We are trying to create something, me and you two boys, that is truly masculine for us. That is our mantra. Something that is part of our fathers, but more of us – the way we see things. This is our project. Let’s make it ours. Let’s make it...
God, JT, I put on finally tonight and they are so us, like we were all once, and that’s the scary and comforting thing.
All around me are the vegetable eaters, the people so full of the sunshine they eat, and so sunny with radiant lips. But above here, in that not-so-lovely place, is all fluorescent glow. And further below are the meat eaters, gnashers, and blood drinkers, and in the end will be the gravediggers, and grave-robbers, and my toes will become relics for some gothic basement cause. Today moves me through this city again, and the pace has picked up. I try to block out all of the city sounds with my own sounds, until those sound becomes familiar, and all the worries of the Arab women asking for help, and directions to the mosque, fit into a chant that soon boils over me, until a familiar voice and song – my voice, my song – penetrates the hum. Perhaps this is the way it should have been from the beginning, me and my song. I walk away at the first sign of showdown, I want no battles with friends or enemies. I can sing to myself at night, I can sing myself to sleep, as I begin to float. But then the men in the other room speak like my father, ‘If you get that black on your hands, you can’t get it off.” And I think I have something to tell you, but a far off distant voice, from a forgotten time has paralyzed all of that now, and they strap this sailor to the mast, and I can feel the blood slowly...
I don’t know, but I am getting mad as hell today that I seem to not be able, or rather it is not allowed, to feel anything fully. If I want to have any sort of pure emotion I have to start asking myself if this is the right thing for me, how is this going to affect me, how will it affect my therapy progress. I know it is my tendencies that have gotten me into the state I am in, but I really want to be able to just feel something raw and pure and unadulterated and unanalyzed. I don’t know if that is even possible, but I would like to try. I really...
Somewhere over the rainbow my chronic fidgetiness is slowly killing itself. Something inside is taking back everything I ever said to you, the bad, the good and even the things neither of us remember. Somewhere I waited by a telephone too long for a call to keep me from breaking water. I birthed too many panics. I sounded the horns at the first pain of the head pushing through the pelvis. I am birthing no more babies. I am fathering no more miracles. You will never even read this. It will burn before the end of the day. In town, this city, except for a light breeze, seems to stand still, or at most just slight motions. The city spirals into me as the birds sit quietly in trees, and the cars pull to the curb, and my head stops aching for once. And further through me, the palpitations become manageable, even my toes groan as they finally stretch. The sun is going down on the city. It has been a labor day. And the sky turns red, and this once-pregnant sailor prepares, at last, to set sail. Was playing: Your Ex-Lover Is Dead...
It was a little over a year ago now, after finishing work I headed up through South Carolina to Spartanburg, on my way, the next day, to North Carolina and home for the holidays. I drive into Sparkle and directly to a party where G is already, and there’s time for drinks and then there is time for talking with her friends and then there is back home and to bed and all. But during that party there was a moment outside having a cigarette when I noticed that standing out from the moon, a good distance out, was a light ring. My grandfather had once explained to me that this meant “falling weather” was ahead. That was the Christmas party right before I would get the offer of an engagement ring that was also ill-self-advised. Tonight I was out to a party for a while with CG and then back home I tried to arrange a phone call with St. Louis, but that wasn’t happening, with the time change and all, and then there was a ring on the phone from T. The first one with him saying to someone else, “I am not an officer,” and then telling me he would call back. The second was, “I am drunk and at the Winchester and hitting on women.” I decided to head down as the aforementioned phone call with the midwest had not happened and I was curious as to seeing the scene. After arriving at the Winchester I found T, and he was drunk, as was the whole place, and I found a place in the corner...
So it’s the first real weekend of the new year and what will you do? Try to find something that will make you believe this year will be better. Set the thing off right. There’s been too much confusion, angst, anxiety, analyzation, and analysis. The best I could do at this point is to water and fertilize my growing spine and hope for a quicker recovery from my rusty resolution. Stop prostrating myself before the gods of self-pity, absorption, indulgence. I’m not so bad. Just frantic lately. Maybe, it’s the drugs. Oh yeah, although I haven’t written about them lately, I am still on the drugs. Maybe it is me. Slowly, life turns, and returns. It’s time to leave well enough alone, and start making a new life without all of the tears and sadness. This weekend is...
Huh? What you say? Did I hear that just right? I’m out tonight with short lines and crazy mind. If we gonna riff, might as well with this crazy myth. Four and four will maybe two make and inspiration comes for no one’s sake. How did you find your way around this? I couldn’t read a sign if it hit me upside this large head. But if I break with rule it is not because I’m the fool, or maybe I am. Just ask me in the morning, just love me...
Why the rush toward definition? Tonight I should take it easy, at least that is what Steve has been saying. I’ve been making faces at myself in the grey-black blank television screen, my head seems so big and I begin slowly to think of a beach somewhere I’ve never been where I can hear the calm roll over this columna de mi espalda, where my tongue would massage this air into a gambit that could end the game at the start, and in this screen I am painted well full with monobrow, and my statement tells of a more full story, full enough that I could take flight, and be there for the making of divots in a different land, and not just waiting on another arrival, revival or resurrection, that will make my lonely divot a little less...
I am going to save Southern food, your collards and coleslaw and all. I am going to ride on the backs of strange waves off the Georgia coast. I will make it all clear to you all. With love, or without, I can inspire a whole region to betterness. This is the way things go. Potassium pulses through me tonight. I am great and will be greater. This may be megolomania, but at the end of it all… it is me that needs to be taken care of as much as anyone. Here’s a road, and I think I will take...
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