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i had forgotten. it was so long ago that i'd forgotten. and now, very ill at nearly 4 in the morning, i remember. because your face floats in like a memory fever suspended by certain specific needs i sweat you out. you rise from me like steam from a raging boil. and i would like to see you go, goodbye, on your way, a certain gone in that. this is necessity in no one, sir: tend to arms... rain... tit... grand? oh these histories are just dreams, same, long, shot in silver... everyone i've ever loved waiting there with you.
i've finally gotten some sleep. my fever broke last night and i was able to keep down the soup. i'm starting to recognize time again though on the few occassions i did wake up it felt like forever since i'd last woke and now it feels like i slept for days. though i'm still exhausted. my body aches. and i'm coughing something up. but i have a cigarette anyway, it's been awhile and M is still asleep. the smoke actually feels good on my raw throat. i'll have a good cough over this one later. Next door a tractor starts.
This Gentle/Man is but half true. He is half a man cut in two. These mild ghosts light cigars and order thought and feeling while you my child starve and go invisibly mad. You should write a screenplay. On other beaches women tossed their hair against the bright blue and the deep blue. Unending fires burned in the seas of planets too distant to name. Dogs stood rapt, alert to the master's voice. Lovers kissed and whispered things. The last light seemed to fall at the edge of land. Now you'll have nothing but the masks you can make.
She was so completely and utterly full of shit that she bit her lower lip and cast her eyes upward while she twirled her pencil in her hair. She wanted to write about the coffee shop today but then there was that really weird guy there in the corner who looked like a terrorist. She tucked her sweat-pantsed leg up under her while she wondered why that man had not been put to death. She pulled her hair back tight and scrunchied it high. She took a deep breath and let it out very slowly. She began to type.
Is the assertion that you try to avoid cliche a cliche in itself? Nevertheless, I began sleeping with my very good friend's (also drummer in my band) girlfriend just when we were all making plans to relocate a few thousand miles west. The thing is, I really didn't want to go. I was opting for home (San Francisco) or struggle unto fame and glory - albeit the tasteful kind - (New York). I am now married to said hussy - ex-girlfriend of ex-drummer and ex-mistress - and live in the Mission. I am unemployed and am now certain that I will never be a rock star.
I've had a lot of jobs. I've been a fry cook a pizza chef a sandwich maker... a delivery boy a stockboy a busboy... a nurseryman a warehouseman a doorman and an ice-cream man... a truck driver a cab driver a towne-car driver... an attendant an assistant a custodian... a teacher a reader and a scorer... a dogwalker a firewalker a streetwalker (the last two, not what you're thinking... and nowhere near as interesting)... I've worked in bookstores and in a coffee house and even telemarketed for 3 hours once. But the best job I ever had was a blow job.
her genius is a secret that i keep from her. if she ever could see herself from my eyes she would know too much then and leave me to my mortal coil. i don't ever try to hide it from her but i've become comfortable knowing she won't believe me. i think at one time i almost had her convinced. but she's tricky and she turned it around and made as if it were i that was god-like and pure. she even had me believing it. now i just play dumb and relish the heat of her protean glow.
she paints pictures of me from old photographs. past lives lived while she was still a child. she was there though, somehow, despite all temporal and physical law. i don't feel i need to fill her in. she gets the room. she can smell the smoke and taste the pastries. i tell her who was there but she knows already and doesn't care. she makes it seem like i was alone anyway. it looks like i've always been alone. i think she knows that. she gets it. she was always there with me. she turns me into a super-hero.
My uncle died today. He was my dad's last brother. He was the first guy I ever heard called a bachelor. He moved out to L.A. in the early sixties. He worked as a dispatcher for a hardware company in Glendale until he retired. He liked golf and the ponies. He'd go to Santa Anita and Hollywood Park. He drank tomato beers and then one day it was just Mr. and Mrs. T's. Right around 50 he finally married a nice lady named Irene. I was the best man. I got married six months ago and he couldn't make it.
My uncle died yesterday but it was also my cousin's birthday. The other side of the family. My brother didn't show up. And when I called right around dinner time he wasn't home and his girlfriend sounded like she was either crying or asleep. She said he was having a hard time with it. I told her to have him call me tomorrow. Today is tomorrow and I called him at noon. He still hasn't called back. I'm going to drive down to L.A. with my parents. I hope he'll go too. But then with my brother you never know.
i was numb in a smoke stained room. i crouched quietly there i couldn't move. she came in from the sun, she said hello to everyone. i told her about the clearance thing, the thing in texas. she wasn't mad at me about it. I took the bus to El Farolito. she started working on the painting of me. matt and i talked about torching the car in an old orchard and the audience for emily. i shaved my beard. she wouldn't talk to me and then we fucked. it was like heroin. she's still awake. the cat wants in.
I've got bad luck. i've got this black angel that rides with me. things befall me that defy explanation. i'm not starving and i haven't lost any limbs. i'm not saying it's unbearable. so maybe it's the other way around. i've got a good angel who keeps me from the depths. maybe the two of them fight it out. i never really cared before. now i need things to go my way a little more. just a little, i'm not asking for the lottery. i'm considering prayer. i'm only considering it. it's time for the good karma to kick in.
i had lunch with my dad today. in this little bar and grill across from the old seals stadium. we have trouble talking. we do o.k.. i think he's afraid to ask me questions. so i get him talking. i ask the questions. i asked him about my uncle. and then i asked him about his father. he said a few things. he's more interested in the present. and the future. he's lived his life for the future. now he's about to retire. suddenly he has no idea what he's going to do. i suggested gardening. he thought about it.
i am suddenly without words. i have become aware of the pervasive darkness. i see that i do not. i am neither cold nor alone, i do not fear. i am through with seeking. opening my eyes i will try to see what i have not. i will try to hear what i could never hear. i will remain aware of this darkness. the darkness of all that we see but do not. the darkness of that which we think is light and sight. the darkness of the self in which we drown. the future is the most dangerous lie.
They found her somewhere in Hollywood. I think it was 1979. They called my father. She came to live with us. This is how i lost my innocence. I don't know if she was evil. I don't know if I would have thought so then. I was afraid of her. And I was utterly infatuated. I recall my corruption in shades sometimes quaint and in others hellish. I cannot say it was her will that lead me. It was my corruption. Children died in her care and she now is living out a life sentence somewhere in Colorado I think.
I found out last night that my wife is fucking my old, good friend. We just celebrated our 6 month anniversary. His wife gave birth to their second child a month ago. They went to motels. She and I went to motels too, when she was cheating on her boyfriend, an old, good friend of mine. She says she doesn't love him, she was hiding, she's got a problem. We're going to counseling to try and work it out. I still love her. She's got a problem. I've been alternately a bastard and a saint. I'm drinking alot of whiskey.
about ten years ago i began praying to the hindu goddess kali. i meditated with the mantra om kang kalika nama. i was supporting myself as a thief then and among her many beautiful and terrible aspects is her status as the goddess of thieves. i had her image tattooed to my left arm. i believed very strongly in her power to cut off the head of the spiritually indolent and to grant rebirth to those she deemed worthy of a second chance. i have ignored her in recent years. she has rightly taken my head. om kang kalika nama.
e-mail and the telephone, the couch, the desk, the back porch. shuffling around with a bottle and a cigarette... the dog follows and then the cats. she's to tell him today, they'll see each other. and then they'll see each other nearly every day after that. she said she'd be cold, just lay it out, no tender goodbye. i imagine looks across the office, entreaties from the bastard to "just talk." sitting out back i watch the blind cat punish the other for straying too far. she sniffs her and then she gives her a good one on the face.
We're making love again and as she curls in my lap she tells me she is mine. I found his letters and I crumpled them in my fists and threw them in a garbage can on Valencia. I drank a bottle of white wine and at Dolores while Henry ran I made up an Irish drinking song to tell the tale. on the bus going up Mission I missed my stop imagining forcing her to their house and exposing them before poor A. When she came home tonight I only smiled, we kissed and I told her I loved her.
She was late. She made a point of telling me she'd be home at this certain time. At two minutes late I said, "ok, she's two minutes late." 5 minutes later I grabbed the whiskey. At fifteen minutes late I was drunk and I stalked out to the street with a big thick glass full of bourbon that I was gonna throw through his windshield when they pulled up. I stood on the corner in after work traffic watching every direction, every direction meaning a different lie. The flagger in the intersection eyed me worried. Whiskey spilled down my chest.
I'm going to meet him for coffee. Coffee. I don't have anything to say. Why am I giving him the satisfaction? I don't care what he feels. I want him to know that she is the flower of my heart and souls yearning. This was not a rite of passage, marrying her. I'm not the cynic and realist that he is, marrying when it's time, practical. I married in spite of their codes and habits. I married in my church, before my god, who burns and sacks every institution with glee and true love. Right now, he is the anti-christ.
How could I see you and move off to nothing? You can't hold this and then put it down. Your flesh, your mouth, your sea of eyes. This heart that flutters in my palm and hides awhile in books of lies. You sleep too much baby but i'll be back tomorrow. I've left notes to just such knowing. I blanket you for another chapter. Like morning on some harbor freeway. The lunatic in the backseat and the sunshine nearly tears the storm in two and a child's truth will get us through. Windows down, laughing as the tears fall out.
i said do what you need to do. The telephone rang and the telephone didn't ring. One week of matrimony and the towers fell in on themselves. You don't fucking get it I said. I said it's over it's over it's over. And then I said that again. I only wanted to go to sleep. I checked the clock a few times. I thought about what I could take. There are so many things one might want when everything seems available. The truth is in time and a third person. Finally I called his number. Put her on I said.
cocaine booze sex love money fear house baby quiet life work boredom bills pills guilt pain desire fantasy truth love responsibility debt doubt anger food health art passion god wage sin tax rage beauty excess lack love death loneliness nothing everything hunger pages sanity paint music color fun filth quest love sun moon fall spring water sound tears wasted faith reason insanity mastery delivery control loss love thirst solitude need pretense lies heart mind multitude mischief frame wreck wound heal love begin quit flounder succeed pretend grow struggle waist eat die suffer awake beyond tomorrow today love her you me
He writes like Barth aping Pynchon if he swallowed a Nabokov (no offense dear Vladimir). Like a professor in other words, who has a lot of style, wit, aplomb... but very little balls. This was a love letter for fuck's sake, or a lost-love letter, the last love letter. He appended fucking foot notes. Very clever, ha, ha ha ha, cute... Your ironic pose only puzzles the page, poor scrivener. A simple "let me fuck you one more time" might have proven more effective and to the point. Meta-tragedies only tell of tears that might fall if they're there.
There is no end soon. I only resent it all, really. For being there while I love her this way, while she smiles there, clay faced and new. She will never stop surprising me. Her capacity for blood is unparalleled. And yet she needs me so, she yields when I ask her, she is strong in her penance. I can't abide my own needing. She gives me everything, why am I clutching? I'm tired of suffering. I only want her again, none of this shit... I wasn't around anyway, I was hiding at poker tables and in less human places.
It was after Raising Arizona, in the lobby, she with a friend. They looked so young and she looked awkward, but in a sexy way. I didn't think more about it, she was this girl my friend had come back for, I was living with a woman then. We had them over for sushi. K went to sleep early of course but P, J, C, she and I drank on my balcony arguing gender politics. I was annoyed and found her naive and opinionated. It was a couple years before we'd become friends. When she started to confide her infidelities.
We all drank together. There was a revolving circle of about 8 or 9 and we'd usually end up at D's place and listen to records. She is very sexy, she exudes this need, becomes very (consciously and unconsciously) seductive after a couple of drinks. I knew that D was trying to make her. And P of course was always hard up and inappropriate. So there were these men and sometimes her the only woman and her boyfriend - the sweetest, funniest guy - always seemed so oblivious of this electricity that just arced out from her and pulled us all in.
I'd been watching and listening... I was aware of her. She was nervous too, we were talking excitedly about sex... about desire. She was talking to me, I was talking to her. I was profoundly aware that I should kiss her, that if I did we would pull off on some side street and fuck there in her car (I was driving). I didn't, we didn't, but I began to realize I had been in love with her for some time. we'd left D's for the liquor store, just she and I. I was nervous, I'd never felt like that.
So much broken glass. The kitchen window through which last night I put a chair. The martini, the wine, the rocks. Her grandmother's amber candy dish. The mysteriously jagged neck on that bottle of tequila. The picture she found at my mother's, of me in Wyoming by the highway, clouds around my head. All the many cups and dishes she's thrown to the floor until they were just another part of her vocabulary. Were there any mirrors? There must have been... I seem to remember a mirror at some point. It might have been as long as seven years ago.
I'll write tonight though it's only been the 31st for just over an hour. Tomorrow will be spent with family, a car ride with my parents, a dinner with my grandmother, my aunts, my brother. I don't want to write about them tomorrow when I come home. I'll only want to write about this and I'll have spent the day pretending that this is not around. She'll be with me and at certain moments we will catch each other's eyes and see we are not what we pretend to be. And then we will turn and respond to a relative.
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