eighteen

Eighteen

18.1

You are an outburst of popular phantasy as you explode the reified dogmas of figuration, realism, and representation. This is genital enlightenment. Your claims to truth and human value seem exhausted. Bonnie cut her hair short so that she looked like a little boy. She had a belief in the constitutive power of the modern imagination. Bonnie would wear her brother’s clothes. She was working towards a breakthrough, an ultimate liberation of instinct and consciousness. She dwelled in the new Eden of polymorphous perversity. She was always kissing the girls in the schoolyard. We used to go there at night and smoke cigarettes and talk of the freedom that one day we would have. It is funny how everyone’s version of freedom is different. Freedom for some was an apocalyptic vision and for others freedom was something to celebrate. Bonnie wanted her freedom to have teeth and to bite into her flesh. You were practicing your witchcraft in the streets, a universal existentialist angst. That man left you with no choice. Your anger came from the depths of barbarism and the rubble of its cities. The people thought it was significant that you were carrying a knife. It was suggested that it was a sign of your intent. They brought up your past as a predator and a pariah. You have learned the ways of the tiger, the swan, and the monkey. We stand and wave at the passing cars. I sure am glad that you found me. I was lost until you came into my life. Now I see things more clearly. You have taught me how to smile and how to take my time.

18.2

It was something that comes from nothing. You came out of the primeval simplicity and became multifaceted. She, he, and me-what are these things from which we came out of? You are snorting your last line of heroin. We rolled a few joints and packed a few bowls. You are just like your uncle. He used to come over and shoot up meth in my basement. Bonnie has a headache from drinking cheap wine. Everyone thinks they understand you, but they don’t. They read their own lives into your biography. She wants to be co-opted into the hierarchy of the culture industry. She wants to leave her past behind. She is willing to cut throats and burn down all her bridges. She wants to rub shoulders with the president and have an affair with a senator splashed across the headlines. Bonnie wants to betray others for fame and success. She wants to become an icon and an industry. She wants a product line that she can sell on late night television. Bonnie is making plans to capture the adversary ethos of long ago. She is rising up the dead ghosts of revolution and resistance. She is still looking for a theory that couldn’t be proven. The stars were kind enough to die so that you could be born. You are a human turning into a monkey. You are a historical accident. You move so slow that it is hard for us to see. You turned into a runaway technology. Bonnie wants to be published. She wants to willing submit to her oppressors. She is willing to surrender her revolution for money. You are a miracle waiting to happen. Bonnie says she doesn’t want to die from the drugs and alcohol. She sees horrible things.

18.3

You are telling us about your plans to kill yourself. You are fearful of growing old. The thought of being an old woman is something you can’t imagine. Until then, you will work towards taking over the world. I once sent you a message, but you never responded. You are practicing your pop, rock, and sexual gestures in the bathroom at Club Rome. I am viewing you nine comments on your latest posted poem on facebook. Someone is commenting on the looking back to the past and how we think the past gives us meaning. You are comfortable with your past. I think maybe others can see this also. You sent me a picture of you and I put it on my workbench, so that I can think of you when I’m bending metal or grinding off a rough corner. You were swimming in the sea of opposites. I would call out to you, but you could hear me. I was afraid that the sharks would eat you. I didn’t know then, that you were your own worst enemy. It is ironic now that I think about. My locking you up in the fifth street apartment and the door had so many locks on it. We put or trust in the inventions back then. We used to believe in wood and steel and the fear in the hearts of others. Now we have learned to put our trust in words. You frequently denounced the infantile aberrations as we sat in the backseat of your car and talked about the mechanisms of modern love. You drew connections between love and warfare. In the gallery, there is a naked woman watching us look at a painting by Warhol. I am not sure who is the art, the woman, the painting or us. There is a light coming out of us. It circles around our middles like lighthouses. I wonder what kind of a warning we are giving out?

18.4

It was about someone’s missing tooth. The survivor was seen parachuting down into the trees on all of the channels. I was blinded by the smoke. He was smoking a big Cuban cigar at the press conference. He was thanking god for still being alive. He was denouncing his participation in the war. A general was giving him a medal and the band was playing too loudly in my ear. We all applauded when the little bishop in a green robe jumped out of the spaceship and gave a flower to the naked lady. I think she followed us from the art museum. I remember that she asked you for a band aid and you gave her a piece of gum instead. I was counting all the large pastel floating heads that were floating by us in the sky. There is a hat on the sidewalk for the collection. People are putting their spare change and some a dollar in the hat. There is a monster made out of buttons and pop bottle caps threatening the people. There is a fish riding a log. There is death helping an old lady cross the street. There is a happy cowboy and an angry clown. The cowboy donates some money and the clown doesn’t. The little school girl is walking far away from her home. She drags her red backpack behind her on the ground. There is lion with a human head. There is a jack of diamonds playing the banjo. Some of the people are dancing in the street. There is a little girl sitting on a mushroom. Her two front teeth are missing. There is a woman dying on a paper cross.

18.5

I plundered you vocabulary and supplanted your words with randomly generated mental images. I burned down your edifice. I abolished your style. I made you a criminal in the courts of law. I crashed your computerized memory banks. I am stealing your persuasive power. I am forging a variety of defensive strategies that can be used against you. You are an aesthetic dead end. I buried and mutilated your traditions in my backyard. I refuse to be limited by you in any way, shape, or form. I recognize the fact that your basic nature is both progress and destruction. We have been purged of your nihilistic and anarchic tendencies. There is a bird in a blue house pecking at your brain. There was a family with three girls. They all had big round heads. They talked to the salt and pepper shaker people. They gave small cookies to the little cardboard box man as we watched the blue girl jump rope. There were giant pencils outside, marching around the building. They stuck an astronaut to the side of the wall. He said that we should resist authority. In your eyes I have seen a new subjectivity, a new romanticism, a new myth. How can I criticize the existing order if you say there is no right or wrong? If there is no single evil to attach our animosity to, then what do we do with this life of angst? How do I get my ya-yas off? How do I find meaning in a meaningless world?

18.6

This is a revolt against reason. You have had your way for these many years and look what you have done with it? You haven’t done a god damned thing that is worth anything. You stand condemned as an elitist. You cling to a hope that doesn’t exist. You look for it under your bed and in your dresser drawers. We are making a life out of common things. There is no need for decoration and spectacle. We are sculpting the people into our own image. We went to see Mexico in the movies. To get in to the theater we had to pay the price of distinction. There was a tall building in the movie where a man jumped off of to get away from his Englishness. We watched the movie with Camus and his critics. I thought it was strange that he kept them around. After the movie we went to a bar and thought big thoughts. On one of the tables was the skull of Raphael, an example of the Freudian way of knowledge. We were curious about the details of how he saved himself. I think it was something about the resurrection of the last supper. Yet he still worshiped the Bloomsbury idols. Do we need to be motivated? Do we need a reward system?

18.7

Let the bones rot off of your flesh. Let the acid open your mind. Let fire be your only friend. Drink from the keg of misery. We have stolen four pitchers from the frat party. They didn’t see us coming. They were passed out on the floor. Oh, Bacchus reigns! Where are the girls with the pipes and tambourines? Let your gods visit you on your deathbed. They have skin that glows. Let hell rise up around you. Let your voice be filled with integrity. This hell grows out of the longing that is in your heart. You cannot make it be quiet no matter how hard you try. Hell will not be still. I am living on borrowed time. The clock ticks inside of me. Open my chest and see the clockworks. You can adjust the gears you can make me spin faster or slower

18.8

your body is an application of theory I noticed that you were imitating the ancients you were in love with the idea of infinite progress you joined your spirit with the spirit of absolute idea, the spirit-mind you overcome the new with novelty you understand yourself through the invasion of unknown territory, exposing yourself to shocking encounters with the cult of the present you exalted the new you are longing for the undefiled. Can you find such a thing Is not everyone stigmatized by stain you immediately recognize the decadence in your barbaric ways. This is not a time when messianic splinters are enmeshed. You life-world is infected. You have become a diseased individual, as you hang from the tree we are amazed by your completeness the dominant are dead they have sown the seeds of their destruction the trumpets have been blown and the seals have been broken the seas turn red with blood you say there are only three things, science, morality, and art these are the three kings that came to visit the baby Jesus on their way to Bethlehem they slew the previous kings of metaphysics and religion you are worried about my ability to read minds you don’t want anyone to read your mind and certainly not me you are thinking about cutting off my nose I am going to eat you I am going to take down into the depths of the earth I will roast you Hell’s fiery pit I am a rude little creature that has come seeking your love

18.9

I am listening to today’s scandals which will be tomorrow’s conventions I met you once in a time capsule the seal was broken and you popped out you invited me in for a drink. I stroked your time-space relations and you purred “fuck me” in my ear I showed you the abundance of historical material documenting the diffusion of my cock it is so much more than power-machinery I was giving you a more penetrating understanding it was my desire to regenerate the hope that you once swore allegiance to you are disgusted with my narrow view of spaghetti there is something else that lurks beyond the spaghetti, a true reason for the argument between us she I didn’t need to make such a show she was accusing me of making a scene just to impress her she didn’t know I wasn’t interested in impressing her I wasn’t very good at it anyway I’ve been working on it, trying to fix it do you live and breathe to hate she kicked me under the table I put Jean Luc Ponty on the turntable and lit up a joint I nodded at appropriate times and thought about other women finally I’m a kind caring human being the noose is hanging around my neck I asked her what she thought about investing in Lithium you tell me you are tired of thinking that you have no power you want to be more independent, more assertive next you tell me to get the fuck out

18.10

we were dancing in the streets it was your firm upper lip I stared at you as you told me stories of the afterlife you say we must transcend and learn to worship the goodness I fund something under your tongue I watched as you burned it all down you said that you did it for me I know that you are everything this life you say is a crisis, a rollercoaster, a tidal wave she crumbles into a million pieces pursing vengeance destined to fall crumbling pieces a beautiful woman into the night running wild inspired going and going wondering about the puppet games admiring the windows of deception the clowns happy dreams a concept let’s see what happens invincible with your gun by my side it is a live as she squealed with her jaw on the floor squeezing her thighs playing drums for the Standells top 40 deejays you turn me on at the tower of power the troopers kicking in the door they want to search my pockets a distraction Dixie cup champagne tripping on acid alien visitation bubble gum trading cards living in Lodi stirring hash the life of a compilation smoking the herb feeling the sunshine yes you are going to burn baby harvesting the hard liners I don’t mind that you sold your soul with another bullet in your head a death tomb this is the white house drive-by the shooter is wearing a willing smile driving into the fog gathering up the blue wasted hours a tempest in your mind my hands cannot hold your diamonds we live in this remote land with the memories of the loudness of the loyal betrayed by the blood I am a hollow mandrake a pitiful baboon throw your wished at me and I will devour them you are not free you have no conception of freedom to blossom in the loosening of the ghost I tread upon the smoke and the water feel the history in my heart

18.11

a poor salt slug it is Brutus closed by the perishing and leaping like the bold as I dwindle into the sea I have longed for your solid swell your darkened edge a vague soul of dark tosses and amber eyes that borrow the toils of my blood lust the self still suffers and I will be an afternoon of sorrow and no more I wash the pale into my soul a numb rage this tragic thing of greed and chemistry I am like the aimless dead they touch me with their curled up and dream thoughts I have learned to stoke the fires of hell and to sink the bird into the clouds to hope for a soothing throat a wandering wound a grieving vein I have looked into the eyes of your womb and saw love a wet vicarious assertion insert here it says and taste the human blessing for your disenchantment weeping at the pressing loves and the torn pages of an old forgotten book tonya is cooling the windows in a pie and singing to the famine she walks in the light of a pallid thief the midnight goat speaks and we gather around the urn of rolling grass I will save you someday but not today I am too busy for cold wars and stinging words of bullshit tonya’s pie is steaming I am screaming and the baby is lying to the conqueror I pull the knife out of your back the brutal focus of your raw language you talk about the value of a writer’s work as if it is a marketable commodity fuck this you can’t market me and my words they belong to the word and not to some corporate asshole

18.12

I lost my mind got blood in my head jump up into the air my fucking head dancing in mud I shot my friend memories fade and so does my blade a shotgun in my hand I am a dangerous man you don’t have to run I’ll give you until the count of five I’m wanted dead or alive waving my pecker at the consumption engine this is human extinction the end of the line this is the day that you throw it all away that primate is watching you pick up that big stick this is making me sick like your silence I am filling you with noises of the bastard son let me cut you down from your noose I’m dropping another bomb on your head splitting you open fuck you and your fake freedom your dime bag distinctions worrying about your cool this aint no republic you don’t get a vote watch another soap opera strangle on your spit I’m shooting my gun in your backyard shooting at your next door whore she sold her soul for a hemorrhoid commercial now she is begging me to shoot her again and again she has her high heels on and a blondie t-shirt her lipstick is smeared across her cheek tattoos a hammer and a pink nipple ring I suck on her for hours tithes and cupcakes and her pierced tongue she wants to give me her street sign another spell bound mother fucker I’m riding her high drinking from her bottle of jack Daniels genitals and the gun tattoos on the back of your legs I strangled her on the roadside it was a circus show we charged everyone 12 bucks watching a thrasher movie while you drink a root beer float I called roter rooter to clean out your drain twelve straight days of fucking and I need some more cocaine for my nose I’m examining your angel wings they look so real are you a fallen angel you are licking my pole showing me your hole telling me to make a deposit to stay for a while you say it’s warm inside these are the days of retribution you crazy fuck a good lay strapped down to the table oral fixation your big mouth going down town I’m sticking my thumb up your asshole a half grin I spit on the dildo and shove it in we do this twice a night three times on Sundays we are the opening act at the beaver barn bertha is the main attraction she swallows a whole man and shits him out on stage I’m still trying to figure that one out I am creating an arbitrary choice the physical properties of cause and effect I started to wonder at that point a proposition a rock so large that I can't lift it going back in time and killing myself everything within my environment every chunk of matter having it calculate the future my machine god fluctuations the result of the interaction of material telling what I will pick a little demonstration likes to curse as I go to bed just finished off a case of crazy the meds make me a little light headed my dirty little rich girl driving her vette into the lake wearing my sex bracelet an epidemic of fisting Dr. Phil antinatalist black metal trying to impress the steam punk girls it was a double impact wrench tightening down

18.13

I moved my penis and discharged some semen I thought of you as the last drops fell from the end of my cock there is a wolf in the woods and she doesn’t want to hear about my erections and the latest sports scores she was advertising in art majority the corpses of my stomach it was nothing personal on the last train from down town a face frightened in the mirror I am tired of this a dark silent net I am trapped captured by your charms no it was just your words that I chose to believe in I believe too much for an agnostic there is a blinking thing in my pants soul stew an angel as fresh as new day cream grave digging with my friend she said my hat was making her hot so I took it off and gave it to a stranded motorist his car broke down for lack of oil I thought the hat would shade his head for the sunshine (the auto correct on this thing is odd) a shaved head with no hair my walkman is going through the alphabet a misplaced letter between two lovers I don’t know what it means picking her own bone justified by doing what I told you fuck you I won’t do what you tell me a first in the face I am your enemy you better know me well fuck the normal your central tendency there is no land for the free I am writing my book of tears I this ugliness that comes out of you when you attacked the people at Disneyland I found god in the bookstore she was buying something from Anais Nin she makes me feel I am watching moron tv with my feet up on your coffee table my numen sits and watches me you want to be clever you try so hard cleverness is so tied up into your conception of self the sense of daily living a whistle in my ear gather up your children young lady and sell them to the medical company everyone needs a good placenta I am making the inner figure on your couch the soul never thinks without a picture the soul is like a dog in that way this work is being accomplished with true imagination (imaginatio) a realm of subtle bodies I am the particle and you are the wave she wants it all every last drop of it she licks it all up with her happy smile showing me her appreciation she serves pancakes at the high street mission and all fred can say is phat as willie hangs from the rafters I’m watching you lay your body down we are already dead you cry as we bleed out in the streets as the pin medals on the cop’s chests and salute freedom that they took away from us if this is freedom than I never did have none