Wednesday, November 30, 2011

page 27

a year ago I threw most of it away it didn’t make much sense any more she said over the phone that it was a delicate sort of problem I imagined that she was vanishing little by little everyday become more and more transparent you could pass hand through parts of her without resistance I had been waiting for this for years she said I was crazy and that hearing speak the words convinced her hanging jagged there is no change in me a short climb into the mountains the vast emptiness we marvel the past is nibbling at our toes we marvel some more September apples spots before my eyes no matter I stand alone the tiny room with the gaucho lamp reading a biography of Picasso the murmur through the trees the pursuit of nothing when I had nothing to give you nothing remains so vital in our exchange you wanted so much more from me but I only gave you nothing then you walked away once you realized that you would never get from me what you wanted I told you that I would love you forever but that wasn’t enough you wanted something else hammering away at your nail that used to hang your picture on the wall now all I have of you is this nail I threw all your pictures in the garbage I was trying to think differently to live differently to go beyond the normal boundaries of my life picking up a souvenir a t-shirt that says someone was here seeking oz the world had lost all sense of reality I had stepped into the unreal world again living in my private cloud this illogical dream the god of uncertainty snap click I have learned to depend on the liquid and impermanent swallowed overcast sky building a hospital in the Philippines what a nice guy almost like candy apple red a hot dusty wind with a gloomy diatribe gnarled trees beside the road I’m not sure tomorrow I will get it together like fragile animals a pile for the wood stove thinking about insanity how do I know a gentle smile played on the edge of town the truck broke down thoughts about my tattoo gigantic letters on a white wall taunting it is hard to say how I might react speaking of disclosure the words don’t came out I am watching a video on how not to blow myself up thinking about the king the dark side prophet hundreds of people passing through toast and coffee a modern revival opening their wallets and emptying their contents sick from drink and attitude dreams of my past life she was all smiles and I was grateful bringing me the dark words they were wrapped up in old newspapers to keep them fresh a strange witch doctor face  a hater of everything the planes the cars the telegraph the moving picture shows the boys with their red stars all of the penguins in the zoo there is no reason to get all hung up about typologies the witch doctor is trying to hypnotize me he is convincing me that I can do anything I asked him where I should bury betty’s bones he said in Calcutta the best place to bury a body is in Calcutta a nude drawing of betty was hanging on my wall I took that with me to bury with her body I used to get into her every other night and twice on Sundays it was a religion that required practice and repetition paying off my debts one stroke at a time burning the flesh sinking the nails between the bones holding the body up the splendid body standing on my head all my keys fell out I took my shirt off and hugged a passing stranger she asked me if I knew god I told her yes that he drove a green GTO and liked to smoke clove cigarettes I told her that she could probably find him down at the liquor

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