Death kept us sidetracked for miracles to occur. You can keep waiting for your miracle while the rest of us will start making some changes around here. It’s about damn time for you to get off your ass, get out of your closets and basements, and start shaking the earth baby-
clothes are optional and sarcasm is one of my means of communication. I want those thumping feet in the dark of the night keeping time with the only clock in the room that is in my pocket.
Give me spirit to descend from the mountain and shout to the crowds forthcoming and of the messages foretold. We are forever. Our earth unfolding for each other. Rights are a spiritual command from the chaos of this unforgiving world. I want to mess it up, fuck it hard, matter different, opium haze and cigarette whiz kids ace their finals.
I make my mark, naked and got caught in a ferris wheel, gamble me away and let the erection carry on through the evening, swelling of your feet, coming around from miles around to catch the circus rolling through.
Meet your maker, take your fake i.d. and get into the nearest wanker bar and take a seat next to gentlemen in the grey pinstripe. “I’ve wanted a pair of those shoes you’ve got on for four months now,” you say to the pinup, striped man gawking tenderly in your direction- same man, different story.
“Oh, yeah? he pinstripe speaks gruffly. That is about all there is to say on that account so you and the pinup sit in silence. you order your splash with a nut olive and spritzer in a cone glass with an umbrella straw.
Jesus I just want a cigarette and huff the night away listening to something pounding, several stragglers and jugglers fall in and out of line to pay their alcohol tabs. I sit in the corner booth chugging whiskey since three this afternoon. Rape and pillage me out of here. Sir, can I get a refund? I don’t think it works that way here, vile mausoleum.
Apes on strings, whiskey with wings, carnivale frenzy with my one foot in the door as I look back into the night tunnel that brought me here, signing off and reading a book while sitting in the shower. Steam seething me awake, I breathe and taste the hot rain, blacken the night and forgive me.
I ran into the corner of the your driveway and nocturne emissions trying to escape the day...I owe him a dollar by the way. Nickels and pennies fall from the tree of life when it’s turned upside down and given a good shakin'. Most are in it for the money, I have found.
Panic keep me awake and take me in your shaking hands and then let me go. I pace the chessboard floor every night, and you never show up on time.
Sick stomachs and dying and repentance, freaks in the foyer, lions in their dens teething and waiting for any signal. Luck has nothing to do with it, just ashes once the lions change over and lay down their respective lives. Enough.
Pulpit practice, I do yearn for a safe space but found no one and no where. Land of nowhere and the irony is that I wasn’t sure what I wanted, what I want. Excuse my confusion but the hounds howl too loudly, moats and sea
men floating through the earth’s core on the day that we get out of here, maybe, I don’t know. Maybe I don’t care, though I do. I have to because I have a place here in this pulpit, this studio, this book,
this dancefloor, this channel and that spiral out of control. Chaos stares me in the face and I will just learn to laugh in his face: master and slave is no fun in this case.
I swear to God if things don’t change, I will shut my mouth and not speak. I will refuse to settle for manipulations of thoughts and phrases. I will be the heretic- every time.
Such is the odd confusion that I lay in between: a drowning and a tornado. ha ha. Just light up my darkness, you foreign objects and passions I cannot explain. I have more to give than some stanza one time and a famous night that always ends up with lights out.
Horrified, I shout to the sky. Just because I have seen it before does not make it easier, shut the fuck up on that piano note. You are singing flat and bursting out of your corset.
You either got it or you don’t. Baby, it can’t be taught in any school I’ve ever heard of and I won’t teach what I don’t understand myself, not just yet. Give me a moment to think, please.
I see sideways, hear scratching and think it’s a something.... let’s just say, worse for the time being. I can’t write out any more of that thickness for now. Alone and artist is hard.
Together and artist is hard as well, in fact just stop the video camera altogether and notice a pattern repeating itself. We are all the same and yet not altogether anything the same. Difference is pleasure.