part ten
fading. as everything slowly dissolves. a final panic
before darkness. blackness. i am somewhere else for a very long
time. then. a vibration. electricity. pulsating everywhere. running
throughout my body. reaching out. i open my eyes. disorientation.
moving about. reaching. intense energy slowly leaving my body.
people. holding onto me. how long since i left. eight seconds.
but i was gone for days.
like a traveller. travelling across worlds. each
takes their turn. relaxing. breathing deeply. lungs expanded.
leaning over. then up. a deep breath. someones hands against the
neck. either side of trachea. holding blood flow. until a fade.
body limp. people catching. seconds later. awakening. returning
from a dream. lasting hours. days. more. some remember. others
do not. this is how death feels. flatline.
and just before you fade out you think. what if i
dont come back. fear setting in. but its too late. the world begins
to fade. experiencing the most intense whole body orgasm i have
ever felt. and i return. back to life. and no longer am i as afraid
to die.
# # #
brattleboro vermont. where you can see the milky
way stretch across the sky at night. where they serve coffee and
donuts at the bank during the winter. where they give you 'complimentary'
parking tickets for $0.00 just to let you know you parked in the
wrong spot. all the traffic lights turn red when a bell rings
and only pedestrians are allowed to cross the street. people leave
their dogs lying out on the sidewalk and people still say hello
when you pass them on the street. a place virtually untouched
by urban corruption. depersonalisation. a nice place to visit,
but after a week i long for a real city. where everything doesn't
shut down at six. in bed by ten. eleven. where life is a little
more varied. and a little more intense. where i can feel alive.
vermont. a place for some. not me.
# # #
do not agree with everything you read. i do not agree
with everything i write. these are thoughts. ideas passing through
my mind. not all become so trapped. so part of me they become
beliefs. others do. and the deeper ones repeat themselves. again
in places in the book. these you will recognise. and i believed
in them once. and still may do. or not.
# # #
the secret of the three card monty is knowing when
to play it straight and when to play it crooked. getting your
audience to believe they can win then snatching that away with
a quick sleight of hand. playing the odds. starting with nothing.
and knowing the worst you can come away with is nothing. watching
the red card on haight street. street business is a lot like big
business. playing the games of lies and illusion.
# # #
more about bathrooms. thinking back to the sixties.
before. with bathrooms for black people. and bathrooms for white
people. because white people didnt want black people watching
them take a piss. or whatever. now. so racist in our times. and
yet. still. bathrooms for male people. and bathrooms for female
people. why? people tell me tradition. cultural acceptance. but
was not black. white separation tradition. culturally accepted.
this does not dispute the differentism. only reasons why it is
hard to change. but should we change it?
how many conversations go on amongst corporate men
in corporate male bathrooms that women are not privy to. business
contacts. deals made. secrets told. overheard. (and do they subconsciously
label their bathrooms the executive bathroom and the secretarial
bathroom?). and communication. the mystery of women going to powder
their noses. how much misunderstanding between the sexes could
disappear if one could get them to see theyre both human.
yet people argue. what of attraction. people dont
want people that could be attracted to them putting on their makeup.
but what of homosexuals. do they then need separate bathrooms?
others tell me. (looking down). how there are some things women
have to do in a bathroom that men dont. and are women squatting
by the sink legs splayed to put in tampons? rather such things
happen in stalls. as such private things should. we do not have
separate bathrooms in our houses. why should we when we go out?
though it may not be the time to unify the sexes. show that they
are equal rather than mere words. hopefully someday we will see
our sexual separation as much overtly sexist as we view the pre-sixties
racial separation as overtly racist.
# # #
the other night. a rave. dreamtime. as i spun around.
over and over. spinning. five. ten minutes. so that my world was
about spinning. and i was spinning so long. it felt as if just
spinning. standing in place. as if i was standing still. and i
began to live in a world constantly moving across my eyes. i would
dance. and walk around. and drink from my water bottle. all spinning.
around. and around again.
# # #
as i leave the trucker. hitching out to visit a dear
friend. hours long in the hot sun burning. rides here and there
as i get closer. then. a guy driving a ticket booth stops. riding
along. how would you like some work. my father owns a carnival.
i agree.
putting up a kiddie roller coaster. first just three
of us. then four. half way up it needs to be moved a foot over.
start over. a fifty foot slide. the jack flies out and hits a
guy in the forehead. bleeding. jacked up. hoisting heavy pieces
of slides into place with a pulley system. the pulley falls from
above. gets caught before it hits the ground. again. something
falling from the sky. something else metal.
working ten. twelve hours a day. setting up. then
running the rides open to close. i leave before it is time to
tear down. those who stay get only one hundred dollars a week.
sleep across the seats of a school bus. some hiding from the law.
others trying to earn money to get home. but one guy hasnt gotten
paid in seven weeks and another for two weeks. both since they
started.
the owner is a fat old man with teeth spaced apart.
suspenders holding up his pants. shirt hanging out. three sons.
all giving orders. names like jack. ricky. all like their father.
sitting in an air conditioned office while the others do all the
work. they used to call it nigger work. slave labour. exploitation.
but america had forgotten these words. forgotten it still exists.
and these people have lost themselves. because they now believe
they are earning good money for what they do. and because of that
i am helpless to help them. goodbye carnies. time to move on.
# # #
you meet a man walking along a road. a fork. one
way to the city of lies. the other the city of truth. what question
do you ask the man (whose city of origin is unknown) to get to
the city of truth. the problem is. in real life no one always
lies. no one always tells the truth. potpourri of lies. truths.
a tossed salad. with vinegar and oil mixing into one. the government
lies. big business lies. but not when they have no reason to.
when they think they have no reason. and how do you answer if
someone asks if youre happy. and part of you is. and part of you
isnt. emotions. feelings. mixing. muddling into blur. truths.
lies. no meaning. and what if you tell what you believe to be
the truth, but isnt true. where does it all end and begin. truthful
lies. and lying truths. and when do i tell one to someone. and
how do i know what im telling. is true. not. once again. lost
in a sea of confusion. searching for the way out. where do you
come from? the question is. straight ahead.
# # #
an idea to meet people. walk down the street handing
people little cards on which say. my name. call me. and see who
does. (rene tells me this is very situationalist. french movement.
still dont really know what it is).
# # #
on the castro. where male and female have lost their
meaning. sitting in the shade of a street lamp. listening to jazz.
as men. women. all walk hand in hand. kissing. arms entwined.
never knowing which is which. what is what. all distinctions disappear.
as girlfriend. boyfriend take on the same meaning. it is comforting
in a way. unnerving also. the mind lost. no longer knowing what
it is seeing. one must give into the senses. the flow of unknowing
beauty. arousal. give into one night. and let the sun light the
ground. landscape of this and that in the morning. this is the
gift. the curse. of the night. so amplified on castro street.
# # #
the world doesnt progress. it just changes perspective.
spinning around. standing on the same patch of ground. things
coming into view. things fading. but we never really get closer.
farther away. they just move past us. out of view. only to come
back next turn around. is this how the world is? how pessimistic.
there must be something more. more.
# # #
travelling with a trucker. picked up while hitching.
heading somewhere toward la. california. talking about strange
things. best. worst experiences hitching. he was stabbed by a
truck driver once. he says. got a blow job. driver paid him fifty
dollars. asking me if id ever prostitute. giving him the run around,
as he casually slips by questions. trying to lead to more questions.
but i answer them the wrong way. and he has no more questions
to ask. easy to circumvent him. casually mentioning hes gay. i
make no comment.
later. telling me he works for a porn magazine. how
i could make lots of money doing porn. five hundred fifty for
eleven photographs. lot of money for an hour or two work. of course,
he needs to recommend me. needs to see what i look like naked.
erect. if i can come in the presence of strangers. says it pays
fifty dollars. so in chicago. his company flying him back to arizona.
leaving the truck out there. he rents a hotel room. and i come
out naked. profile. gives me porn magazines to help me get erect.
(so very hard to do in front of a strange gay man you dont really
trust). against the wall. then masturbate. i come. he says okay.
get dressed. gives me the money the next day. as i hitch out to
indiana. visit an old friend. the money was nice for the nothing
i did. and he probably was lying. but if he wasnt. i have a phone
number in palm springs. and i can make five hundred and fifty
dollars next time im out there. for a little more of nothing.
# # #
i could never do art for a living. because art isnt
a living. its an expression of living. of what you do. what you
are. becoming. when i write. i dont write as something to do.
i write to remember what i do. to tell. show other people. i dont
enjoy writing. its just a tedious task i need to do to create
words on paper. so i can have this book thing to read. to give
others. id much rather it all just appear. somehow magically.
after ive experienced things. then i can read. and remember. and
share it with others. but this writing to write. i cannot do that.
i write things because i want a story told to me that i can read.
and no one else has gotten around to writing it. id rather tell
them what story i want. have someone else write it. (with art
i paint pictures id like to have). but this is only me. i can
see how others enjoying writing for its sake. or art. i have not
learned how yet.
# # #
my world. myself. one in the same. when people speak
of the environment they live in. they do not realise their body
is part of that environment. when growing up. your environment.
things. people around you. affect your development. your behaviour.
beliefs about the world. but so does your body. people learn to
sit in different ways. walking in different ways because they
have different physiques. people become nerds. or models. or basketball
players. opinions about sexism. racism. an obsession for ice cream
because you were always too short to reach the icebox. you. and
i. are our environments. and we affect ourselves and other parts
of our environment. which in turn affect them/itselves. which
affect us. a clod bee washed away from the continent and our life
has changed. everything is intimately interconnected. (because
everything IS everything. which is what chaos theory is ultimately
about. not chaos in order and order in chaos. but chaos being
order and order being chaos. [just different perspectives]).
# # #
bondage a go go. hard industrial music. ethereal
gothic. dressed up. painted up. goth. punk. s & m. paddlings.
whippings. on the second floor. as people are chained. hanging
from the ceiling. dancers on the dance floor. in the cages. dancing.
being beaten. with almost nothing on.
at midnight the torture king appears. as he walks
on broken glass. swallowing swords. fire. in the palm of his hand.
thrown out of his mouth. off his tongue. a large wooden pole.
smashed against a sword. he holds against his stomach. concentrates.
controls. and it does not cut his skin. nor when he lays on four
of them. and has a cinder block smashed on his chest. he bleeds
when he pierces his cheek. his chin. he has not performed in a
while. needles through his arm. tiny ones scattered on his chest.
his hand in molten lead. he is cleansing himself. finally. he
swallows a yard of dental floss. a knife. as he cuts into his
stomach. and pulls it back out. to be used again. afterwards.
i ask him how he can concentrate with all the yelling and screaming
and clapping. his answer: transform it. which is of course what
he does with the pain. transforms it into something else. pleasure.
pure energy.
# # #
smoking cloves to cleanse myself. maybe burn it out
of me. i know what it feels to be dirty. what people talk about
when theyve been raped. the disgusting vile feeling. you dont
ever want to think about it. you feel impure. as if someone exchanged
parts of their soul with yours and now you have this tiny piece
of deformity living inside you. for me. like breaking a geas.
that powerful feeling youve lost a special part of yourself. of
the magick laid upon you during birth. and worse. i brought it
upon myself.
in the house. this old drug-worn lady. grabbing at
me. wanting to kiss me. to fuck me. as i get ready to go out.
some club somewhere. away. finally. thinking about it. as she
asks to suck my dick. wanting that experience. of sex without
love. something ive never done. decided. and she sucks me. slobbering.
i come into my hands. as she leaves to let me clean myself up.
and i clean. because i feel dirty. that i allowed it to touch
me. with such vileness. she. some vague husk of depravity. like
on the streets. even in the house. depraved men. always thinking.
trying. wanting to get some pussy. and for a minute i think the
act itself is vile. but it isnt. its just the people who make
it vile. with pure souls it is a wild and marvelous thing. not
vile. or repulsive. or pornographic. or evil. a pure sensusexual
act joining two people. love.
# # #
ive never really been that comfortable in cafes.
too many self-important people. and though i may myself be self-important.
desperately always trying to escape that. wanting to be humble.
and knowing you can never try to be humble. it comes. or it doesnt.
you can pretend. but inside. but i hate those who do not even
try. who go on being self-important. pretentious. unawares. and
cafes attract that. flies to the carcass. feeding on the coffee
and others pretentiousness. few places have i escape that. sometimes
at the horseshoe (though rarely there). kaldis. cafe quackenbush.
[and sometimes it has been stifling. like that time at beathouse.
i must leave.]
# # #
(how was that for name dropping?)
# # #
beauty. to be. includes knowledge of the object.
a context. the eye of the beholder. and sometimes. forgetting
the context. makes this beautiful. other contexts. why a urinal
in a gallery suddenly became beautiful. so hard to look at things.
people we hate. and see beauty. and so hard to see. our loves
our desires. without such perfection. beauty. but we must try.
and new understandings will come.
so many faults unseen when we love someone. and afterwards.
when they leave. sometimes so hard to see why we loved them in
the first place. but in doing so we see reality. and can live
in understanding. so we do not hurt so much. hate. (but sometimes
it is nice to see the faults. then forget. to live so much drowned
in fantasy. makes life nicer. sometimes).
# # #
i remember the day jane and vomit broke up. vomit.
so sad and depressed. after four months. it had been his first
real relationship. before. all physical. sex. but jane. he cared
about her. loved her. (and never did fuck her. knowing he could
wait. until she was ready. just being with her so much for him).
his first time in love. but he was protective and jealous. afraid
of losing her. and smothered her. he knew it. he told me he followed
her around like a dog. if she was gone a couple of hours hed start
to miss her. learning about love. she said she was going to go
back to new orleans.
# # #
the night is beautiful tonight. a fog hangs over
this place. here. a silent place. an empty parking lot. as cars
swish quietly in the distance. this is a time to write. to continue.
to think. i must record my experiences before they are forgotten.
lost in time. it has been six months. the ground is wet.
# # #
the family has decided to relocate to amsterdam.
silk karen and i will be the first to go. find a house. jobs.
then slowly. others will come. we need a place to be free. liberal.
the us has become too much of a police state. discussing in the
car last night. getting money. when to move. like mahogonis dream.
her temple. where we all live together. surrounded by those we
love. a dream. will it ever become reality? (already it is falling
apart....)
# # #
trying to explain. what a muse is. an angel. daemon.
elf. leprechaun. all things begin in reality. they were people
once. and these are our memories of those people. told to others.
preserved in some strange myth. a blood drinker helps to create
the vampire. as druid might have created elves. one culture meets
another. its characteristics. attributed to race. even today we
propagate our myths. the jew is rich (a leprechaun?). blacks dumb.
orientals. the irish. jamaicans. stereotypes propagate myths as
the races die. merge. evolve.
and a person. like the green man. who lived in islam.
or jesus. or vlad the impaler. who inspires others to write about
themselves. others. writing the important stuff. things they want
emphasized. dropping the rest. so the memory becomes condensed.
and over years. made into myth.
so there are still muses and daemons and angels and
werewolves and all many of things. yet these creatures have depth.
are more than the two dimensional myth of their existence. a person
may become good. helping others. perhaps. clairvoyance. other
things. allowing person to be. angel. or daemon. whatever. even
superhero vigilantes can exist. do. with modern technology.
(it is sad that people with abilities to make them
so called 'super-natural' creatures are often looked upon as outcasts
in society. this is why the night breed lived in mydian. why we
lived in mydian).
# # #
the film discusses the purpose of the bathroom. it
shows people telling how it is another room in the house, like
any other. couples talk in the bathroom. some people read or exercise.
describing the use of mirrors in bathrooms. on the walls, ceilings.
how people will ask in a hush where the bathroom is, but they
would never ask where the kitchen or living room was in the same
way. people with large bathrooms. small ones. practising violin.
sinks made of porcelain with prints on them of people working
in the fields. (and next time i own a bathroom i dream of installing
a bookshelf. like in my virtual bathroom on the net).
# # #
i am learning about love. so many different shades.
colours. dimensions. when they said love is infinite. i always
thought it was depth of feeling. dying for love. but those are
ends. love is like the universe. infinitely complex. forever twisting
on itself. creating and recreating itself. so many creations.
varieties. each different. when i say i love you to someone. each
time i say it. as i am saying it. the meaning is changing in ways
i cant begin to understand.
# # #
one night with max. his girlfriend on the couch.
her friend on the phone. talking to her for hours. she says. i
dont like my boyfriend. i ask why are you dating him. discussions.
long discussions. talking to a normal one night late.
they ask me what a normal is. and i try to explain.
fail. some know. cant put a finger on it. that theres a difference
between us. and them. things. like being able to tell if you like
someone when you meet them. normals are more shallow. think less.
more mainstream. but all generalisations. can never tell by mere
descriptions if someone is normal. subnormal. abnormal. instinct.
we can tell our own kind. is it pheromones? something in my mind.
we choose the same type of friends over and over again the same
way we choose the same type of girl/boyfriends. do our personalities
attract them. modified by physical. what we wear. who we are.
some brainwave pattern. those i attract to me. who become close
friends. i choose to call subnormals. others are normal. (even
though i am friends with normals and not with some subnormals.
still cant explain. a form of baruka? so hard. explanations).
# # #
sitting here. feeling. remembering. like the night
i lost fire. the realisation. it was no longer. no longer together.
gone. as her life began to drift away from mine. her soul. finishing
the final scenes of the final act. the next day i wandered through
boston. hours. walking. sometimes sitting. more walking. we both
knew it was to be no more. we had learned. and loved. and had
our time. and it was over. but it didnt help the pain any. that
deep feeling inside. getting heavy. twisting.
and tonight. mahogoni. i thought i could make it
last. but i knew instinctively. it was only for a time. it would
end. like every other. i tried to forget it. put it out of my
mind. believe in the fantasy. i fell in love. so hard. and then
it was time to leave again. move on. travel. muse. but the rule.
that i could never come back. never the same. and never have love
forever. because the time will always come to leave. the curse
of the gift. because of who i am.
# # #
acid takes the world and twists it. fourth time dropping
i finally feel effects. i trip. reality warping. movement in stasis.
the painted rose on the bathroom wall that kept opening. shifting.
the rug. waves. rolling. time shifting in strange ways. busy.
like a fog of bees buzzing in my head. we sit. planning out times
to be silent. then someone talks. and we plan again. at first.
only me. going to lees. talking to mahogoni. cassandra. feeling
so happy to see her again. in the car. as people try to play with
my mind. electric windows moving up and down. hold leahs hand.
always there when i trip. all my friends always around. everywhere.
nice. never wanting to leave this place. all sense of consequences
gone. at julies. wanting someone to be with. but not. no one here.
no fear. so wonderful. life seeming so dreamy. unreal. this room.
this night. one dream amongst any other. leah. heather. ben. sprung.
shannon. julie. derf. so much family. as everyone. some tripping.
one room. here. something so hard to describe. some other time.
twisting.
# # #
in the future. new trends. multiple arms. hair. skin
colour. genetic alterations. the post-modern primitive. metal
meshes with flesh. ornamental. not only electronical. going beyond
mohawks. tattoos. piercings. to the extremes. beyond. hair made
of metal. strewn with lights. woven in. metal woven into the skin.
augmentation.
virtual reality. cyberspace. beyond webworld. the
sprawl. people interacting in full sensual simulation. in ways
never imagined. time. space. existing in different ways. like
on drugs. but the computer. virtual drugs. to help heal. making
the body believe it is healthy. so it is. psychedelic programs.
will virtual drugs become scheduled. illegal. will people eventually
be able to contract real virtual viruses. the tierra project.
digital organisms in cyberspace. were creating the alternative
dimensions writers have always written about.
music. faster. high pitch bleeps over a high. quickly
complex. rhythmic. sounding like some computer transmission. bass.
new ways of listening. three dimensions. as music crosses over
and becomes colours and touch and mind expansion in computer generated
soundscapes.
and all this expansion. of thought. ways of thinking.
information. will this cause a revolution. in the physical world.
a take over. has our civilisation advanced. are we technologically
advanced enough to make the step to the next form of government.
will our philosophies expand that much. leading to. leading to.
(and, of course, this is all speculation which may never happen).
# # #
it is sad. vomit is maturing. growing up. he showed
me a poem he had written. i never knew vomit wrote poetry. such
a good person. now. discovering the foolish mistakes of his past.
he is dying. such a hard life. having lived so long on the streets.
so young. no longer a life to get drunk. fucked. a life now fading.
(though he looked so good in sf. so much better than new orleans.
there is still hope left. so jane. and i. and clover. and all
of us do. hope).
# # #
another architectural thing i was thinking about.
exits and entrances to buildings. a lot of doors out of a building
give people more options for entering and leaving a building,
but it reduces personal interaction and intermixing. someone who
always comes and goes through the back of a building might never
meet someone who comes and goes through the front. i dont know
which is better. i kind of like the idea of more interaction,
but then i also like the idea of more freedom. perhaps something
else could be done to increase interaction while maintaining freedom.
the idea of college dorms is nice. where there are many entrances/exits
but also common spaces like lounges and laundry rooms. (and as
i think about it more, when i worked for the navy the coffee maker
was one of the central places of interaction). dedicated common
spaces.
# # #
she will inspire me to create and do. and teach me
things. but i will never reach that level with her. our souls
will never burn into each other. it is only for a time. and the
love i reach for her when it comes will be different again. and
i am only beginning to understand all these ways of loving.
# # #
remembering those agonizing times. of sitting in
a cafe. on the street. as some insecure poet. sitting in a chair.
eyes reading some crumpled hand-written. maybe typed. piece of
paper. every once in a while looking up. making eye contact. the
words. syllable sing-song tongue twisted beatnik. as i sit falling
asleep. unable to listen. to hear. a drone of sing-song rhyme
not-rhyme. what is this? and what have poets been doing since
allen ginsberg came along.
poetry is not spoken word. and spoken word is not
living word. as a script is not a radio broadcast. and a radio
broadcast is not television. when one enters the stage. approaches
a mike. be aware of not only what you are saying. but what you
are doing. and when you speak. read. like you can feel what you
are speaking. a poem must be read with understanding. if you want
to read a poem out loud. write it that way. do not speak all poems
the same. each poem has its own way of reading. and though words
sound nice. they have meaning underneath. speak them this way.
(body language is part of a poem read aloud. as is movement).
make these things live. not simply breathe.
# # #
i continue to meet people i have met before. nature
repeats itself. in faces. personalities. do not be afraid to leave
your friends. they exist again in many others. loved ones also.
but do not forget. throw away. such closeness. for no reason.
because you have formed that bond. which takes time to reform
in others. know what is best for you. when you must leave. faces
become all the same when youve seen enough of them. but i remember
those i love.
# # #
sitting in a cafe. talking to a man with tarot cards
laid out before him. speaking. nothing is real. except for the
one particle. atom. that we imagine to be real. and when that
is real. everything. talking about life. the paths we follow.
to learn. to be immersed in the fire. (fires of understanding).
i forget so much. to know that i dont know is all you need to
know then forgetting. the water on fire. then at the tower. everything
exploding. fire on fire. burning. getting lost. to finally become
one with the universe. in the beginning we take a journey to get
there. but during that journey we must forget why we went out
there. to get there. only by going. and forgetting where. will
we get to the destination. card universe. passing the stars. the
hermit. hanged man. tower. the tarot is so much more than a fortune
telling. that is a game. the real tarot tells you about life.
enlightenment. the path. happiness.
# # #
life has no meaning except the meaning we give it.
karma. geas. miracles. all these are how we want to perceive things.
if we want something to happen. to believe in. we pick out the
things. anything that lets us believe. ignoring. anything disputing.
something really good happens to us. we say good karma. but the
next day. are we cursing that karma. evil done. causes people
to see bad things happening. results of the evil. guilt causes
perceptions warping. changing. placebo effect. the hex that is
none. life is a bewitchery we cast upon ourselves. in love. in
hope. in hate. in anger. in jealousy. everything appearing different.
picking out what we see to suit our mood. and this lets us form
ideas about the world. like karma. comes back thrice. but all
is empty. meaningless.
and this is where the idea of vengeance stems. once
karma. the witchs rule. all are done away with. one sees. thinks.
(true or not). that wrong done to oneself must be paid for. avenger.
correcting the karmic balance. actively. not passively. taking
things into ones hands. forcing ghosts to haunt. whether or not
revenge. i believe in. so much if i believe other things will
do their work. now i am doubting. karma. from seeing the world.
life. but still i believe in balance. there is hope.
# # #
millions. millions of people. everywhere. all so
different. returning to sf, this city teaming with life. people
in cities live with their eyes closed. i have opened my eyes.
now. this time, and remembering into my past. seeing the enormity
of life. never realised before. ive travelled to only a handful
of cities. yet seen. been seen by thousands. tens of thousands
of people. yet these. all of these are only a fraction of the
people in the americas. the world. all these seem so many. so
different. so varied. how could i ever classify them all as the
same. with so many people. so many differences. it is easy to
see why there are so many wars. why it is hard for billions of
people to live peacefully. it is hard even for thousands. even
families have disputes.
car manufacturers make less than a thousand dollars
each car. yet these are multi-million giants. how many cars are
these. bought each year. how many people own these cars. and all
the cars made last year. and the year before. so many cars. and
so many more people dont even own one. travelling. uncountable.
the number of places to sleep. the number of abandoned buildings
that could be used as shelter. homes. the amount of food wasted
each day. one can never truly imagine these things. their size.
too great. massive. even when you have seen so much.
# # #
imagine a way to die. one cigarette. when finished
smoking. enough poison pulsating through your system. in five
minutes you die.
# # #
at woodstock. with mahogoni. as it rains. mud flooding.
sleeping inside a shelter made in the woods. under someones tarp.
like twenty-five years before. sitting on a hill. staring out.
blanket over us. as it lightly falls. mists of rain. hitching
into town barefoot. wandering. eating a bagel. on the way back.
freedomfest. hardly anyone remains. the weekend is over. at night.
melanie. the allan brothers. watching.
there is a gypsy wedding as we get there. people
line up the hill. to the woodstock bus. all holding hands. two
rows. forming an aisle. as woodstock. and sherry walk down the
aisle. and each person follows as the procession passes. longer
and longer. we all walk down the aisle. disappearing. with them.
smiling as we pass those to follow. someone hands out cards. i
love you. then everyone is at the stage. and they say their vows.
and sweep away their past. and jump over the broomstick. into
their new life.
# # #
living in sf with a bunch of old rockers. has-beens
from the sixties. seventies. bobby used to tour with the stones.
santana. a roadie. rain was in some band in the sixties. influenced
the doors gary says. but he sold away his rights during some acid
trip in the seventies. living off ssi. welfare. doing speed. smoking
crack. gary is the pretty boy. tall. gorgeous. generous and giving.
an aries with a fierce temper. the only one with the talent to
make it. the others in the band. rozz. evan. others who stop by.
all going nowhere. as they play music. write music. it all was
left behind in the sixties. rain. dreaming of taking seattle by
storm. he can barely sing anymore.
like living in some rock movie. one morning. awakened
as the cops search the house for rozz. martin. some junkie living
in one of the rooms. balding. old. like everyone else. living
on with rent dispute. almost a squat. rozz knocks him out. later
in the day. again. rozz hiding in a closet in the kitchen. as
cops look again. martin has called them one last time.
gary screams. a phone flies through the upper half
of the door. wood splinters as the panel. the phone. fly into
the hall. inside the room. hearing things thrown. broken. screaming.
yelling. garys phone has been disconnected because everyone has
used it to dial long distance. yet they dont pay. other times.
screaming at rain. get those fucking crack bitches out of my fucking
house. stop asking me for shit. things always so tense. people
stealing. scamming. and gary. pretty boy. only one with his shit
together. working.
bobby. telling stories about the old days. on tour.
in the war. crude. a redneck. he scares my gothic friends. always
hitting on the women. angel makes faces at him. she does not like
him. he tries to have a threesome with marie and i. we leave.
believes women are weak. needing to be taken care of. an old alcoholic.
some in the house. think he steals to buy it. always a good friend
to me. though his views annoy me.
others in the house. like mary. rozzs girlfriend.
white english princess from nigeria. never doing anything. except
that piercingly annoying laugh. evan and helen are nice. they
live in a van. park it outside a lot. come in for showers. food.
to jam. everyone pipping. smoking speed through a glass pipe.
pip. and theyve all. living some old childhood rock fantasy. still
dreaming.
# # #
the one thing that can be said about the zippies.
they throw damn good raves. best visuals ive ever seen. out in
arizona. world unity festival. the megatripolis rave. wicked ass
techno. huge sound system. out in the kaibab forest. dancing till
dawn under the stars.
# # #
to slip into insanity is a very scary thing. i was
sitting on the street. waiting for rene to get out of class. talking
to my bag. convinced. thinking it was ben. seeing things not there.
people. talking to them. like the other wingnuts on the street.
sense of balance gone. intense gravity feeling everywhere. had
to balance carefully. to not fall over. no thought. jump. concentration.
lost. talking and making no sense to rene. i keep thinking rene
is ben. and all these other people. why do i keep talking to them
when i know theyre not there. the most frustrating part. knowing
youre crazy. and not being able to stop yourself. i am incoherent.
know it. cant. walking the streets before it starts. it begins.
i try to write. i look now. so hard to read. no sense. logic.
then. next few days. never quite back. next morning. still things.
at work. watching my hands hit the keys. every day it lessens.
but that fear. of never coming back. going out there. insane.
on marezine.
# # #
holding his hand as the needle pierces his lip. anticipation.
while waiting. built up so much. this is a ritual for him. to
quit smoking. go farther. as she places the ball on the ring he
fades. coming to. the most intense experience. and he cant explain
it. understand some of it.
pushing oneself beyond the limits of the ordinary.
and you touch god. in ways. why some people pierce. kill. fight.
drugs. sex. s&m. b&d. pushing the limits. of reality.
of yourself. chaz was going to do a ball dance. where balls. attached
to your skin with hooks. and you dance until they tear out. this
is what hellraiser was about. the ultimate limits. where you become
god. heaven and hell. i want to push things. go beyond the extremes.
into that void. running on the edge. behind the killers. everyone
and you are a god. just another way to go beyond. any way works.
yoga meditation. or world annihilation. to go beyond humanity
is to become a god.
# # #
angel was. everyone called her lost girl. (and if
you looked in her eyes. behind. so empty. like sarah from years
ago). she used to wander around golden gate park. always lost.
searching for a jezebel. a boy she fell in love with three months
before in sf. before she left. travelling. la. world unity. she
lived with two old men for a while. sold pot to eat.
sworn to help her. part of me. she came to my house
once. when she was thrown out. homeless. she spent the night.
got high. but always making faces at me. about bobby. she didnt
like him. hated him maybe.
the next day she left. getting some portfolio to
become a model. she didnt come back. a few days later. on the
castro i am told. lost girl is looking for you. on the haight
i search for hours. gone. meet another woman who needs my help.
someone to talk to. i keep her company as she cries about her
sister throwing her out. walk her to her brothers house. safe.
but angel. lost.
i find out. getting home. angel was there last night.
she comes knocking. tripping. something. hard on drugs. from turk
studios. where i know she slept on monday. heroin infested. other
things. dangerous. bobby. rozz. mary. keep her company. calm her
down. but they do not understand her. lost look in her eyes. bobby.
angel. go to store. buying food. angel shouts. he is the devil.
he is satan. pointing at bobby. undercovers. taking her to psych
ward. i call the next day. find out nothing. angel is lost. and
i am helpless to help her.
before telling me about jezebel. i ask for him. in
the goth clubs. no one has heard. even his closest friends. not
for two months. vanished. she goes to his place. breaks in. all
his stuff remains. she cries as she holds his guitar. some people
think he might have gone to a mental hospital. trapped. forced
beyond will. just gone. and has she now followed?
# # #
i think about fire these days. a spirit so pure.
so alive. burning. living. such spirits are rare. i saw one in
the park today. i didnt approach her. talk to her. only watching.
i could sense the power of her being. such creatures fascinate
me. loving one. and having one love you. it is like firewalking.
and i cant explain why that is. only you must become intimately
acquainted with the flame.