Monday, November 28, 2011

page 17

a life of hard drinking a pursuit of hedonism at top of a downward drive contains more stamina to broke and without any friends it should be faced on the merits and not the impersonation I wanted to tell you before Saturday before December it’s not a shared hallucination the big thing is who lives and who dies supernatural the battle between good and bad an impulse that is happening they inject me with a truth serum and I speak the truth to you goes the victory I marvel at your ability to absorb things you turn and rain down bolts of lightning of blankness of wonder a single exaltation I thought you would disown everything and run from it all screaming down the halls yelling fire fire it was a revelation to me I could see the grave the round eyes the pursed lips the scar from the neighbor’s dog you used to frighten me with those looks of abandon how you would jump off the roof shouting Geronimo the happiness of being undivided so much of our lives gets segmented divided separate one from the other we are not whole things we a jumble of pieces haphazardly thrown together switching to another machine with fright drunk with the desire to watch the morning burst the dark house was unexpected Christ I couldn’t believe in you not like the others they see in you something that I find repulsive disgusting this thing of yours you pull it out and sprinkle it with salt and watch as they fall on the floor writhing in an elliptic fit a manifestation of your words I can see what is happening here it did not start this way but has developed in this matter I shall see where it leads me and run it to its destined course things will go as they may with or without my wishes all that I wanted to say vanishes you came to the bathroom and laid your head upon my shoulder you could fool me and I wouldn’t know it it is your deceit and treachery that I like so much it seems so aristocratic I was thinking that I should betray you but I can’t being introduced to astrologic circles one of god’s most useful creatures she puffs nervously her fingers searching curious George on a crime spree 12 Arnold grove spirits living in the material world only enough money to feed ourselves she was a lady in red dancing with the butler and tiny tim he drank a fifth of scotch and began to sing about an exhaustive conversation and that he could survive anything survive tigers and leapers and midwives with strange eyes who came around to his back door in the middle of the night pounding out their song with spoons and scrub boards the little one would blow a whistle and hop on one leg we would all clap our hands to the music it was a glorious time for beggars and thieves even though none of us could find a hope in hell I look up at the Hollywood sign seeing only cutthroats and the robber’s stone not speaking of vulgar gold and silver but of the metals that are alive Albertus Magnus a brazen head too charming to be snotty frequent flyer miles written on her face a worried look for the hours of entertainment reading the Vogue magazine and dreaming of a house on the beach giving somebody a buzz would you know what that was even without the proper context are the privileged upbringing only one chance in a million to know where the ducks went in the winter traveling incognito smoking a cigarette and looking at yourself in the mirror I’m rolling a spliff a big fat one for company and a smaller on for private be careful about crummy stuff sounding attractive on the telephone she made a date for another

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