but, if you stay...

i finished a moleskine. it's not all for you.
here is some of it.
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JULY 2008-MARCH 2009
new york
las vegas

not a spider on my lapel, that's a jellyfish, or anemone.
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i had something for you while hanging lives on hooks but it slipped away inconveniently, so i'm thinking here of your painting and the words i'd put to it.
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in a meeting, held together across four days by less than 10 hours of sleep, bottles upon bottles of alcohol, and poorly catered buffet food. i'm hallucinating. auditory. visual. but the smoke started last night.

seeing smoke where there is no smoke.

i'm at a round table with a chair pointing out. facing the podium. a young girl sits curled up in the chair next to me recoiled in terror from me. it's in the jaw drop and the eye expansion.

i hear creaking that no one hears. i ask paige and richie if they hear creaking. i make the mistake of offering the possibility of it being the ice in the pitcher.

ice in the pitcher.

i hear a woman's voice say, "ohhhhh" from above and behind my right shoulder.

i'm getting paranoid.

i hear full songs at the lowest volume. not distinct enough for identity. but it might be coheed or fairweather.

it's later today, still seeing smoke.

billy idol finally played dancing with myself. imperial palace: something about this place makes people want to dance.

leaning on a set of windows, feels like i'm on a conveyor belt.
still in vegas.

i saw a steward standing up and admiring or waiting for an answer from a girl who looked like jena, but he wasn't there at all. i'm still paranoid, thinking about how my pants look dirty, and are garnering attention fmor the passengers around me. it's a distraction. must be lack of sleep. i also have been closing my eyes and i'll open them after a while and it will seem that any of the people around me are pulling their gaze away. i worry maybe i'm talking in my sleep. oh, i'll never know. auditory hallucinations persist as well. i hear rick's giggling, chris talking, i just hear the girl next to me break into hysterical laughter. i don't know, we're still above utah. i have that song in my head that goes, "there she goes, there she goes again." i think a woman sings it. i keep hearing lighters being flicked. and i still see the smoke, really. a man holds a pen like a cigarette. life and some new layer of it. i'll be careful.

i just saw a static tv on the floor. i keep thinking the stewardess is trying to walk past me but i'm blocking her way.
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foolish ones and dream rogues.
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"there is no need for you to leave your house. stay at your table and listen. don't even listen, just wait. don't even wait, be completely quiet and alone. the world will offer itself to you unmasked; it can't do otherwise; in raptures it will writhe in front of you." - kafka

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i understand more about myself through what i say and not only what i think! the most organic and internal sound (a thought) overthrow by filter and voice.

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the essential mickey rourke
- rumble fish
- body heat
- diner
- the pope of greenwich village
- angel heart
- barfly
- sin city

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i worry about playing what it is i play, speaking of human bodies and men as other things. who breathes? nothing is left. they told me as a levelled out city, see, it's worse that the men were there for the explosion. silhouettes always and always. dead men. plans for days and the rest of your life.

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it's early. light's blue. waiting for the reason i'm awake.
i miss everyone.

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i had a real, core thought that SHE was pregnant out there. it felt heavy.
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the lips of this mouth, pure oldest of the ugly ones. dirty bones, fitted leather case. plays a dirty tune, but oh lord what a sound. color disks in elevated skin plains. "leave it to me, i'll die in this city in love, be it God or Harlot. this tempest hasn't yet torn me." the gift for a better vessel. all those wasted days, my muse silent in the glass hollows. the madman is speaking french. sounds like grace to me.
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