boy that is some pussy shit I just wrote next time I will tell you of the bars I got thrown out of and other nefariousness

I did fucked took punched left gave had left reeled slept stole had stolen



you would not be impressed but still in the end I never fuckin cried just panicked or else didn't

in the end I never fuckin cried just panicked or else didn't



I once had a opportunity to dump a hot steaming shit meal into the lap of George Steinbrenner no shit

and truly



no shit I wish I had I totally wish I had I wished I'd scraped his fuckin head with my hangnail



and another time I coulda kicked Donald Trump in the junk and why the fuck didn't I????



I'll never get the chance again.....

so I left. drove off for NY that morning of the high white end December sun

and it was cool. Indeed it was. And not in the good way. I cried for about 10 miles



then settled down. Into the drive. Finally in spitting snow the buildings and signs visible

on the West Side Highway looked like home.



I took the blue car to a parking garage on the upper west side I just happened to find

one of any. left the bags in the car and hied my 175 lb. ass up to the address my friend



Zee had given me. Spanish Harlem. Columbia side. no fucking sweat thanks to bill clinton and giuliani. and my friend Zee he of the fucked up Midwest late times America African American ethos.



and all that that entails. to you I mean to you.

fucking tiresome them times and yet it was a Specific Time



1998

2 days next to the first fucking day of that year



boy who got rich that year it wasn't me or millions else but

it might have been you if you were there fuck



yow now that I'm writing I'm remembering way too many details to suffice for a succinct and crunchy

little blog poem



but suffice to say that the whole initial time partially involved wood floors, sleeping on them, the constant TV feeling like it was somehow more significant, music,



smoking American Spirit Lights the light blue pack by the open window, bottled European beer, someone else's food



that they cooked, being surrounded suddenly by lots of homosexuality because my boy Zee was a switch hitter and his boy



who lived there just took the pitches. but I didn't care. I had other fish to fry.

like getting as drunk as possible. and seeking my time - ha. i would see the death



of yet another guitar

yeh like I said the fucked non-need of feasting emblazoned on something cold was them times oh



what litanies of drunken times and nights and cocaine yes and cigarettes and what a loneliness, crippling,

just like someone or two or 9 or how many more had told me it was going to be just like they told me



that place

would be

just after I left NY I said to my Dad regarding motherfuckers living in NY I said Hey if you want to live at Ground Zero for the Apocalypse be my guest. I'll be out in the woods waiting for you fuckers to come running. OK, I didn't say that last part but I did say it all around June 2000.



But we live in an age of glib facile and bullshit prophecy. Take a look around you.



I wonder what would happen if I got 2 reptiles to keep in a tank and named them Jesus and Buddha. Nothing I guess. I'm not a reptile guy I'd probably ignore them



I'm a canine guy and I

hope I get born again in the days when sentient dogs rule the earth



(bound writers of the earth drink my 70 proof piss water if you want to gain flow. my seal is the seal of cyber and you will never touch or get close to my throat fucker unless you start your own come on come on come on

I never should've gone to New York



I remember the morning I left



high white sun a warm

last December day like

today



loading my guitars and bags into

the back and trunk of a blue Corolla



my Mom crying as I drove away; in some sense

begging me to stay though not saying



but there had been weeks before the whisky night

in our old damp basement and me puking later in bed and her



cleaning it as I smoked a bitter cigarette on the small front

porch. Muttering. I was full of hate. And



it was for myself. I'm reaching back

beyond the beginning but I'd been

busting for a year selling shoes at JC Penney

in the mall. yeh



God, I'm reaching back too far because

the story I want to tell is why I never should've



gone to New York.

All day today I've been wanting to cry and it's been



based in love and love is what we all need

and also what breaks us and this constant breaking



is what makes us whole

and human and this why I went to New York



and also why I never should've. and

also why I left.



I remember a day many months and in fact years

after I'd gone to New York I stepped outside



Grand Central onto 41st or wherever the fuck

and I realized the evil whole.



The thing that feeds ablaze on cold America.

The emptiness. The non-need festering.



I think it was then I knew to leave though it took me months;

an eviction and 2 more fucked seasons



down the street and on the sidewalks to tell.

No not to tell. It's taken this long to tell.



And this, a poor telling.

I'll save the best for later. At least



that's what I say

mull it



best thing i can do is please ask you to forgive

the time and beauty i failed to give you and i

suspect a penitent is one thing i can be one

role i can play



his song is so bright and mine so shy

mine so mind mine is so why mine is so

bind

and bye and



bye

bye

and so i drink

yes i drink



to think

to feel the brink to ride

upon the brink i don't care what

you think unless you think like me



then i think you might see



what i love

before, again



outside



side

of the house



swagger



look



hook

in the ground

mind

head



underground

look at the

faces



under

ground



under

the berm or



look

sideways

to the



highway

i never i had nothin until i promised you



something



i never would ask but take i

will for love of you yes



for love of you. i

pause in the



half voice



trials

you've faced



i've faced

you i

did

what



i had to do



scales



measure



climax



can't

did



there



in the hall



your test



you

so low the needle

in face of trenchant joys

other



problems no problems

chiaroscuro joy

no joy yet some

war crib



what is so affecting about how a man of your stripe

must comport himself in this wretched age of crime and pain is



fuck it though Fido. create instead

for yourself a fictional alter-ego and live through that.

him. it. act through him



but I thought that's what I was doing see

even though I'm half drunk I'm still shit lucid,

the glib demeanor of the monk

gone north, to the mountains,



the barbarian dwellings. I got a brother

lives up there he's better than me.

fucks all the fillies. sometimes

2 at a time. but nobody



trusts him. that's a lie. they

all do. nobody knows how he's profiligate.

or say few do. he

hides it well.



that part of his life is important

only to him. me, I drink. not

him;



he's got physical gifts. he's cunning whereas

I am paranoid. but he dreams only

at night whereas my

prophecy rips me apart



as well as others.

they called me a sorcerer, a wizard.



they would. if only

they knew the words

and had



any imagination.

they have none,

so I'm termed a felon.



pay it no mind. I keep

no gun

yet I'm way



dangerous.

this is how

my tale begins:

come here

I want



to ask

you

crawford arsenic pie



good bye

i killed myself last night

and got reincarnated into a

pesky chow



now then. and after

a white trash beetch

fuckin whapped me

with a cinderblock



till ah got crushed and bled.

the year was 3009

and I got immediately reincarnated

as a rich man's bank account



as a cunt

as a gun

as a hair plug

as menses



as a virus

that wipes out the rest of the species

and then after a million years I come back as a

radio frequency.



as it blares over the gang bang

bitches male and female start the slaugher

from fucking straight to cutting

murder so fresh it seem



like a game

a jerk off

a face shot.

and every fiend



all jokes

like there's no God and

especially

no tomorrow;



there aint.



and

it's a fucking Hell

on earth Mr. President



courtesy of your God the



Devil

&

here you go cup of insanity baby



&

Carmen told a friend she thought I was too intense



&

i should have loved you becky when i had the chance i should have insisted you dance



&

eat the dream roots then lie sodden on the lawn



2 months out from being gone and a wetter

June never seen



&

the last time I was supposed to see him I got drunk in the city and never made it back across the river



I'd contact him but I'd be afraid he thinks I own him money



&

I woke up seated on a stoop and my Gibson was gone. I crept back to my room in early piss light to lie like a prisoner on my floor



&

both of his parents were dead. his brother lived uptown and i think slung drugs. his sister in Canarsie was sane but cruel



&

we blundered into this bullshit club i half knew about wanting trees and it was so thick and queer dangerous there he finally had to ask if I was gay. I said no, just stupid



&

Irene Irene I probably could have had you you used to listen to me sing and you so smart. and so sick



&

the gave no class on depravity. it's shit some fuckers are just born with. when you encounter these fiends stay away from them



&

for a couple of years there I guess I wished to lose my way.



&

we haven't really spoke in years. sad when friendship becomes relic



&

what if what if you could go back and do things differently oh yeah. but you can you can

slummin a bit lately

smokin a butt here and there

will have to quit anew and religiously again come Jan. 1



will have to slip my boy the J-dog a fin

for the smokes I keep bummin



slummin a bit lately

it perhaps is OK to smoke occasionally if it is very seldom,

but better just not to.



slummin.

Canadian whisky. you mix it with water from the Brita

pitcher and about five ice cubes and it goes down so nice.

but don't have more than 2. don't want to get dangerous



bunch of snow out there. shitty sleeting now and freezing shit

I don't want to be here.

I want to be out

slummin some more



but I guess work will pass.

have to see how far I can get.



I've had dreams lately of writing 2-3 pages a day



that and some poems might get me through



I been having some disturbing dreams lately too but

I don't want to get you down with them



don't want to get myself down



besides, the antecedents of these dreams are all very clear

and so there is comfort in that



might have to continue in this vein later

and by that I mean uh

marry



a sensible peace

centered like physics



like a jousting game

or else a game with a ball



we love we

do

love



*



the least I can do,



field brevity

and allowances



cards -

a deck

of them



is the mind.



choice;

what's implied

is fancy,



what is

read



is height as

a cold edge as

of ice,



lust formed,

a skate

on a



puddle.



contortions. of rage?



nope. just

be



humble

this one here don't belong here. belongs at drunken phone calls. but Blogger won't cooperate. I have this cached and don't want to lose it. so here it is



Post Date: Tue Dec 09, 09:36:50 PM



man why would a motherfucker ever even post here read here well this is the runoff for MC I mean Mott Cromby I mean Matt Chained I mean time to crack another Labatt's



goin



did it down one sip



Howard Dean or Wesley Clark is youR watchword and key



enough of that



I am taking tomorrow off to do X mas shopping yay



hopefully tie one on later in the day what better to do on a day off



I can't figure out why motherfuckers don't comment on my real blog

except it's I'm emptying my heart everytime and by definition

you do that shit in America and the fuckers hate you



and here's some real heresy: I used to work up in WTC 1 2 etc.



Not everyone who died up there was a saint



but they were all uniformly a lot better or at least more innocent than the shills paymasters fools plutocrats fanatics and dickheads who put that terrible day in place



every so often there's another terribly clear blue sky day in the East makes you think of that day



and then ever so often there is a beautiful day in America make you think of when you could be proud of your damn country



that's been stolen.



let's take it back assholes



LET'S TAKE IT BACK

LET'S TAKE IT BACK

LET'S TAKE IT BACK

the elements



the soiled elements which comprise a past

are a mask.a transparency. a diagram. a mute

mononucleosis of need and rage. and clarity.



ellipses follow. drinking now and yes I will

continue to drink until the story be told

and with honesty plausible. no dramatic curve

exists except what's inveighed or imbued



the topographies of thought and emotion

are not neat. both require a voice. and one more

than just, say, this happened today and then this

and this happened. all my thoughts now

are of stories past; time is the iron

that binds all wounds



I wrote a song once saying as much. there's

another poem there: the genesis, conception,

life, death and memory of such a thing. I could

sing you a song now but you can't hear it. but

can you hear me



I said to her, I have no greater essence

than what I give here. we were in her green

Bronco parked by the canal. or else safe

backstage, with piano, guitar. or else



lying upon shingles under December gray sky

and afraid to touch hands. someone gave an awkward

pat. it was you



we were walking then close by in the snow snow falling

as we left the mall lot and we close God what warmth ah God

all good got flushed to Hell



before I knew what had gone

where my boys at?



a culpable thing is happiness

a theiving moment

dusk over water, gold-brown water

or else a timeless scene in a culvert

a stagnant one, one slated for demolition

vis a vis and pending

some fucked airport construction



I was insane on the bus

someone said later I stood on a seat

and proseltyzed -

I always knew I had nuts.

Big ones. I should have been a brawler

a loudmouth I should have fucked shit up

in the days before -



it's impossible to view an airplane now

as anything other than a death vessel dream

like dreams I used to have in Brooklyn of fire craters mayhem

but those weren't prophetic. spend some time in Brooklyn

if you can't feel me. vodka in a blue bottle. some fucked

puerto rican kid trying to lure me to the ATM - take out all your money -

spend it on girls - he crazier than I in his junkie garb. you,

motherfucker, are going to die trying -



happiness. here now gone. I see some everytime it snows.

and I mean bad.

drink a beer out there in the shelter. but I get so sad when the sun

comes back

anger is a form of love



no it's not

today yawns out



I wish I were sitting wrapped in a blanket,

stone awake and with all the prospects

assembling themselves ahead

with no extra effort from me



silly silly dream

today



yawns out

the party crashes

sucks

having to drive



chuckle

numb my head



casual clothes

hang tight

for the booze o rama



the harmless deprived depraved



I wanted to do better for you



today yawns



out

whole day sad



1.

deep night

rubella sky



the blast furnace of forever, now silent,

lurks, a yellow envelope. yellow as a foul tooth,

it creeps at the horizon



toward which I've been training my spotlight

(it red as blood, never yet rubies).



now time though

to train it

upon my

chattel self



2.

need to get more insomniac

need to cultivate the darkness hours

or else need to get more covert in daylight

like I am now



need to sleep less

or need less of something anyway and more

of something else



keep thinking of cigarettes



3.

I remember when I used to think mania was something to be cultivated

that's when I really began to hit smoking and drinking hard



a cathartic sense of self



need, I suppose, to channel this addict's personality and sensibility

into the rush of art making



yeah, fuck, why not say it again and you know who you are if that's

what you been going for



man I would start smoking again if I lived alone and just didn't give a fuck but giving a fuck

I suppose is what reels one back in from the precipice where insanity

stops being a cool game you think you're playing with the world and instead

starts to eat you



like so many things in the world will eat you and ultimately destroy you,

insanity, as insidious as complacency & comfort



a finger trembling toward

the hard face of the monk,



and he

a drinking monk,

one



prone to rage



4.



don't be afraid I will wait for you

1.

call me negativity jones no - no

breathe deep and let it all go in four and by six all the fire is gone

and gone too the idea of firing a Camel hey fuck it I'll quit again - nope.

snowstorm, ok. yeh.



2.

she almost had a meltdown on the road and I couldn't do anything to help.

except be cool on the call. ok, bye. she worked it out, someone came to help.

ok, bye.



3.

man, i need a smoke. i mean the green kind. not now. one for later would be nice.

no chance. ok, i'll take a drink instead. a glass of beer. times 7. whatever. it's only 9:13 am



4.

but the snow is so cool and white. and quiet. i wish i was out there right now. up home.

i bet a black german shepherd would rather play in the snow than remain upstairs in bed.

oh well. me too.



5.

negativity. no, it's going away. just nothing, how's that instead. don't bother me.

tough one. it's an effort to be friendly. call me loath. it's not you, it's me. ok, it is you.

also me. tell you what, i'll shut up. you too though. they're bringing pizza for lunch.

big deal. i hate eating with an audience. they're fucking stealing our country. don't say much about it. believe it or don't. they're bringing pizza for lunch that's all we care about. boy is

that fun. and the traffic was so bad. it is so snowy out.



6.

what next what next what next



7.

his first day on the job

a man came up to me at my desk and asked what is the reason for x y and z

and I as I took a sip of Diet MakeNoEyeContact told the mofo his game was a baseless experiment I mean embarrassment I mean faceless faceless

your creepy grasping is hasp on my meta-flask Jasper you whiter than Casper

and so he took it upon himself to escalate this inquiry up through a channel



I looked up at the drop ceiling above me and saw all the other channels up there shimmerin and languishin and I told him

sonny boy if it'd been even a few short months ago I would've entertained a violently ambivalent fantasy

over you as in push your fuckin face into the copier and blast fax your face to the RNC under the subject re: put a apple in its ass and call me on Easter love, Satan and your continuing part in all of this is not quite your fault though not quite mine either & etc. etc.



but as it is I have graduated to the level of "Player" hahahahahahah

by which I mean to say that I am entertained by and am entertaining none of it this you etc.



and I never did many things heretofore never knifed a tire

never poked a Latina even though she lay in red thong underwear on my Brooklyn floor

never gamed up in the dorm rooms way back when when I should've and perhaps could've now

you just hunker down in your cubicle my dumb young friend and what amazes me about you people

is how unmitigated you all come through in your baseless optimism and arrogance it is

a nation of fools like you and yes me and that is the great undoing why

if I eschewed 11 beers etc. more often than not I'd be I was going to say some author of recent renown

to signify but no no



no I ain't your boss. but

I am the boss of this here middle phlangeee



(this is what I tell all the new people up in this motherfucker)