CHAPTER THE FOURTH

[foreshadowing]:
i'll meet you at the bottom.
started at the bottom now we're still at the bottom.

k. back to the start.

i am not a purist.
i am just like whale,
tell myself: huge
and everslowmoving
and at peace.
i will tell myself that again later on.
this, a task never-ending until it washes ashore.

trains roaring making impression like
dumb luck or imprints of teeth on skin.
flowers stolen from storefront
(me, innocent)
yelloworange telling me i don't know what i want
and that that's really okay.
yelloworange maybe here to repel ghosts
or bear witness or shout at me.
not as quiet
as one might think.
flowers next to candles unlit
glib in morning light.
still life blasé
sitting in apartment mumbling
shitforbrains
shitforbrains
shitforbrains.

twentyseven bones nuzzle up to her
pelvis. that big bone.
drowning dried out dumb stumbling thrusty grabs.
need to have my cake and eat it too.
love me.
get text and think of
other night warming
up and fucking in hot shower after
rooftop cigarettes and
drinking beer even after she brushed her
teeth. left me in bed when she left for
work and i watched big New York Snow
fall for first time. window
she would later drop her phone out of
and the phone survived. third story.

7. past sore; raw now.
8. uiscue beatha (gaelic) : water of life

didn't sleep last night. nothing to report.

purgatory all riled up.
[1. the proud
2. the envious
3. the wrathful
4. the slothful
5. the covetous
6. the gluttonous
7. the lustful]

9. breathability and readability

open windows mean nothing.
no time for love,
no time for dreaming.
(dreamin, dreamin).
spring's coming though
and everyone's talking about it.
hell has slipped away. and
instead, pictures of pretty girls.
and pretty girls present.
drinking the angel's share.
a love triangle or two.
not worth it.
rolling around in bed
fucking or thinking too hard.
memories or jpgs or dried cum.
all that's left sometimes.
all i want to do is drink smoke and fuckfuck.
but time to get back to work.
lazyfuck
lazyfuck
lazyfuck
ladyluck
ladyluck
ladyluck

as luck would have it. proximity shrinking.
condensing to a breaking point. (almost there).
imagining having money. making it rain, sleet and snow.

interrogation. and embarrassment.
cyclical and spinning dizzy drunk.
here is what i've donedonedone.
a lot of clothes on the floor. whole lotta nothin.
napping. or, rather, saying shut-the-fuck-up and trying.

ides of march past, and april,
the cruelest coming. fucking
lilacs and i won't be fooled this time
by the dead land and memory
and desire and spring rain.
first day of spring past, and
we all start out dead
and get dead again later on.
i had not thought death had undone
so many. and i thought that
that was eliot's but
he borrowed it too.

caution where caution due.
things mostly in order
except several parking tickets
and taxes due soon.
spring here and, like
high hopes, leaving much desired.
baby steps, we'll get there.
tomorrow one degree higher.

told me about her poems
with birds last night.
then we played pool,
lost several times,
and after one game
i said
what shit. nobody
wins. ask
Caesar.
and nobody asked.
and now i think of
her then
sitting and writing
her poems,
maybe smiling to herself.
but can't envision it,
her before such loss.
with this many
windows, six,
one would expect more
light on a day like
today. this morning
S slept til after
noon in the sunlight
that beats on
my bed, but
the sunlight wakes
me up.

of funerals:
celebration of or submission to the
death bag.
like man coming after us one by
one. makes
me think up
those i've been very
fond of
and think up
them dead with like
faint shadows of clouds
rolling over their faces
with maybe open
dead eyes.
open eyes that
wouldn't recognize
me. we all start out
dead and get
dead again later on.

herds of sheep in
big open land,
like on some rolling green hills,
and only a shepherd out there
with em, and
shepherd's not
thinking too hard about
what's goin on.
kind of like natural instinct,
or something of the sort,
all around.
maybe that's what's up.

clouds, too, up there,
similar fluffy white look,
and sometimes, if the sun
and the clouds are moving
the same way across
the sky, then there's some kinda parallel
with the shepherd and sheep thing.

notions of fidelity.
of how some people
come so close so quick.
then the regrettable things
flooding. not regretting them
per se. kind of thinking about them
loosely. baggy notions. maybe that's right.

furrowing my brow.
thinking too hard.
thinking too hard.
just, yaknow, stop.

watching cats from fire escape.
sometimes they stop and
watch each other in tense little crouches.

in my room i lay there listening to her sleeping sounds and imagine her in another bed. there are not sleeping sounds in the imagined room. i get up and smoke a cigarette out the window and drink whiskey hoping to get some sleep. i get back in bed and in the dark i look at the ceiling light and it looks like eclipsed moon but not moving. i stand up and drink more whiskey and look out the window and lay back down on my back beside her not thinking so much about other beds, but still instead of hold her i roll over with my back to her and, the way my arm is curled up in front of my face, when i breathe out through my nose it feels like she's stroking my neck with one of her fingers and it starts lulling me to sleep, but instead of let it i get up and write it. priorities.

furrowing my brow.
thinking too hard.
thinking too hard.
just, yaknow, stop.

10. at least i'm still writing.

volatile. asking for
a little place to
curl up. a place
to pretend to be
sick, or to feel like dying,
but not die.
a certain comfort in
a place like that.
a place like that.
because then the rest
of it, all of
it out there,
seems better.
seems better fit
for venturing into.
phew what a relief.
reliefreliefrelief.

(w)reckless. shakin that bottle up.
maybe open it real slow and go for a swim in it.
bottled up but plenty of depthdepth.

pocket full of false hope.
giving gifts unrelentingly.

imagining the comfort of
true love at death.
not jealous anymore. just
sad. the rollercoaster ride is
over and i'm just like
sitting at the bottom
and everyone else has
left.
depression is so boring without
cocaine.

12. never have had my cards read.
(edit: now i have).

yeah, never have.
trying to do things that are
"more singular and
aggressive and
immediate."
like a quote from something
out of context.

14. exhaled the same fumes i inhaled.

supporting the artist
or enabling the addict.
cheers to that. and
another bourbon neat
please. and [fuck]
how have i lost all
that love i had.
that love i had.
and the thing that really
sticks out
right now
when i think back
is sitting on her couch,
(a different her now, from long ago),
her sad
and me wanting to fuck.
[fuck]. and only because i
knew [thought]
i couldn't do anything about it.
and me thinking and saying
not everything has to be
so tragic. [fuck].
it's funny (not really)
it's been so long
since i've seen her
and i still picture her
clearly, but
she might have gotten new glasses.
i don't know.
i like the glasses she had.

15. spring sun sprung.

cannot separate sex from emotion. won't even try.
ladyluck come back. lazyfuck. go get her.

no leaves yet.
still haven't left.
fallow as fuck
i guess.

love et lust.

i go someplace
and sit until
chair leaning and
a fall backwards
into the thralls of passion
again like
months ago. like
that eyes-meet-
jaws-wide-
hands-squeezing.
like that warmth inside
her mouth,
her body writhing,
back arching,
and hand grabbing and
pulling at my hair
whatever else is close by.
why can't we do this all the time.

i choose a book carefully and start reading aloud: "This is the story of Danny and of Danny's friends and of Danny's house." my voice not as shaky as i'd expect.

16. more than one way to skin a cat.

we were
born into this
back on that other
coast. and
i haven't been able to
put it into words
or to
put words into it.
never had too much to drink or just enough.
read that line again.
be just like whale, tell myself; huge and everslowmoving and at peace.

bourbon baby
bottoms up.
gold on the ground
we walk on
and it loses its luster.
slow horns
like deadmen
groans.
or at least sick
or just hungover,
groaning nonetheless.
bourbon baby.
how many barrels.
gimme a chance
to lose my mind.

bourbon baby.
remember the steak?
baby listen.
i am two battling halves.
but both dedicate this to you

CHAPTER THE FIFTH

magic from shitty laptop speakers.
paging through old drawings
by dead people
of dead people,
like a bunch of graves.
or like heirlooms.
some people think we're always alone
and then die alone.
and some think up some
like, flowy infinite stuff.
me, i don't put much thought to it.
got enough on my plate while i'm living.
like, i gotta sweep up all this damn
dog hair. and the other night i
dropped a whole 40
while puttin in fridge. bitch
to clean up.
gotta make another cup of joe
even though it makes my tummy hurt.

he says "what (wh) pain say whwhat pain."

middlesummer. not as hot as was
but hothumid still.
and hands unpleasant sticky from
clawing through thick air.
plaster work splattered
on floor and used rubber gloves
littered limp like condoms.

working girls.
working boy. busy body. busy bee.
all work and no play or
vice versa.
she asked me what color nail polish then wore it.
gold.
and still, a year later,
as i reread and
edit, she still wears it.
saw it the other night
on her toes.
(errything that glitter ain't fish scale).
(do you get it?).

man pulling intensely at unlit cigarette.
me here behind the bar watching for the prettiest girls to walk by.
nothing else to do?
nothing else to do.
the truth is out there.

after girls i will get married or die of exhaustion.

like hellfire slow rain falling hotwarm and quiet save for soft simmer.
l-l-l-like hellfire.
"abandon all hope, ye who enter here."
sober morning.
feeling fine mostly.
thinking of other mornings like
those in the treehouse
when life was new,
or waking up in nice spring
three stories over street quieter than mine.
waking up and lying there for hours.
til she wakes up or
if she already went to work
then just til i want to walk home.

watching paint dry.
fingers in lots of pies.
par for the course.
spreading self thin.
seven days weak
over and over again.
spreading self thin.
fingers in lots of pies.
tired quiet boy turned drunk and loud.
stayed that way.
how bout nother beer.
nother beer.
for the fallen homies [none].
nother beer plz.
nother ananother.
all the biggest fish got away
so i been eating lots of burgers.
par for the course.
it was dark and in the morning i just saw her from behind in her panties me lying looking at her blurry upside down. but fucking sexy. "cum for me," she said. i did. never saw her again.

spreading self too thin.
poor gigirl i say ppoorr girl.
(w)holesome.
we all draw our own lines.
mine erased. like selective memory.
not wise. not this or that young.
still practicing drawing them.
plenty of time.

one long blonde hair on pillow. after we fucked she left the room and brought my phone back with her. missed call. missed. your? nope. without looking. kind of staring at the ceiling or maybe eyes closed. just a friend until tomorrow night. been that way for a long time.

london quiet leaves me to my devices.
proceed with caution.
she don't realize i don't think.
she don't realize.
i don't think.
weeping woman.
three dancers.
nude woman w/ necklace.
nude, green leaves, and bust.
nude woman in red armchair.
bust of a woman.

here's the good news: good news is on the way.

parisparis. coffee&cigarette please(seevooplay). & campari after supper.
(should be before).
sometimes i look at the girls more than the paintings.
head up at ceiling like turkey down at legs like dog. (versailles).
little girls speaking french.
pretty pregnant parisienne.
a life desirable.

fog over the mirrormirror.
sometimes i can see myself
all too clearclear.
like the bluegreen veins running down my ribs.
can't look away.

"we hold these truths to be self-evident."
might get stabbed any second now.
or apocalypse could come rainin down.

don't. dddon't.
know the future know the future.
don't know i'm gonna fail.
how did it all come to this.
these pretty german speaking asian girls
smiling without intention.
most people's last meal
ain't nothin nothin special.
thank god i don't need the future.
don't have no plans for the grocery store.
last meal. last meal we had together.
let's see. musta been that burger.
not everyone wants the same as me.
not everyone wants the same as me.
not everyone wants the same as me.
but at least i know what i want.
give or take.
no, i'm asking.
can we trade or like,
flip a coin or something?
is that how this works?
can i give you everything
and get anything in return?

idgaf.
you clearly do.
idgaf.

could piss it all away just as e-z.
in the vain forest
turning idols to rivals.
theory lie round like teddy bear. hug. work.
then love. absence makes the heart grow
fonder. returns, then what.
what was i to expect with spring coming?
and now spring past and just about to
fall. i'm just about to.
some kind of weird slow love.
maybe that. like love in shoes
without socks. good feeling.
but smelly.
or like reading an old lover
and wondering is it me in there.
all the girls know i got too much
love to give or never enough.
i don't even need to repeat myself. i've already done it.

two pairs of earrings in my room.
is it just me, or am i driving myself crazy?
suffering is productive in the long run.
and it's a miracle love can withstand such misery.

none of the seasons are just. they don't look twice.
"you don't wear masks."
"what?"
"you don't wear masks."
we been lovers in almost all
the seasons. we been others too.
Out of Touch.
none of the seasons are just.
but usually fall lets the gavel fall.

straighten back.
only to slump again.
our picture, us naked, on wall by my bed.
i'll take it down if anyone else is getting in.
no offense.

dear to me.
dear to me.
i've known this feeling before. we are old pals.
we used to play with knives.
not many images coming today.
i am not strong i am weak.
i am not weak i am strong.
swatting @ flies & missing.
autopsies of inanimate objects. and sword swallowers.
pretty bitches. as in, good looking dogs. huskies.
stuff & nonsense. (hey, Nicole).

what do you think i want?
what think? think!
you wanna act then act without me.

sure as shit two battling halves.
longlost. she's longlostlonglostlonglost.
memeory that is.
whatsoever was i thinking.
'member all those razor blades?
and the drugs?
drugs: "aggressively awesome."
and the heat.
fuck all that shit and fuck all the desert i found.
how weird to think back.

beneath the surface. submerged. not drowning just like floating and writhing. writing.

cinderblock kitsch.
empty beats. hollow.
raging for weeks.
"unless it's absolute garbage." what is this?
loss for words for loss,
and back to reality.
loud truck idling outside window.
ego trippin all the time. permanent vacation.
big comforter and three pillows. window cracked.
ready to face the cold months.
maybe someone'll join me on the way.

force self out of bed.
wake up with a sucky deja vu.
proceed w/ caution.

wolves in sheeps clothing and their opposites. counterparts.
or is that an exaggeration?

snow first fell on a tuesday this year. soft like sheeps wool.

finally movement.
like a twist of torso.
stretch or crease of flesh.
barely cold breeze through
window, barely breeze.
lets me care about
things a
little less
and just fuck.
having candle lit is like
having someone here.
flickering, breathing.
glad to have lost the
strong desire to be
wasted. (it'll come back).
ready for reading
again, and work.
morning matè.
it shouldn't be this hard for things to be this easy.
living the dream is a nightmare.
time for self. weird.
full of shit.

flashes of brilliance why does everyfuckingone say that.
fuck off.