blues. listening to them and pushing my kitten into the other room because he keeps attacking all the cords behind the computer. earlier he managed to put the stereo on a blank radio station and almost pull the speaker down onto the floor. this morning he attacked the cord of my headphones and ripped it in half. I had to go out and buy a new pair. I don’t know if I like them as much.

listening to strange music and feeling that late night hunger binge in my stomach. not looking forward to going in tomorrow morning and being subjected to that awful commercial radio. this is when the headphones come in really handy. I could really stand to knock down a few walls and open up my own office and close the door, or knock down a few walls and run straight through.

we set some of our clocks back. the one in my car I can’t figure out. the right side door rattles. I drive fast for around here. I drive like I think I’m in Philadelphia, like how I think everyone else drives up there. I don’t have a problem with it. probably everyone else does. mostly Roanoke is based of retirement homes and old factories that these old retired folks used to work. it’s very working class and royal at the same time, if you catch a glimpse of the old historic district. I look forward to subjecting myself to some pretty cold walks out there bundled up in many layers and my hat. my walkman is very important to me on these walks. also, if I would pray more, so would be my prayer beads. it’s not that I believe less, but probably that I think less. I’m more secluded than ever, in a sense. I don’t hang out with ANYONE. I don’t know what it is.

I’m hoping like hell for this one job. I think of it as my salvation. my current job is my damnation. I’m damned there for I don’t know how long. is there any light at the end of the tunnel? it will be a long week in the waiting room.

last week we nearly killed both our cats with this Hartz flee drop stuff. immediately Kala, our kitten, started shaking and crouching down real low, ears twitching, and he hid in the corner of the room. Rudra woke up later and was shaking. by 5 AM we woke up to him going into convulsions in the bathroom. we thought he was going to die right there. we washed him off as best as we could with a rag, and took him to the animal emergency room. later we took him to the regular animal hospital where he stayed all day and recovered to full health. I nearly had a heart attack that day I was so worried. I like to talk to the cats and speak my mind to them, no matter how ridiculous that sounds. “I’d do anything for you,” I told Rudra, and I meant it. I told him again tonight, just in case he didn’t understand the first time.

I told you, this will go on for awhile. I’ve got big plans for this next hour. he looked at my journal and asked to read it. I’ve said I’ve got plenty more and they’re all private. I’ll write down a public entry down on this napkin for you, and hope you can forgive me. inside it’s just too disastrous, I cut off heads in those big broad rooms, speak my true mind. once I get to it, it’s the best thing since Christmas. then I go beyond a Christmas and everything that led up to it. when Billie Holiday would come on, for awhile there I would be tricked into thinking it was a time where I would be more at home (anything but here!). not so. I think I’m going to stick out what I’ve been given. let it get worse even. let everything down or empty out or freeze up and I’ll try to spend my last hours huddled up in my coat. the very best could come from me then.

to make up for lost time, I’m going to write until my fingers fall off, and the music can keep playing. I’d rather look at my writing in print than look in the mirror. what I write is a better representation. I’d rather design some sort of icon than provide a picture of my face there. how is it so personal that we want to see all these pictures? bands jumping around on stage, and we think we’re seeing these people truly? maybe we don’t need to. maybe the music is coming up from a deeper place, without a face. I’m tired of being around people. I’d rather be with friends. none around here, practically. DC was lacking, too. I want to be honest, I want to be miserable. who’s up for it? don’t bang down the fucking door all at once now. let me get out the appointment book. where’d everybody go? did I just imagine this whole thing? empty smoke filled hall. smoke rolls under the doors. it feels incredible to be outside, a release, liberating. walking over the baseball field grass is when I feel more . . . at peace, at peace with life, at peace with the violent world. one day the big blue sky will turn its darkest and come down and crush my skull so that a swimming pool will come gushing out of it. the sky itself, which is time. no excuses. pure fire, air, wind, water, pure earth.

be more careful

minutes later
empty bank accounts
whole sentences
where is
any of this
going?
less prominent
public figures
fade off
and fill gloss books
women in commercials
with
sidelong looks
stabbing sensation
money corporation
I can’t find the words
I can’t find my heart
I’m at a loss
I’m absolutely lost
I’ve let myself go
where’d it all go?

I don’t know why anyone would even read this, aside from the fact that it’s honest. it’s a shame that so much of my sanity has been resting on comfort and money for all this time. now that it’s gone, I don’t know what to do with myself. plagued with worry. faith in God is lacking. I must be honest about that. I’ve just let it slip, probably for no particular surface reason. but it feels good to admit that and make it public. we love ourselves, our money, our front rooms and refrigerators, more! we don’t think about it. we just do. we just do it. we act and don’t think.

it’s just a general observation. I have the worrying tendency, then I try to cover over it. I don’t pray or sit quiet these days. no particular reason, again, I’ve just let it slip. I’m not careful enough.

guaranteed to wake up late

I am fine with cut up arms from the kitten, happy in this winter abode, slave americana, restful collapse in front of the TV. ask only not to be disturbed as I start this up. angrily on my way. in dreams I dent up high school lockers with my fists.

cyphering money out of us. the heat will be off? water runs out. I wake up with new wounds that have dried in the night but still sting. I am fine with the entire thing. glad all the cats in my life, in my family, are still alive and make it through these poisons with us.

my letters going out. what is going on? some don’t reply. sometimes I take a while too. sore back neck eyes leg ankle. sniper from DC. this gives cops a field day on anyone with a white van. the war on vans! burn the crops! face smashed against the ground, guilty-until-proven-innocent-man handcuffed.

poetry readings are dead. dead for me. I don’t want what I thought I wanted so bad just a few months ago. why stand up in front of people and try to show off? you just show off your ignorance. you speak something you know and something you don’t know in the same sentence. hope someone will accept you. hope they will overlook the flaws. hope the trees don’t fall over on the house and appliances don’t come to life. it takes me an hour just to get to sleep really. if I were a used car, I’d go for a buck. guaranteed to wake up late.

saturday afternoon rambling, and begin. okay, so my tires screech roanoke roads, everyone around here drives way too damn slow. it’s untolerable. playing music and going fast and looking around. such beautiful houses. hello, how are you.

various notes before shaving

it’s late and probably too late for a journal entry on my goddamn web page, but what the hell. I went to bed at 7:30 in the evening and woke up around midnight. these things can’t be helped. I’m sick and tired of a lot of things. sleep is not only collapse, but a celebration of my own personal space. I don’t, however, take a break from depression. it follows me into dreams and sometimes magnifies. the worst is the kind of depression in which the source of that depression is forgotten and cannot be pinpointed. mine today is very concentrated and the initial notion is to *try* and forget it, push it from the mind. I don’t really want to go with that. even if I have to cry a little, I should do it. others want to flush their system. I want mine to collapse, I suppose.

writing comes back around as the most real thing to me, the most individual component of my life. I wish I were more true to it. I don’t, for example, go out on a limb with it, and try to write professionally. instead I work all these shit jobs in attempt to support my writing habit, and the writing itself slips off into the background, sometimes disuse altogether.

the job I was trying to get fell through for me. no matter how hard I tried to prepare for the rejection, it was still very hard for me to deal with today. it rained all over me, all over everybody, and was cold, and I was just pissed off I guess. that hopeless feeling that there is nothing here in Roanoke to hold onto it. it’s a shame because I really do like it here. it’s a simplified life away from D.C. for some reason I didn’t expect the financial situation to be so difficult when I moved away. things are much worse now in that area.

my kitten is awesome. home life in the house/apt. building is awesome. we have a new kitten, Kala. he’s into everything, attacking anything that moves. it sometimes drives me insane, like when I have something to do. slept through some good television shows, but Casey taped them for me. just located an electronic version of James Joyce’s Dubliners, Portrait of An Artist As A Young Man, and Ulysses.

old archived biographies play
beautifully on new machines and
late nights across backs broken
from boxes that get the best
in weight, snapping bows
in half without hesitation
men and women too
are ruthless like this
just as they are naive
violent, talkative, and destructive
myself, critical, harsh
annoyed, tired
the routines go on
and we notice even
that we have spots everyday
where we sit the same
as cats do
the way they take a liking
of doing something and
do it in the same way
for weeks on end until
they seek a new variety
please do not sneeze
all over my new table
I just moved again
and am feeling fragile & unsure
of myself
I may talk myself into
writing a letter
describing why I think
I’m so afraid of
big things like life
and what I went through
big humiliation
and all these jobs
the fights I had
the fight I have
the fight the fighting
how I make it all work
how I say I make it all work
how I think it’s all working