Skip navigation

Monthly Archives: March 2009

 

fin de siecle

fin de siecle

Just walk two paces to the left, you there, got it get it good. Oh well it’s 2am madam, I’m a crazy mother crook, no peace, no sleep, the black horse escaped through the fence again and the dogs are going crazy, as if they were Olympians, damn pack of hounds, pack a pound of brown, sneezing baby stare, upside the head, mourning and dread, I feel a change in there. the kettle’s boiling but the milk is off, the shelves are packing dusty grime, fat pigs stare down, fat feathers fair, fat lip fat face face fat frown. I heard from Mickey and from mike they’re not the same if I’m not there, I nearly escaped back into prison yesterday, so close, so near so unfair to hitting the highway back home, back to the streets, back to the city back to the gritty get back my pretty.

She always knows whats best you know. That sun rising up over the bridge, the chatter on the lip, the lips achatter. Boxed and scarred, mental pilgrimage, I always think about it, that other side, but I can think about it without physically going there to hide// the marquis indeed is dead in me, the watermark has taken hold, the colors true and bold, the flying fellas upon my lash, I kiss him twice then take it back. Tremble little legs all the way down, the valid sequel awaits, 3 sentences ago, I looked up and realized I wasn’t in my skin, I had moved, I was rushing hovering above the chair, and no matter where I looked Faust was there. I’m a blade runner, a grave digger, a tool and a newt, I’m a junkie, a puppet a puritan suit. I thought about love, and I thought about them, I thought about girls and I thought about men, I thought I saw some malice creep back into my mouth but really it was Alice sleeper leper girl and lout. Too many thoughts too early can make you mad but too few thought too far late can also get you stabbed. I decided to paint the animals the jugular the lock, I sent, I saw, I smell, I snore, I set fire to the burning bush

Advertisements
demian

demian

Sore backs on the break, 7 days on the take. Restless sleep, restless feet. I was sitting on the edge, struck with a sensation I had not felt for many a night. It was one of indifference, no satisfaction, no way of looking forward or back. Just sitting stone like, staring into 6 mirrors mirroring their target, me, the ego, the selfish serenade being played at the window, the knocks in the back of the head, the breath insufficient, the taste sour and scalous, I slipped away and wouldn’t come back. The first 3 days is all about voice, vice and reason. I rowed a boat across the lake killing plants and energy, blue boots on, reeds in my hair, Ophelia knocking at the helm. I walk and walk through the forests here, up the pathways, around the farm, I stare for hours at the shifting lilies, the deep orange, the birds the rock, how can this mean anything to me. I move again, this time to write, write write write, its all that’s left, its all that wills, there is nothing else to do. I think I’m receiving the tableau of what the scenario means, its frozen, drawing me into its macabre needs and the foretelling might have begun again. He contacted me and yet I could not tell him the truth. He contacted me and I hung my head in a noose. Repetitive sounds , slick offences, moods, brusque, effervescent, avuncular, I’m the heroine, chasing the sunlight around the to the back door, the two halves, the golden calf, Golgotha and then nevermore. Experiment with the evil they tell you, take a chance, steep your imagination in the colours, dream a little dream, remove reality, express the debauchery, make it all right, just not tonight….