domestic update

last night in Rocky Mount. I’ve kept my proud mouth shut for most of the long haul. I scream the worst of the worst in my notebook, and I justify it. it is street art in its purest form. poor man’s psychologist chair. spill ink not blood. so we’ll move into the city and be done with this place, try to be more sane. we keep thinking about how being here has been such a limbo feeling, that life has been on hold. it is really nice for a person to have his own space and flourish in it. you can really go insane when you’re around people all the time. this is probably the last entry until the middle of next week. by then we’ll probably reestablish a connection.

last night
went
up onto
Mill Mountain
nature to
give one
a nice
heartattack
I don’t
mind
anymore
this evening
crashed for
four hours (?)
much needed
I dream of
new floor
plans
dreamt went
into Walmart
type of place
fell face forward
onto the floor
sleeping there
no one getting me
up, a wind swept me
across the tiles
into the wall ahead
underneath the pay phone
people talking
while I sleep
sleep so needed I dream about it
tonight shifted belongings
in garage
so a kind family member
who is helping me out
with the move tomorrow
can get to it easier

the night
getting hotter
ready soon
to go back to bed

dilapidation

dead flies
in basement
florescent lights hum
that basement smell
I crawl away
from your personality
admit I’m not
strong enough
to withstand it
they take millions
and millions of
cigarette breaks
until the big final break
comes along
the body falls apart
whole chunks fall off
it becomes a bloody soup
you become something else
sing in that direction
so everyone can hear
the body falls apart
stand in your own puddle

I don’t laugh at everything
so why should
they laugh at
everything I say
so no stand up comedy for me

fate of the next guy

soreness creeked in neck. he asks their opinion on everything, can never think for himself. it’s a wonder he made it this far. overcompensates with hyperactivity and they see transparency. who is this idiot, they say? what decade generates this kind of idiot. docile child’s face from ’39, Hitler with his lettuce sandwhich. it is bed time, think of some prayers, think of Poland wiped out by Germany, drink water out a of a small paper cup, throw your weight around. is that fair? what is fair? it is all far off. it all blends together. off and on, you have your insanity. this guy comes from his war, rents a room in a town where the white paint is chipping off and everyone waves as they drive by. he has nightmares and cannot enjoy his life, says it has been poisoned by the circumstances. he can get to bed but never wakes up feeling rested. to stay awake he walks through the mine fields. tank treads over his frail shins. shards.

slow breath

zero entries lately. frowned sad face distraught in the family battles. quietly a storm for now. hold your blue breath until you wake up somewhere else. don’t feel like going to work tomorrow, hold it for awhile. see which bed suits you best. I prefer to sleep low to the ground, raised myself that way, once I knew better. in our new apartment, which we’re holding our breath for, we’ll sleep low to the ground there too, with movies at our feet. many topics. I am quiet and unsocial at times, self conscious, later eating Indian food in good spirits and then quite talkative, away from the trashed up new house we’re currently staying in, boxes to the ceiling. good to be out in the summer air at night, walking around with wife, albeit after an argument, after flies tried their best (and did well) to disturb my much needed sleep, beat to a pulp like a man getting backed over by a utility truck. hours slip through the needle’s eye no problem – I’m constantly listening to hip hop and writing, reading my red 18th century Russian novel throughout the week, getting by on a few pages a day. we stand outside, they smoke on the break, I sit in the grass and drink water, the odd man out, proud but quiet, odd and quiet. return back ‘home” like the truck today backed over me 5 times. I sing a song, recite outloud what I force myself to memorize, breathe all different types of air, appreciate each season’s charm, pet the cat, see a child in my cat, see a child in myself as I pet the cat. feel healed. understand political issues clearer, that more things than you’d like to think are political. overhead fan acts like it would like to come loose, drop down, and see what kind of damage it could do to the back of my neck. I stay put. I concentrate on maintaining my D.C. accent, not as an allegiance to D.C., or the memory of it even, but I guess to myself, if that makes any sense. if I could get to a true self, it would be worth loving, worth putting my hand over my heart for. until then, sipping water at 10 and 3 o’clock will have to suffice.

notes

I miss some of my old friends terribly. I feel like I haven’t talked with anyone in years, and I almost wouldn’t know what to say. I’d like to sit down and share with you what I’m currently reading, maybe even what I’m writing, also what I’m listening to. ask you what you’re thinking, how you’re doing in the world. take you to the new restaurant Casey and I found that’s so wonderful it practically makes me want to cry. or is it that I just want to cry right now?

listening to jazz, just a few Dostoevsky pages a day further into the masterpiece novel, watching some TV shows, taking it easy during the time off, caring for my cat who seems sick with a dry nose and not as playful as usual. the three of us living on less that a hundred dollars for the next two weeks. it’s strange poor man’s diet where the stomach hardly ever gets filled any more and I’m hungry all the time with a soreness and frequent headaches. trying my best to keep my spirits up in the midst of family scandals and struggling through Sundays early mornings, Miles playing, drawing lines overtop one another not knowing what they mean but liking them like the sounds from the vent air conditioning. I am thankful for the view, to be out of the city. I hope I can somehow come into some work that is suitable for our happiness and sanity. I want more than to get by just barely…

notes

late set of notes
not that I haven’t
been writing
but one word at
the top of the page
today hardly counts
for anything
if I am counting
still that in limbo feeling
though I am working
we won’t feel
relaxed until we
have a place of our own
fireworks going off
air conditioning vents
that comfortable
white noise
summer brings
I don’t care if I
run it too much
they’ll run it more
so all is well
everything is
so perfect

I’d like to hear
from some people
I’m mostly
on my own
listening
to jazz/hiphop/hardcore
or not