13

I am ready for another. Ready and prepared. The other day, I think God spoke to me about it. I saw it in the glean of a cigarette wrapper. God spoke to me this way - believe me journal, it happened, and God said that it will be soon. If I kept really looking I would find her. It felt like a battle then, between the heavens and the hells, where I was being offered up, and gifted, like it meant a lot that this was happening, and I felt afraid, honored and scared for what may come of it all. I don’t know where I will see her, but I thought first I would go downtown and into the heart of where my heart is - that’s probably where I’ll find my heart. I know that she’ll be there. So I should just go then - I’m even thinking of getting up really early even to catch her. Maybe in the new promise of morning we will find each other, while dew still rests over the Earth and no one stands in the way of our becoming. Maybe in the evening when the Earth hides and lets the universe take over the night, we dance then. But I will look all day and find her and not stop ‘til I see her.

God open my eyes.

With your mouth kiss my eyes.

Light up my eyes in the night.

They are worn and they are sleepy.

I am tired and in need of a hope.

There will be two and not one. Make us one from two.///

12

Journal,

Hungover, recovering. Dreamt last night, pretty much as follows:

I was walking on a hill in the night. It was quiet and no one was around. I looked around me and surveyed the place, and began to dance about on the hill. I was dancing all kinds of ways, cracking myself up.

Then a child came to me. She was in a traffic enforcer’s costume. She said, “You can’t be here dancing like that,” and I stared at her. I opened my mouth to speak and rebuke the child for ruining my evening, but my mouth suddenly was glued shut and no words would pass. I groaned mutedly, I grabbed my mouth, I pulled at the mass of skin which once had been open and free, I fell to my knees, I was waiting for God to open my mouth in front of many witnesses and magistrates, but nothing happened, I was alone, and the child, emotionless, stared at my writhing figure, and again told me, “You can’t be here dancing like that,” turned and walked off, and I stumbled up after her, she was gone, I ran.

I ran through the night, clutching my face and horrified. My foot caught the ground and I fell onto my face, tearing, it, ripping it, splitting my mouth til it was wide open, only now there were no words, but millions of tiny dark creatures - rats, moths, flies, grubs - that began spilling and bursting their way out of my mouth. I lifted my hands up on high, silently screaming, spraying the filthy creatures everywhere, when from the skies above a great cloud of locusts and fireflies and all forms of winged creatures and fallen angels were hurled into my fragile body, flying into my ears, my nose, through my eyes, I was screaming from pain, I didn’t know if I would survive it, and I felt like I would explode and suddenly, not from the skies, and not from the ground, but from inside of my heart, a great body of water that had been held back burst forth, and sent everything into a million directions, filled the whole Earth, and I could feel my body belonging to the sea, to the vastness, not to the finiteness of the human, not to the trappings of self, but into the depths of the waters.

There were sharks. I was not afraid. There was Atlantis. I comforted her. There were troubled souls lost from the Titanic, from lost reconnaissance submarine missions, the victims of crashing planes, the lonely souls who can’t be held down by bridges and cliffs, a little child in a traffic enforcer’s uniform, floating. I spoke to all of them, and whispered soft lulls in there terrified ears, the muted tones of Heaven for the thirsty.

When I woke up from the dream, I drank another fifth of whiskey again. But I can’t seem to shake this feeling I have, like I’m being called, as if God is sending me out. Calling my name across the Earth. Shaking the fucked Earth for it’s judgment.///

11

fuckd up

So fucked up now for ya journal

What happened today - today I went down to the boardwalk on the pier to get a drink. I thought maybe a bit of the ole fermented juice might put a smile into me, thought maybe I might be reconciled to myself once again, but again, again, again I was wrong.

It started with me on the bar stool with a wide assorted array of alcoholic tinctures, good ole tonics of gods, my system already loaded up on some chemical that I can’t recall now, I do like the medicines so, journal, I do like those medicines. And they were in me, alive, and I was drinking.

There was a mirror in front of me, some portal into another universe, and a twisted and sick dimension of my own existence my twisted and criminal face all over the walls, I was, I became, afraid. I thought, “They will discover me. They will find me out,” and I also thought, “All this is not at all here, it is an illusion, the doors of my mind are the only barriers holding me back from breaking it all.”

The bartender, some Dionysian distributor of gay gay antics, looks at me, smiles, with his teeth growing by the moment, fangs growing out to the floor, I wanted to scream but didn’t scream oh i was afraid.

Then something in my circuits ignited, that divine spark the Hasids talk about, where the flesh and the spirit collide like two plates of the Earth shifting, the great fires of the planet’s belly vomited up into mountains, into the seas, and in that place journal that I am afraid to ever really, really confront, I suddenly threw myself off the barstools (oh the voices of all the peoples) and ran in some stumbling manner straight at the

illusionary door, and jumped head first, head first arms out through the veil.....only it didn’t work, my faith was low, I crumbled to the floor, some ape giant bully fucker threw me out and said something stupid, sounding like some army officer, so I flipped him the big bird and said, Hey fuck you private sir officer sir!! and the door shut on me.

My head is still swimming from it, I still can’t see so straight, and where is God in those times when my faith is so great I ask you you fucking dumb screen WHy don’t you answer me

WHY DON”T YOU FUCKING ANSWER ME!!!!!!!///

10

I’ve always wanted a perfect other. Someone whom I could awake in the morning with kisses and rose petals raining down across a smile, a girl who would come by at early hours and get me up out of my hidden and warm tomb of blankets, touch my hair to tell me to not fear the world but speak my voice with no restraint and clear as vanity mirrors, the one, the other, who would smoke on porch steps with coffee or wine or gin or just water would be fine even, somebody who could throw me into the sea and call out my name and laugh and cry out as I cut the great sea in Egypt, splitting the fucker wide, to walk the city nimbly and surely and floating like spirits in Underworld - my Penelope, my Aphrodite, my salvation. I have dreamt it always…. but I have been sent other dreams. Blood-washed visions and nightmares, journal - signs, tiny signposts to shut it out and remind me that I have a lonely road. I want to have another piece of myself, from out of my side, but maybe I really can make it alone warning all the world without another…. Another. Not just me. That sounds really nice. But if it happens….I just never see anyone worthy. Not like I spend a whole lot of time searching for somebody, but I would like it really a lot.

The nightmares are so terrible. They really are getting out of control, seek help, I am being punished for my sins and desires. I should not desire a woman now. I should not lust after skin. God, I shouldn’t even entertain these temptings. I’m sorry. I’m sad but I am sorry I do.///

9

There’s always someone you fall in love with at least once in your life that you have absolutely no good reason to fall in love with. They’re stupid, they talk too much, they think they know everything. But you smile and chuckle to yourself and goddamn you’ve never seen anything so cute and then BANNG trapped.

That was my story with my (now) ex Marley. We met at some party, I was four whiskey sodas in, and when I asked her for her name and she said it, I coughed the most painful billow of smoke out of my lungs, passed the bong, and said, “Like Bob.” Pioneer ganja smoker. Unattested prophet of these last days. Fuck, whatever.

Anyway, she took a few hits of her own, I took some more, suppose we had conversation, went upstairs and fucked like animals - like panthers do, like alley cats at the summer’s end. Millions of nights out together, calling in sick to work, endless film upon film, etc. We are over, but for awhile I thought it was all cute, the whole mindless extrovert, drinking herself dumb night after night after night (every fucking night journal every

So then it seemed like we were in love, and it was the happiest time in my life. Everyone looked at me new. Friends eventually just gave up giving me shit or trying to ‘get it’. Everyone. Everything. At my hands.

But then she got really bored, probably cause she lost lots of an attention span (fuck that - never had one) from too many chemicals, or whatever, she left me, I woke up and she had left the door open and I hate to leave the door open and I forgot how much I hate that and then I suddenly remembered what I liked and what I hated and everything and then I never called her ever again. Now she lives in Houston where cowboys make some glorious fucking last stand to show that they’re still important for America.

So then I never fell in love again, journal, because I forgot that in those moments when you’re in love, you’re ten miles from the ground, gardens uproot themselves from the ground and encircle you in mid-air, roses, marigolds, and violets wrap themselves around you, threaten you, laugh at you, scorn, utter contempt, no sentiment, no appeal, and you are in the eye of it all, safe and in a very maternal place, where though the whole world around abides in total chaos, you alone are dumb and lost in a quiet and eternal light.

Don’t fall in love, journal. It is okay for a time but one day the world falls right on you. Crushes you, suffocates all things. Even Atlas fears this.

Boy+Girl Girl+Boy Boy+Girl Girl+Boy Boy+Girlgirlgirlgirlgirlblahblahblahblh///

8

‘What you need is to get your ass fucked.’

It’s over with Marley now, and that’s what the Good Doctor told me to do today. I trust him. He lives on Seventh Ave. Everybody is always around there and sometimes I feel like things are okay over there and I have a family. People laugh there, people cry, sometimes people scream. I have woken up in alleys sometimes after laughing there with everyone, but that’s different, I already told you that. The Good Doc helps me to see. From time to time, he shows me glorious visions. He gives me comfort and I like the pills and whatever he has. It’s very nice.

So he says, “Look man, you’re over here right, and you’re needing something, right, you know, everyone has a fix. What you need, you need to go out and get your ass laid, man. That’s you man, that’s the way God comes to you, like cosmic incarnation. Go.”

That was in the morning. I went out then looking for a lover. But at noon, I still had found nobody, and had been kicked by one beauty who didn’t want anything with fucking. I was alone. I returned to his house. And the Good Doctor, in his wisdom, set me down in front of the TV, patted my back, and gave me his pills. I smiled and cartoons went around me and the world opened up. I must have blacked out. I am so afraid of the blackouts. I woke up from the blackout in an alley again like sometimes happens at the Good Doctor’s.

I feel bad cause I must have just walk out of there and pass out in the alley. I don’t know.///

7

Why am I so afraid of my past journal? So much fear that I have blackouts, waking up like just an hour ago crumpled in bathroom doorway, fingers in knots and hand busted. And when I return, I remember even less of the past. I am afraid of the blackouts. Why do they happen?

I fear the dark waste land called the Unconscious, the murders and the whores I have seen. The place where some say God seats enthroned in quiet and in solitude, deep in my soul. With pimps I wander in those places, pining for numbered women.

I fear it. I do not want to go anywhere close to the dark night, I cannot approach the bareness of thought. Many along the way of God speak of this journey into void as a necessity for advancement in God. The way of negation or something. But journal, life is already too hard. Sometimes it is so hard and I don’t want to go to the depths. No need to be Orpheus, I am already on my path, opening my heart to this world. I am not running away, I’m just not running to fire.

But still, I guess I know I have been called to this and I must pursue. Jesus went to the desert, Osiris was ripped asunder and thrown into underworld. I must make it through. For my brothers, my sisters, lovers of the world, the journey must be made and begin this moment, no better than any other. And in the darkness all these thoughts and torments will be vanquished, I will kill them all. Killing giants like a new and perfect David.

This, my sole destiny. ///