June 14th 2017

05f7af135487a9b28771a22750d37053I don’t understand how I can I see this child telling me to buy this car. Doesn’t the adult in this commercial wake up with a cold sweat sometimes? Does the car fix this? Maybe it does because I haven’t bought anything like… I think I need a blood pressure medication because my heart is really going. This guy John who got me the methadone said I would need it and now I know he was right. But this is the guy who passed out onto his boston kreme donut. The place right across from the union square park. That is where I met him- him and his girlfriend. They both wore black and had a black rooster who they found in the cemetery. It kept shitting on their clothes that they stored in this ragged suitcase. They lived on the last stop of the R train in Queens. The landlord was some decrepit in a wheelchair who would shit himself constantly. They would buy him a handle of vodka everyday. Yet I wanted to hear their stories of riding the Union-Pacific railroad. Yet I was new to town and wanted to cop. Yet I was depressed. Wasn’t I in graduate school? This kind of proper path that had me spiraling towards my parents deaths? How come I came out of that vagina? How come everyone in my family has been laid? Here I am cutting logs out West and haven’t seen anyone in my family in months. Should I end it all? But I want to rock with you.

Letter to A.H.

I  am not sure what time of year it was, but it was warm and we were at college. Not sure if it was your first or second year but it was more or less my fourth. Some how we made contact, probably through some party- yes it was. After I was thrilled and fully high on our interaction and your beautiful essential nature.

Some days later I went to visit you in the dorms, your room, your place. This music was playing that had come out that year. I’m not sure the circumstances of your playing this but when we were laying together in your bed it did something to my mind. It has been imprinted into my psyche- to the point where I am remembering this experience repeatedly and it has been just shy of ten years. Why is that? What is it about this experience that so deeply resonates with my core being? Was it your tenderness? The timelessness of the situation? Did I get to some core human experience? Obviously I don’t know what you were feeling, but maybe it was along the same lines?

Whenever I listen to thatFleet Foxes album this all comes rushing back. Funny how music can do that. I have been listening to that album much more recently. Wonder why.

It really pains me how things ended between us and it was totally my fault. I feel really bad about this and have been carrying around the weight of that. Why would I want to cause you violence when you have been nothing but good to me? I hope maybe one day you can forgive me. I know we have a non-existent relationship but still. And whenever I hear this album it makes me reflect on this. I know this message it uncalled for. I know you probably don’t want to hear from me and you probably might not even remember me. But the purpose of all of this is to just let you know. I want to put myself out there and expose myself as being vulnerable. I don’t expect a response. That’s okay. Though I feel a lot of pain, at least I got to spend some time with you and I’ll have those memories the rest of my life.

Letter #1

Dear C,

I had the idea to write to you. Not like this has been something that has been brewing for a while. Today though, maybe because of the heat, the times of summer, I felt haunted by the specter of you. Everyone looked like you at first glance. I mentioned this to the guy I was on a job with and he was like, that cuz you still love her. Huh. Really?

Before you sigh and shut the computer, listen- or not, I don’t really have anything important to say. I am not an important person. Yet, I did know you and spent some time with you so I figure, you might be interested.

I just went for a run, the first in god knows when and while I was running I was thinking of what to say to you. And yet as I sit at this computer and type out some words to you, I am at a loss. I don’t know if I should be nostalgic, bitter, happy or depressive. What do you think?

How can I bring this white page to life? So you think, yippee? Depends on how close you want to get. Granted I’m in the dark here just bubbling around. Maybe crazy experiences have happened, maybe you have just aged. Maybe you got on the boat, or not. Kind of like microphone feedback. Something dangerous or just boredom. Is that how you want to be treated?! Are we animals?! Can’t we get to the next movement. Where is the creative, the artist, you on the late night programs. Man, how can I be like them? I thought the deck was stacked and yet, and yet, emptiness. Close to eating bread with a spoon. I, uh, don’t understand. But it feels good to hear from you. What, may I ask you are doing with yourself?

I go nuts for donuts so to speak. He just sort of lays there. He had so much potential. What does he do with his time? He spends money he doesn’t have and on what? I haven’t heard from him in a while. He has anxiety I know that, probably should go to therapy but is caught up with the societal taboos. Not on social media much. An odd fellow. Probably autistic. Does it reflect poorly on me that I dated an autistic guy? Sorry I know that is a bad thing to say.

Well, it is my stop, I better go. I’m not on the subway, my fingers are just sticky.

Foot cramp!

J

Too many dishes to wash

b7r7p9dAs much as I have tried I have never come close. How much do you need to take to make it work?

I’ve been on hundreds of trips man…I hear them say that and I wonder if they reached that level…do they still get constipated? What is it you want to achieve? That everyday you wake up and you don’t need to feel sore or have dry skin? Or feel broke? What if you have money- does that get to where you want? What if I add dmt to it? How hard you want to go? Mainline some K? Does it get you there? What about the Mason family, darkness drugs and bid the day goodbye? Like some speeding arrow, where are they down? Old and feeble, like some grandmother? What about Hitler, I was in the Nazi Youth and look where it got me- riding a motorcycle out in the desert with some fucking patch I show people.

What if I can’t score everyday? I’ll get sick, man. Go to the state, they put you in those liquid handcuffs. Say you got anxiety, they’ll give you some of those k-pins and that shit that slows your heart rate down, that’s what my girl does.

Probably helps mask the scent of unwashed clothes.

Enjoy the party now, what will we eat after? Can there really be any sort of political movement now that there is Netflix? Is that what we want? I don’t know what it is like to be dehydrated, after all I log all filtered water I drink in this app, it even displays the graph for free. How can I participate in some revolution? Have I even held a gun? Do you know what it is like to be in pain? How about that California Apple ideology. Steve Jobs and his great LSD experience and now he is rich and now he can experiment with diet and now he is dead and guess what his wife still takes a shit every morning!

What if it is about that, rolling around in the undergrowth, don’t you feel that urge to lay down, to feel that glow in between the eyes, feel yourself and your bones, and those worms, and all these fluids, what are these things, these little tiny hands all over me holding me up. And then that woman in green she is coming at me fast and in that moment I’m not sure if I am in a pool or in a rubber suit or have urinated or what is sex? Or reproduction and creating a life and we do this stuff and I hurt if I don’t put this in my mouth and drink that and oh god that is a gun in my mouth. This is the police state in it’s full brutality. I can’t escape. I am with these men, these inmates and they are nothing like me, I swear! I didn’t kill anybody! I didn’t steal I swear people would say I am a nice guy! Oh no a guard is coming. I can’t be talking to you right now, it is against the rules and my parole hearing is up soon.

I will be the guy raking the leaves at that garden store you go to in order to get a pumpkin for your porch for the kids that will be coming by for candy. My jeans have this fine particulate matter in them from the fertilizers and I wonder if it will be bad for my health. I know when it gets on my hands it dries them out and lord knows I spend a fortune on hand lotion. I can’t touch corduroy either, am I autistic? Would that explain it? God just give me an answer, or I’ll settle for a sign!

But what about that moment when we didn’t need to worry about the next meal, when we lived on campus with our peers. You think the guy with the cardboard sign and swollen feet out in the wet and the cold thought he would end up like that when he was in your position?! Do you? I am going to go out the old fashioned way- take some tabs, take my clothes off and rub honey all over myself in the woods. They are filled to the brim with bears. They will cut me down, because I can’t. You know how many times I brought that gun along looking to get famous but nothing happened? Do you know how many times this plays out again and again. Doc says it is a deficit in cognitive mapping. Sure, that is the latest phrase in a long line of phrases that are unique to modernity. Ha!

But I thought we would have been so good together. I met you father. We had sex and confessed for being born. I wanted to do it then and there, draw blood, be awash in the stuff. It was us! We were to grow old, in a vacuum of course, no passage of time, just just oh god, don’t stop, I love you, oh god I love you so much. I literally cry whenever I listen to that song and have a beer or two in me. It is joy, something I never told anyone. Just like when you listen to one of those Beethoven symphonies. You are so beautiful, I’m not just saying that, your eyes, your hair, I know you, in a past life or something. Some shit. No no I’m not cheapening the experience.

Let me add some significance to the situation. Let me make you think I am serious. Sure you aren’t perfect, you see that in the cracks. Leaking all over my face; you do don’t you. Truth be told I can’t be around you unless I’m ‘there’ you know. Why do you think I always bring my backpack into the bathroom, even during that Christmas party at your uncle’s house there right on the beach. Oh yeah, yup. I lied, there I said it. Fuck this, you know what at least when I do this I can feel calm. I don’t want to be with you! Go fuck yourself and your fucked up family! Fuck your old boyfriend. God it sounds petty but this is my life!! Fuck! And I have to go to work the next day. I thought in that lovely little moment where we promised to Be Here Now and I gave you my copy of Be Here Now and we drew and listened to jazz and thought this and thought that and read those books, like the young folk who try to be with it do. But there is no with it. The culture is too fast, I can’t hold on.

And now there is anxiety from when someone doesn’t like your picture and your post was never read and you only hope in 1000 years someone says, why yes! We have found it, the real it, the way is the way but you can’t actually say what is the way because then it will no longer be the way and the Tzu people, all three of them will nod and you will hear the sounds of one hand clapping and the tiger and strawberry plant and that guy who promised to teach you meditation but really tried to molest you or at least that is what you tell people because it was you that tried to molest the uninitiated and it was me that broke up with you and I was the one that was looking to hang out with the guy with the beard and I had no interest in those tabs or that music and never had any interest in the bus or the acid tests or highway 1 or that band that had those long jams. I was the one that met Charles Mason, that was me in 1967 as a painter. It was me! Not you! I carried out those wishes, we were in the now. We mirrored each other and played cowboys and Indians by those rocks. There was no Nazi party, it was us all along! I was in the cold in the winter of ’43, the second time, not there for the first.

Shall we go while we can?

You know he had die. He had die.

Hey Brother

It is easy to loose balance. There isn’t much to hold on to. Perhaps that is a simple realization, one that may have come long a time ago for you. But the past is compressed. It is condensed. You hear their voice. You remember just that glimpse of when things were nice. You can’t get their anymore except with the help of that latex. Even now it has burned out those pink pathways and you aren’t even close to death. Though all you need to do is unlatch that hatch on the roof and you’ll be closer than you have been years.

What is about the summer that makes you get teary? You remember you actually have emotions. The girl that fell asleep on the subway exemplified everything that caused me pain. The ride is over now. Listen to the harmonious chords. Those chords always did it. Taste the salt on your lips from when the warm waves that knocked you over. But that was only because they waved to you. Ha. Or you thought they did. No one is here now. It is just you. What else is there left to do? Should you dance? It is such an unfamiliar sensation.

Perhaps it was the veggies you had for dinner? Quick! The song is ending. Before you take that last step. Before you reach that edge, hey! Didn’t you feel there was something more? Like it would be you some how? Like everyday you would open your eyes and you would just melt because we were here together? Okay okay you’re right, let’s do this. Oh yes yes it is just me. One last sip. Make it a gulp. Climb. You have a goal. Feel that warmth grow. This is the world. It is nothing but what you have right now. Just think it will be washed away. Another will be in this space. No need to be sentimental. Just do it, take the step. Okay okay I will. See!? Look at this.

My Blog on the Web

I’ve been doing this for years before the internet. What I really got good at was plumbing. I created this device that allows you to quickly and efficiently unclog a toilet. It really is just a one, two. I charge them a hundred bucks and I’m out of there in thirty minutes. Go tell that to your wall street friends. I was cleaning up literally! lower manhattan and some parts of Brooklyn. Down in the Brighton Beach area. I was making stacks, you know what stacks are? Let’s just say it was a lot of money- or how about- you see that movie “Full Metal Jacket”? Yeah? Well, the stacks I made unclogging people’s shit, too beaucoup. Too fuckin beaucoup. That’s French you know.

Man, and let me tell you, the women, they can just smell when you got money. Listen, I’m not the kind of guy that’s going to go out and buy some nice clothes to impress a woman. You see this shirt? I’ve had this for ten years. Ten years! And yeah I know I’m not what you would call a looker, see I haven’t even bothered to get my teeth fixed. But man the women, the women know when you got cash.

I was living in this place in Brighton, you know far down, could have bought it in cash right then, but I rented it- why stay in one place? So I’m walking down the street one day and this broad comes up to me. Gorgeous blonde. I’m talking she’s got the hair, the nails, the tits. And she just comes right up to me asking me if I can give her directions. Before I know it she is taking me to a bar and I’m just getting her loaded. In these situations I don’t really drink, I think of myself as the hunter. Can’t cloud my vision went I go for the neck. Besides, that’s extra money. So I got her over to my apartment. And we don’t leave for days. No no, don’t give me that, look- I didn’t cut her up or nothing, we were just having fun. Man, women I tell ya. This bitch just wanted it. I’m not even in shape and got am pretty short but she just fuckin ate my shit up. Ha no no, she wasn’t into that stuff without having to pay her first. The basic shit is free, just got to provide a roof you know? Simple these bitches are.

Come on man, I know talking about your conquests can get boring. Anyway, had many girlfriends for years man, life was good. You know why everything I own can fit into a hockey bag? Because sluts take things. They steal your shit even when you buy them anything they want. I just couldn’t take it no more. By the way, you know what you should buy into? The new nyc domains they’re selling! Big bucks!

White spots on fingers

Got a little water, feeling dizzy. Bones of mine every which way. Tapping my foot waiting for nothing. Thinking of that time it rained long ago? Remember that, that was the present, nothing like it no more. Looking at the sky gasping the last breaths before it all goes down.

There is nothing like seeing a late term abortion on the screen during coitus.

I didn’t tell her to turn it on, but she jumped up and yipped.

God, these experiences are never good. I should be working. I should be right, but I am not. What do I have to go back to- serving customers coffee, a computer printer, nachos? The story has been told many times before. And since my sense of purpose is augmented by the internet, I’ve heard this story ad infinitum. And what can I do? With hands that ache and no one to speak to in this filthy room, I just rot. Sure sure skip over, look at some of this and some of that, I couldn’t direct you where to go. I have no novel images that might make that endorphin you’re chasing fire. That’s the beauty of youth, the luxury to chase pleasure. Age not having enough time to rot your guts so you’re eyes still look clear and eager.