31 October 2010

My work shirt is especially cold on the shoulder of the sleeve where I have wiped the running phlegm from my nose repeatedly. In movies, tears make a woman’s face sort of, shine.

I am surrounded by all of my things in my room. That is, they’ve got me surrounded.

My body appears, to someone, as a collection of bits. He or she waters them from the higher up place where he or she must is be.

When it is I who is crying, I find that I must comfort those who witness me. Just tears, only tears, I’m okay, just tears, only tears, etc.

I can press my naked hand into the back of a naked man and feel nothing. This is the magic trick of isolation.

Many things that I own are sharp. Good.

I am in agony in location A. I think about location B, and how I will remain in agony there. I mill about.

Everybody hangs up the phone. Everybody goes home.

"Severe, Recurrent"

fingers, and toes, cold.

and hands and arms and shins and thighs and shoulders neck head waist and chest.

comforted i guess to find it here still here

since every one is far away.

since every sound is underwater

amplified and distorted.

as the colors run flat,

as the hills leave me breathless but don’t look like anything,

a bird, a bee, disintegrated.

tremendous strain forcing my bones together.

the sounds i make are creakings,

like muted little shriekings.

escape velocity

make it out alive, or with your life, or hanging on to your life.

hope is a right angle.

made it out alive, made it out with my life, made it out because I saw my life remaining.

hope is a right angle.

I am a satellite, oh death, oh god.

oh death, oh god, oh gravity,

breathe in, breathe out, automa

ton, life is, and I am locked inside it.

a Sea-side-satellite, I came here to live

I came here to die, I came here

.

there is nothing I did not come here to do.

here is my life in a knapsack.

here is my, life, in a knapsack.

oh death, oh god, oh gravity,

from the rail tracks I feel that around me everything is in singing, still

no dear buzz would dare knock me off

track. hope is a right angle.

I awoke here.

shock abandoned me,

I felt my spine dislodged here.

I awoke here

in the agony

of dreams dismantled.

friend on the phone

‘Afraid I’m not gonna figure it out,’

I would say to my friend on the phone.

What I would tell him probably would be

something like,

“It’s kind of like a forbidden romance.

I loved it, it loved me back, and our love was perfect;

but it was what everyone else thought we should be that ruined it

that made these impossible demands.

And now it’s too late,

I abandoned it, this is why it no longer touches me,

plays with my hair, holds me at night,

because I left it when I left there.”

And probably, “And now here I am,

here I am

everything around me is different,

and I am different, I know because I barely recognize

that person in those pictures,

except for the one lingering thing, that long string

of hatred strung from my own lungs around my throat.

I’m afraid I’ll never figure this out.

What should I do with my time?

I make enough to eat and enjoy a few things,

but the unhappiness caused by making enough to eat and enjoy a few things

during that time, what I am, all I am is unhappiness.

Follow your love,

do honest work,

miserable, irresponsible lies.

What should I do? What should I do

today while I am?

Because, I mean, I believe

that I am what I do,

that my life is how I feel

now, and every time that is now,

so that if I work hard for some end

but am weeping all through the hard work

what I am, even if I do manage to succeed in the end,

what I am is tears.

What I am is tears-

only that.

If a bus hits me while I’m weeping,

all I was is tears.

Man, I don’t know

except that the people around me

I want to make happy

and the time by myself

is filled with so much color and cold blue steel of feeling

and the pain of that steel piercing my stomach

is the pinpoint of a burning reality

like the focus of a magnifying glass under the sun.

Man, I don’t know

how best to deal with the love I feel for the people around me

or the exuberance of the colors

and especially not the urgency of that cold blue steel I feel,

the urgency of the hard, sharp syringe-like center of being-

what to do with that,

because I guess all in all that’s 

all I care about.”

I’d say to my friend on the phone.

Mouth

Mouth

(is red)

Apple

Pedestal

-

Mouth

(is)

Out

Sound

-

Mouth

Open

Open Mouthed

-

Mouthed

Muted

(alors)

Sounds

Out

Mouthed Out

(volume turned)

Down

-

(look)

Down

(.the)

Mouth

-

(follow the red)

Apple

oh my god

oh my god there’s something wrong with all of it.

why is the knowledge that if I get up on time, arrive on time, complete the exercises on time, and properly fill in the proper forms then I will have my success oppressive?

oh my god there’s something wrong with me.

why is it that the more I try, the harder I try, the more I despite and despite and despite ad-ver-si-ties keep trying, the worse I am at the thing?

oh my god god bless your nonexistence.

were your grandiose godly body to cast shadows in stencils on this earth I’d have to spend my days afraid of stepping wrongly on them.

oh my god there’s something wrong with all of it.

today I have eaten good bread and done good work and kissed a good man and if life is something else I don’t aspire to it.