Everything
is such fun in the beginning,
when
it’s new and undiscovered.
i’ll
try almost anything.
What
is meant by almost?
All
these stupid sick shit roles we play,
all
this pretending, why?
i
want to believe there’s something
behind
the curtain
besides
a windowless stone wall
Something
inexplicable
his/her
majesty of everything/
living/dead/never
existed.
William
Blake said, “Either be a poet or a painter.
Being
both muddies audiences, and discredits one or the other.”
Actually,
Blake didn’t say that. i am lost.
is
it possible to love after what has happened?
the
rage, hurt, disappointment of betrayal.
my
ex still stalks
as
recently as two mornings ago,
all
her exaggerations, over-reactions, fury.
Why
so desperate to return to crime scene?
An
admission of her own guilt?
Excessive
compulsive wound licking (psychogenic alopecia)?
Another
excuse for getting drunk?
When
we waited for the elevator going down
You
said, “Let’s just get this over with.”
i
understood completely.
i,
who worships my own death.
i,
who pisses on my own grave.
i,
who gets bored faster than speed of light.
i,
who suspects killing around every corner.
i,
who sleeps restless.
i,
who worries.
i,
who loves women.
i,
who does not understand women.
i,
who is a woman.
i,
who bangs the dude in L.A. to advance my career.
i,
who is a nobody.
i,
a man with no place to stand.
i,
who belongs to a family of
blustering
flirts, flatterers,
kidders,
thieves.
We
sit at the table,
monkey-wrenching
hand over fist lives.
Forget
about the eyes.
Watch
the fingers.
Don’t
listen to the speeches.
Words
are intentional distractions.
Where’s
your wallet?
Gypsies?
No, we’re not gypsies,
more
upper-crusty, yes, very well-connected secrets.
Do
the names Dante, or Cervantes, or Nabokov mean anything to you?
No,
none of them are our kin,
but
we know people who know people,
infidelities
in very high places.
All
i’m saying is,
once
you reach a certain level,
we’re
all family.
i
will make success happen,
with
or without you.
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