Friday, June 25, 2004

Change one thing, change everything.

i think i’m crazy. i think i lost all my marbles. i think my head’s misporportioned. i think it’s maladjusted. sorta crestfallen & crusted. and what i think’s even more crazy is i’m living here right now. writing these words when i don’t even see them. do you think i should’ve quit long ago? do you really think i’m going to do anything with my words? am i even a good poet? i’m not sure, i’m really not sure. i’m just gonna demure. don’t you come looking for me. i’m lost in my own sea, you see. come, come grieve with me-we’ll talk about how it seems to always end at this time. because our time is now.

now.

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the world’s a crawling ground of bred war. how in the hell can you live with this anymore? well, once you see, you’ll come to understand what i’m saying. till then i’m just gonna brush aside your hair, see your eyes hidden behind there. what your eyes are reading to me is words too wrecked to salvage. that ship, i’d like to steer its course. don’t worry, i’m here even though i don’t exist. i’m here even though you don’t exist to me. someday i’ll find you again.

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the ship wreck in your eyes-the seas have swallowed you whole, the waters are sullen over your figure-the seagulls like silence grace your pupil. this ship’s set to the heart; it stops and it starts. where did it begin? in your eyes i do not know. the beginning is too long ago-so long ago you left. . .so long ago you left. your ship’s gonna drown i know now. don’t frown, just go on down. someday i’ll dive in and find you deep in the past. dwell with it and live with the fishes. your deepest wishes. the feeling’s hushed and the water’s making it hard for you to breathe. and from your eyes-from your eyes tears fall as if it’s too much. the ship’s going down, ship’s going down. it’ll be a dead hull. the water will wet free. the touch of tear to my face is comforting. it is not from me. you’re the one who’s crying. sunk down to the sea. up above those gulls still peer. up above there’s still so much to fear, where there’s air. where it’s dry. where you’d hang your wishes like clothes to dry in the wind. if i could, i’d hug you again. but this is a dream.

i’m waking up. that’s when you’re gone. if sleep would only last longer. if only it’d last forever.

---

yesterday i held a gun to the world’s head. i asked it, “why the hell’d you ever come to be?” the bastard didn’t answer me. he just kept spinning his head around and around. he seems to think he can keep going on, as if he’s got the right to. well, i told him, “this gun’s loaded, you know,” and that got a little reaction from him. just a little, though-not enough. it wasn’t enough at all. so i said to him, “didn’t you hear me, world?-did you hear me?” but he didn’t seem to hear me.

that’s when i put my hand gently on the pacific ocean and dug my hand in the seas. i felt around until i’d unearthed this big ship from some time way too long ago. i said to the world, “you see this ship? see it?” but again, it just kept spinning, always goddamned spinning. well, i went on, even if it couldn’t hear me-which i doubted, since i guessed it did, in fact, hear me-“see it? see how it’s all rusted-all full of welts and holes and it’s empty and it’s cold and it’s creaking and it’s broken and it’s old and it’s lost and it’s dead and it’s obsolete and it’s pointless and it’s just a small-useless-hull?” then i waited for a response. when i didn’t get one, i said, “well, this is sort of what you are, world. a sunken ship that just keeps on going on-forever. that just holds everything inside itself-inside a sunken ship like this one-and lets it grow and eventually decay inside. sometimes i wonder how you even came to be.”

then i looked down on everything in the world. i saw man. and saw he was much like me. but not like me. down there, i saw buildings which ascended the highest heights i’d ever seen-i saw highways and byways and little mechanized beasts trodding on them-i saw ships traversing in the open sea, in lakes and rivers-down there i saw everything i’d lived with. i said to the world, “this gun has a certain feel in my hands. it sort of feels like retribution, kind of as if i’m getting my revenge. because you know, once i stop you, it all stops, just for me.”

because you know, the world i was talking to, it was really my world. i had seen it through my eyes. i’d met the people in it through my eyes. i’d gotten my understanding of everything from my own senses. it was really my own world. i was the individual that governed it, because once my eyes never saw anymore, my nose never smelled anymore, my hands never felt anymore, my feet never walked anymore, my brain never functioned anymore, my heart never pumped anymore, my hands never wrote words anymore-once all that stopped, the world stopped with it. it stopped with it because the world would stop existing once i stopped existing.

sure, it might still be there. but not me. not to me. to me, the world would really have ended. it would just be blackness. nothing. i would no longer think a single thought, nor would i ever be. i would no longer exist.

so there i was. my gun to the world-my gun to the world when i was really pointing at myself. i realized the thing was just goddamned plastic-a toy. but my toy.

because really, my only gun is words. i really think in my hands these bullets misfire. someday i think they’ll shoot from that misfure and make bleed, inward bleeding that will stop my heart.

until then, it spins. my world spins. and the people in it. and the beauty in it. you know, this is so contrived. i need to escape for a while. i want to disorder these laws and make it stop spinning and make the world hit against something hard. make it go far. go way in the distance. leave me with the stars.

i’d fire my gun but there’s some stitches on my letters. my letters were cut deep on the coarse ground. i’ve been picking them up one at a time, but some are gone. some seem to be lost never to be found.

give me the strength to scavenge up the right words and make a large woods in my world where i can build us a hut and hide away. because i don’t know how long i can stand out here in the open and see this world unfold beneath my eyes.

---

i have ill-intent. once i have you in my arms, you will be spent in the end. in the bitter end. until then i think i’ll just lay my eyes upon your form-imagine you if i can as i’d like to see you. don’t let my eyes decieve you. i have cruel intentions in my eyes. if you look close enough my eyes make a wicked reflection of you. a reflection of your beauty desecrated, destroyed by my overwhelming desire. you see, inside me there’s this fire, an endless pyre which i must aspire to build to. this is starting to get dire; every moment i feel expire is another moment i’ve wasted. it’s you i’ve always wished i tasted. and isn’t this the reason i’m alive?. . .this prime directive i despise. wicked, wretched design.

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digging in myself i clutch a gem. it’s coated finely in dust and grime. i wishywashy it and make it shine. it makes a reflection of my face now when i look at it. it’s as if it was never dirty, never sordid. now it looks just fine. i think i’ll keep it and call it mine, never give it to anyone else. it’s rare i’d fine this here. usually when i dig all i find is rocks scathing around. but this i’ve found, it’s different. something i should never let go. but you know. . .you know-you know i’ve got to throw it back inside. i’ve got to let it be buried in its grave. in the deepest darkest dirt. maybe it’ll be washed up in the rain, someday.

gems like that just aren’t meant to last. it’s best to give up on them before they get weathered. out in the open it would just be shaped by the world, jaded by the world, until it was ugly. let it be beautiful. let it be out of human hands. let it sift away in my deepest sand.

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goes into the brain leaves a stain racks the skull concussions the pain. head dead going ringing insane. poison for the masses drug for the impassioned she drinks it too this dame. is out late-gone out long-never comes back till it’s late at night. will it ever change?-will it ever change-i think it’ll just stay the same. never heard of the catalyst never understood change. always the same. voices talking to me in my head-bang bang-shooting out answers, forgetting the questions, leaving the game. the only answer is indifferent, leave your claims, i’m in these rusting chains. a beast needs a beauty so he can be tamed. she is touched by the finger that hushes her voice her choice, nails it into my head in smoke & slur & sensations she words-addiction quite plain. what is there to gain?

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i’m on the plane to die. all the people in here are as morbid as me. we’re in this metal hull looking out our windows wondering when it’s going to bring us to the end. we try to imagine what’s on the other side. i’ve heard many people guess what there is. one guy told me “this’s the plane to heaven we’re on,” but i don’t believe in that.

i tried to get into the pilot’s room, but it’s locked tight. i banged and banged on the door to no avail. i even tried jumping out of the plane. but i was grabbed by some passengers and told to stay. what i really want is to be at the end already. i don’t care what it is, as long as it’s the end. i think it’s making me crazy. this frustration the wonder the endless feelings-it’s mundane. this’s getting old and i’m one of the youngest on the plane.

sometimes the pilots come on the intercom and shout, “blessed are you who follow in his name,” and i just look all around me and see some people pray; others open the bible and read, their lips moving but nothing coming out-not a single sound, a single name.

just yesterday someone was saying there’s a train that takes you to die too. i don’t know if it’s true. i told the guy a train’s slower, though-not as fast as a plane. he gave me this weird look. a look as if he was airsick and wanted land. also yesterday i went to go into the bathroom, but there was a couple in there. they were kissing. i had to catch myself. force myself to let them be. i wanted to tear them out of the bathroom and let me go, but something made me tell myself “no”-not to do it.

here on the plane, we’ve formed a social hierarchy. we’re supposed to be thralls to what this governing mass tells us to do. it’s made me wonder what else man can accomplish. and it gives me more things to blame.

i really hope this plane is going to hell. because right about now hell doesn’t seem as bad as here. what’d be even better is if the plane got in a wreck and crashed on the ground. too bad i can’t get in the pilot room and take this bird down. it’s funny that i don’t even control this.
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