the closet. always making noise--saying things he could vaguely understand but not always--sometimes muffled and sometimes just jangled noise of jingles from the jingle jungle, the TV desert of selling and buying. but now he was getting this new channel that would fizzle and splutter like a candle then snap in sharp for maybe two hours here and two hours there.....
I’m ready to live again
whatever that means
I want to take
a camera and a pen
and a tape recorder into
the world and leave
a stack of questions
behind
silence
so much silence
peaceful silence
restless silence
silence that soothes
silence that taunts and teases
silence that laughs joyfully
silence that laughs cruelly
silence all around the silence
and sounds inside the silence
that are part of the silence
the silence of loneliness
creating panic
making me want to call
but call who and for what
call her or him or her
or them
for what
a break
in the silence
to spill my brain thoughts
bounce them
off their brain thoughts
while their brain bounces off mine
call on a friend
to fill the silence with love
and the silence is no longer
lonely
you sit in the silence
and you wait and wait
not knowing what
you are waiting for
except a silence within
to match the silence without.
dream
now and then the veil is ripped aside
and I see who I am
through the eyes of someone I love
or who used to love me
I had a dream of my ex-wife last night
she was distant for a while
didn’t know why I was there and
wasn’t very happy to see me
I can’t remember what we talked about
I think I told her that I could understand
why she left, that I was really sorry
I was such a blind fool back then
we do the best we can given where we are
and sometimes the best we can do
falls so short of where we could be
without our even knowing
in the dream she showed me around
a little while and even apologized
to me for some of her behavior
and before I left I kissed her good-bye
a passionate kiss then the phone was ringing
and two or three people were calling her name
and we quit our kiss
and her friends were all around
they talked to her about the pressing matters
of the day in her world
and I saw my cue to walk away
so I walked by her and squeezed her hand
we looked at each other and went back
to our separate worlds and
as I walked down the street away from her
it started raining.
silence is everywhere except the hum of machines
refrigerator air-conditioner the huge, monstrous,
beast machines outside that eat
the street and dig up the pipes and ruin cars.
morning is always tropical even in the dead of winter
even in Canada the act of waking up is a
tropical act. the body wants silence and time
and pleasure in the morning. the sound of waves.
morning is a time to forgive yourself for all the
days before and for the day that will unfold
even when your schedule book is full with every minute
booked--the day is a mystery stretching ahead.
there is no way for you to know what will happen
the day is a mystery even when you project yourself
into the future and imagine everything that is
supposed to happen--you never know--you
can’t write the script of what other people will say
or what mood they’ll be in--
maybe your car will stall and you won’t
get to work on time--the minute you step
outside, the minute you open you eyes--even
if you are inside all day--a story begins to unfold--
someone calls or doesn’t call--your feelings
boil up and send smoke into the room.
thoughts and feelings like molten lava bubble and
boil constantly in your heart and your mind
and all that is random just a jumbled cauldron
of impressions and desires and ghosts
last night may be an image of your ex-lover
with another man and your heart contracts
and your brain is black and in the morning
you miss her and wish she were there beside you.
and the machines roar and pulsate and punctuate
the dull time breathing smoke from the pipes
sounding infuriated by everything that stands
in their way while harried grown men attempt to control them.
the activity outside the window is endless
will be endless until the end of the world
until there are no more windows--at night
nothing happens, or it happens slowly
and the season turning so finally there is a cloud
in the sky finally we aren’t bombarded by sun
and light this morning finally a cool thought
and a quiet light except for the restless machines
morning is a juxtaposition of desires and restless activity
the cluelessness and impatience of a new day
the fluttering landscape of too many possibilities
and the seeming inability to clear the calendar
clear the head and heart and celebrate the simple.
motion is fairly important but probably over-rated
it isn’t a matter of age anymore and never was
but that doesn’t mean anything in particular
#1
lightning fizzle again on backyard swing
memories drenched under heavy water
soaked to the gills like schools of fish
moving mouths rhythmically and silently
speaking only in air bubbles the mystery
lost once the bubble breaks the surface
no sound except water hitting water
rain falling and lightning running always
zig-zag never straight to the point
but point always well made and striking--
behind the picture window a match flares
and lights a cigarette another flash and
the power goes out and another match
lights a candle conveniently on the
table. Rivulets of rainwater running
vertically outside the window making
reflected face with cigarette distorted
staring out into the past into other
rainy nights now silenced by time
other rainy night with conversation
and touching and a certain odor of
perfume lingering more pungent in
the heavy damp air and the other
smell of animal wanting animal
flesh bites teeth tearing slightly
secret soft wounds in gentle places
and sounds of no language or the
universal language of pleasure and
passion and surrender and the lightning again
makes everything disappear.
based on the confusion of the moment
erased from the frozen phlegm in chest and nose
keeping him up late late into the night
what is the picture now little trooper
it is a mind going blank or feeling erased
i can’t help it i’m just describing experience
i saw her there i might have said hello
but i was trapped behind a different wall
go pumpkin go pumpkin
whereabout layabout
fire around the sound
impulse mechanic vagabond
he’s losing his dang mind
he’s losing his dag gone mind
he’s losing ground look at him
he’s pulling his hair and
pulling long faces and
he’s restless look at him
pace
><><><><<><
diana said--where you taking me today, laslo?
lincolnville beach, i think
oh good. then we can go swimming.
well. . . maybe. . . it might be a bit cold.
will you buy me a new swimming suit?
it's really foggy. isn't the fog nice? and so chilly.
peaceful sort of. like full of oxygen.
will there be a lot of people there?
maybe we'll head on up the coast a bit too.
let's check into one of those funky old motels
with the little cottages somewhere.
that would be nice, diana, i'd like that a lot.
2.
--let's get lost
--i think we are lost, Diana.
---oh, good. now we can go somewhere.
--why do we need to get lost
to go somewhere
--because if you know where you are
you're already there. but if you don't
know where you are, then you have
to go somewhere else.
--oh. well. we'd better go somewhere
else then.
--do you think we can get lost there too?
--i think so, diana, i think we might even
still be lost when we get there.
3.
i saw you looking a that browie
it's only a camera, diana.
well, so am i
you're not only a camera, you're
something else besides
hmmmmph
you are. you know that
don't you?
no. i don't know that. you'd better
start convincing me.
4,
i'm drunk on shadows laslo,
what about light?
light too. . . but it's the shadows, you know?
it's the shadow that make me all woozy.
i thinik i know what you mean
what do they call this anyway
in the movies they call it the magic hour
what do the cameras call it?
opening up.
5.
what am i made of laslo?
you're made of stardust, diana, we all are
you mean you and me are made of
the same thing?
yep
someone said i was made of plastic
well, hell, diana. . .you gonna believe
everything eyeryone tells you?
6.
you think you have me in your pocket laslo
well, i do diana.
only literally. not even that. i'm in your camera bag.
i'm in your hands. but not really.
it's not like i own you or anything. i mean,
you want me to put you down
no. not that. i didn't say that. it's just. . .
listen, i don't know where you're coming from
most of the time. or what you'll make out of
anything.
just don't start thinking i'm predictable.
never that, diana, not that at all.
7.
what do you eat, diana?
i eat light. i drink shadow.
can you get fat on light?
no. i can eat all the light i want. but i have
to eat in very small bites.
what happens if you take big bites
oh. well. i don't remember. it all goes black.
i vanish. i faint. i pass out. i don't know.
sounds rough.
it's not serious. but. as they say is las vegas.
as long as you keep winding me and dining me,
it's all gonna work out fine.
8.
how many diana's are there.
just one. me.
but. i see you everywhere.
those. well. those are just other versions of me.
you mean you were the first one? the original?
oh laslo, let's not go there again. there is no first.
remember? or last. it's all the same moment, sweetie.
it's all one thing, one big gesture. it's all the same day, man.
but. it hought time was your whole deal. your whole
reason for being here.
oh. sure. time. but that's small time. it's magic tricks.
it's illusion. small time isn't real, laslo. i'm talking
about big time. the moment. the only one there is.
9.
are you crazy, laslo?
probably.
how do you know?
it's just a hunch.
what's the opposite of crazy?
totally insane.
10.
are you a machine, laslo?
what do you mean?
am i a machine?
i don't know really. i guess.
some might say you're a tool.
what's a tool?
something you use to do something with.
oh. i guess i'm a tool. am i a tool machine?
you're a mechanism
are you?
yep. pretty much.
what are you a tool for?
i don't know what i'm doing here really.
i think i'm supposed to figure out how to
wake up.
11.
what difference does it make if you wake up?
might not make any difference at all
i dunno. might make some kind of difference
like what would be different
well, you and me. . .if i woke up, we could
read each others minds. we'd be the same.
12.
have there been many other cameras?
yeah. many cameras. still a lot of cameras.
hopefully many more to come.
so where do i fit in?
you're different. you're a flapper. you swing.
a jazzer. you know?
where are we going then?
over the river and through the hills
to grandmother's house?
naw. it isn't there anymore. just over the river.
around the bend. where do you want to go?
someplace far away?
far away from what?
13.
what are you looking at diana?
everything. all the time.
but what are you looking at now.
i don't know what you'd call it.
is it the wall? the window? the woman?
not really. it's just the, uh, atmosphere.
14.
i want to be your camera
you are my camera, diana
i want to show you everything i see
that would be amazing, that would be great.
why do you miss so much? i se things and you
walk right by--then you stand around
looking at something so, i don't know,
literal
you have to plug into my nervous system,
my neurons, my dendrites, you've got to
tap into my heart
first you have to open it.
15.
you're not getting hung up on me, are you laslo?
why do you ask?
i wouldn't want you to go all gooey eyed on me
what. am i being too nice to you?
i hate it when people get jealous and possesive.
hey. you're a free entity as far as i'm concerned
you mean you don't care?
you need a rewind diana.
you need a new speed of film in your brain
well you're not going to get all romantic
and pathetic are you?
that's not it at all, diana.
i just want to see how far you'll go.
i just want to get past that edge.
i want off the cliff.
you know?
16.
you look depressed laslo
what are you thinking about
death. i guess. all these graveyards
all over the place.
yeah, why do people plant each other
bury. they bury each other.
do they think they'll grow back
next spring or something?
not exactly.
why then?
i don't know. it goes way, way back.
i guess it must have
made sense at the time.
17.
i forgot what i was thinking about
me too.
do we know where we're going?
not really. or, i don't. do you?
we're goign somewhere to get lost
aren't we?
maybe that's where we are.
no. i think it's a little further.
yeah. it always is, isn't?
just a little further.
do you remember what it was you
were thinking about?
um. noise. i think i was thinking about noise.
18.
if you could have anything, diana, what would it be?
a necklace
why?
i don't need it.
a luxury?
i like luxury. i can't help it.
nothing wrong with luxury.
i mean, i just love really expensive hotels
me too, diana. absolutely.
then, why aren't we at one?
19.
i want to be able to think like a camera
oh--and i suppose you think that's easy.
no. i don't think it's easy. how would i know?
in order to think like a camera
you have to be a camera
and to think like a human, you have
to be a human?
how would i know?
well. how do cameras think, anyway?
how could i be a camera?
do you have any film loaded? you might
want to load some film for starters.
20.
so who's this big lunk you're bringing along tomorrow.
you mean Hasselblad?
Hasselblad? what kind of name is that?
what's his problem.
you could call him hassey if it would
make you feel any better.
hassey. sassy. lassie. whatever.
why's he coming along?
just wanted to get his views on
a couple of things
listen, honey, i'm not riding in the back seat
just because this lunkhead is coming along.
no. of course not diana. take a chill pill why don't you.
it's only for a couple of days.
21.
you know, he's kind of cute?
i thought you might think so.
kind of clumsy though. no Fred Astaire,
that's for sure. but he does have a way about him.
yes. he does. he's got something going on for sure.
Diana Hasselblad. how do you think that sounds?
or do you think i should keep my own last name.
what is your last name?
oh. uh. i don't know.
well. that was easy.
what do you think?
well. your kids might have some problems adjusting.
other than that. . .
22.
do you ever know where you're going?
no. i pretend sometimes. but. whatever it is i think i'm doing
or wherever it is i think i'm going, i usually end up somewhere
else doing something else anyway.
do you make plans?
i'm not so good at that
why not
some people are good at that stuff, some aren't.
what are you good at?
i'm good at not knowing what's going on or
what's going to happen next.
do you really think so?
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
in pursuit of this something so silent called art.
first of all, i don't care for artists statements.
it's ludicrous in a way for someone to call themselves
an artist. who knows whether they are making
art, or just trying to get someone to listen to their
own personal situation.
of course, someone can call themselves an artist.
but. who really decides what they are doing.
ulimately, time decides. perhaps marketing.
for every great artist, i belive, there are thousands
who, had they been in a different place at a different
time, would easily take their place. if picasso had been
born in florida, for instance.
i'm probably not quite making my point.
communication gets more difficult everyday it seems.
there is so much noise. so much distraction.
no one listens. everyone is thinking of what they
are going to say next instead of listening to what
anyone is saying.
><><><><><><>
the wind is howling out
even the snow is cold
even the ice is gritting it's teeth
sea gulls whirl through the snow
trying to remember the smell of salt
the wind blows them like dust motes
and the trees bend and shake their hair
like young rock and roll stars
but it is freezing and frozen
tundra shine calls you out
you stumble and tumble
dr. zhivago slide on the ice
mumble her name
you want her hot feet pressed
against your belly
her words melting your brain and
the taste of her tongue like the
first taste of flame
when the universe began
she filled up the balloons with air. the tiny tiny young boy
stepped right up to buy his 3 dart chance at the balloons. she
gave him the darts and said--don't throw them yet. then she
turned to the board and found all the least inflated balloons
and blew them up real big. so when the kid threw the darts
and hit one, and then another, he could barely miss.
i told her it was nice of her for helping the kid out and
she said when they're so young like that she can't bear to
see their faces when they miss. they're just so sad, she said,
like they think they'll never get anything they want, ever.
so i try and help them out a little.
bank
the wind is blowing
some rain fell--
enough to wet the streets
and make the sidewalk
steamy.
I was standing in line
at the bank. I thought
nothing slows down
or stops
for a second
when
we’re gone.
inside the raindrop was a snowstorm
inside the cigarette it was summertime
the limousine drove through my memory
ran a redlight
and smashed into a billboard
advertising lipstick
The phone was ringing?the exclusive double-ring for the secret number his girlfriend Carlotta used.
Laslo looked at the bedside digital clock radio and was astounded that it read five a.m.
What? Are you kidding? Well. She was in New York City. Who knows.
Maybe there was an emergency of some sort. He got out of bed
and went to the phone and got there on the fourth ring just before the call notes kicked in.
--Hello
--Who?s this? (A guys voice. Calling at five in the morning. You answer the phone and say hello and the first thing you hear is, who?s this?)
--Who?s this?
--Who? this?
--What do you want?
And on and on with the confusion.
--You?ve got the wrong number, said Laslo, and hung up.
But the guy called back.
And so on.
.
speckle laughter daybreak diversion
i'm counting my toes in the dark
i'm hearing laughter in the other apartments
and someone sobbing outside the window
the moon glows like something mad
like an insane lightbulb owned by gypsies
and i see her face and smell her
but she is in some other room
in another city
i can't pronounce
><><><><><><><><<>
Um….
The circus tents are up at the edge of town. You can feel them.
You can smell them. They glow on the horizon like UFO’s.
Send colored light rays into the sky until way way way
past mid-night.
What are they doing in those great big red and yellow striped tents? Where did they come from? Where will they go?
I heard there were lions. I heard there were clowns.
Someone said a Hippo, or was it a Zippo . . . and a Rhinocerous
or something about Gargantua the Giant Ape Man, or was it
the Pretzel Man, and that Lady with a Beard, or she looked
like a frog . . . or the tigers ate the lion tamers feet.
There were screams last night. Some teenagers got lost and
some clown hiding in the woods made them drink a bunch of
whiskey until they were drunk and confused and Got Home Late
. . . he laughed a lot, they said, and disappeared into some big
trailer . . . they said he used to be a movie star.
And the roller-coaster almost jumped its tracks but didn’t, but still, you’d have to be crazy to get on that thing. . . .
><><><><>
Friday, May 24, 2019
massive bunch of old random bits to edit
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