days like this, when i sink into contemplation when i cannot help but contemplate over contemplation itself,is there any damn good in it? am i damning myself by trying to find the good in it?am i losing the details of life,as life rushes past all of us at a fair lip, am i not getting my share because i am focusing too much on the details inner details,like i am turning myself blind, like i am holding back my own breath?
what a drag this is..this dragging myself into mental pits,where i have no means or motive for pulling myself out,i cant possibly be the one who can give myself the helping hand out when i am too busy digging the pit deeper.divulging myself in the fact that i have been miserable most of my life and because of such,i have become very good at being miserable;definately better than most,if this is something to brag about,i am not certain,but i feel to brag about it is better than whining about it, legions whine about their problems and i am making an effort to not be a part of the legions so i will embrace this as part of me as it has embraced me as some kind of nest for which it will grow stronger, able to pollenate from this point...i will be either the bee or the flower..either way, there will be more like who i am now.
and such a realization makes me wonder if i myself am comfortable with the concept of more like me, the concept of a mirror image world pressed against my face,is there anything here that tells me that i am not alone, there is nothing that screams sollitude more than your own reflection, and when all the world is practically your own reflection, then you are practically alone.
but then again,in contrast to such thoughts, the idea of many like us only unlike us in enough details for it to seem like individuality may exist is something that may keep us entertained,something that will prevent us from jumping off of a bridge,into some swirling abysmal blackness,to see what would lie next, something in me says it would only be more disappointment..
Monday, July 23, 2007
Sunday, July 22, 2007
For Gertrude (part one)
walking to nowhere in particular i was walking in the direction that i was going when i went a little farther that way i realized i may not be aware of the direction and may be following only a whimsey and that whimsey may have no roots in reality, as reality has often pulled its roots from my soil,and in these moments,i try feeling something and i do feel something, but all that i feel is the pulled apart gaps in the soil which were the areas in which the roots of this reality which is gone now, but when i t wasnt it was right here, where these holes were,where these holes are is where my sweet reality was.but not now,now it is not there now is it anywhere that i know of at the moment,but at this moment i can convince myself, or at least try that the moment that is now is one in which i know much less than i will later,later i will know much more and be embaressed
by the holes in the ground which are not even whole holes, they are merely the areas of departure from whre reality was,after it securely fastend itself to me and then exited;it pulled itself away from me,pulled itself out bu the roots.
i wonder whatever could i have done.
the sun is shining to today, this sunny day today, not a cloud in the sky,which is good because a cloud or something such as it would have made this sunny day less so, and then i would have fewer moments to contemplate with the sun on my face of what it is like to have the sun on my face,if it were not on my face at this moment it would only be imagining for the sake of contemplation.it would be myself wondering what if,what if the sun were out, what if when the sun were out a few hot beams hit my face and i was calm and things felt good and i felt more relaxed and better able to focus on things at hand, opening up my hands seeing they are empty,so ask myself what is on my mind and what is most on my mind is why i let such small trivial things rest on my mind such as they do...
but there is little to do for the mind, other than to do dwell i realize, and if one does not, all the mind does is grows slow and therefore, weak in a sad,limp way,so perhaps it is best to simply walk into the clouds than to not be able to go anywhere at all, the times like this that i go here and there but not really ro anywhere at all are the times when such thoughts are most justified by my own mentality that spinning ones wheels even without destination is better than sinking into the ground, i am not ready for death, i may not be ready to further my llife,but for death i am even less prepared, for death is ones last move, and i have no idea how i could add some kind of brief glory to this..i would however want the last thing that i do to have some kind of lasting worth, even if not long lasting,i would want it to last longer than the fading sensations of neurons and the prayers that most people would say at that time,drifting off into space, these words herded into prayer,looking for some kind of god to latch themselves onto. is that the purpose of prayer,or even words in general?to drift from our mouths like moths hoping to find an audience like a flame of light-bulb that we confuse for the moon?
by the holes in the ground which are not even whole holes, they are merely the areas of departure from whre reality was,after it securely fastend itself to me and then exited;it pulled itself away from me,pulled itself out bu the roots.
i wonder whatever could i have done.
the sun is shining to today, this sunny day today, not a cloud in the sky,which is good because a cloud or something such as it would have made this sunny day less so, and then i would have fewer moments to contemplate with the sun on my face of what it is like to have the sun on my face,if it were not on my face at this moment it would only be imagining for the sake of contemplation.it would be myself wondering what if,what if the sun were out, what if when the sun were out a few hot beams hit my face and i was calm and things felt good and i felt more relaxed and better able to focus on things at hand, opening up my hands seeing they are empty,so ask myself what is on my mind and what is most on my mind is why i let such small trivial things rest on my mind such as they do...
but there is little to do for the mind, other than to do dwell i realize, and if one does not, all the mind does is grows slow and therefore, weak in a sad,limp way,so perhaps it is best to simply walk into the clouds than to not be able to go anywhere at all, the times like this that i go here and there but not really ro anywhere at all are the times when such thoughts are most justified by my own mentality that spinning ones wheels even without destination is better than sinking into the ground, i am not ready for death, i may not be ready to further my llife,but for death i am even less prepared, for death is ones last move, and i have no idea how i could add some kind of brief glory to this..i would however want the last thing that i do to have some kind of lasting worth, even if not long lasting,i would want it to last longer than the fading sensations of neurons and the prayers that most people would say at that time,drifting off into space, these words herded into prayer,looking for some kind of god to latch themselves onto. is that the purpose of prayer,or even words in general?to drift from our mouths like moths hoping to find an audience like a flame of light-bulb that we confuse for the moon?
Thursday, July 19, 2007
The pheasant hunters
the most annoying damn bird in the world is the pheasant
and vale was infested with them ; pheasants have a tendancy to fly into the windshields of oncoming cars, we never said"i hit a pheasant with my car" we said"a cocksucking pheasant hit my car"
every windshield in vale had cracks in it due to one of those funny looking bastards,their black necks and multi-colored bodies made them look like the transvestite priests of the animal kingdom.even cooks dont like them,pheasant under glass is really pigeon.
i was never really a hunter type
but was happy to join my friends tim and chance to go turn a bunch of those damn things into heaps of scattered feathers before they had the chance to do so themselves with our windshields.
the three of us were all 16 at the time, and had been familiar with rifles for about 8years by that point i remeber when i was 10, my mom made sure i had daily practice,just in case i had to shoot my dad;i became a really good shot, but by the time i actually had to,we were out of bullets.
i was writing in the back of chances pick up,tim in the passenger seat with the barrel of his 12 gauge sticking out the window as we cruised the back roads,waiting for some to come out of the corn fields...
soon, we see three of four of them coming our way,
tim finding no reason for us to stop the truck,sticking his body half way out the window with rifle in hand yelling "WELCOME TO VALE,YA STUPID SONS A BITCHES!"
he fired,got one,another rammed into the grill of chances pick-up,
and another went in a different direction
another time the three of us were doing the same on foot with tims birddog, budweiser.
budweiser went to get a fallen bird,but instead of bringing it back,we ran into another feild with it in his mouth to bury it,
we all ran calling him, tim shouting his name, me and chance yelling :C;MERE YA PILE A SHIT!"
tim saying it was no use,his dumb dog dont speak american.
it was really the last time the three of us hung out
afterwards,we didnt see each other as much,and a couple years later chance was killed when pulling a rifle from his dads gunrack the safety was on and the barrel was pointed his way,it went off.
i finally got out a while later
tim,on the other hand
stayed in vale, still a hunter,got married and has 3kids
works as a minimum wage box boy in the grocery
and is quickley becoming a drunk like his old man
he says he is happy,but i cant help but think that 2 of the three of us escaped...
and vale was infested with them ; pheasants have a tendancy to fly into the windshields of oncoming cars, we never said"i hit a pheasant with my car" we said"a cocksucking pheasant hit my car"
every windshield in vale had cracks in it due to one of those funny looking bastards,their black necks and multi-colored bodies made them look like the transvestite priests of the animal kingdom.even cooks dont like them,pheasant under glass is really pigeon.
i was never really a hunter type
but was happy to join my friends tim and chance to go turn a bunch of those damn things into heaps of scattered feathers before they had the chance to do so themselves with our windshields.
the three of us were all 16 at the time, and had been familiar with rifles for about 8years by that point i remeber when i was 10, my mom made sure i had daily practice,just in case i had to shoot my dad;i became a really good shot, but by the time i actually had to,we were out of bullets.
i was writing in the back of chances pick up,tim in the passenger seat with the barrel of his 12 gauge sticking out the window as we cruised the back roads,waiting for some to come out of the corn fields...
soon, we see three of four of them coming our way,
tim finding no reason for us to stop the truck,sticking his body half way out the window with rifle in hand yelling "WELCOME TO VALE,YA STUPID SONS A BITCHES!"
he fired,got one,another rammed into the grill of chances pick-up,
and another went in a different direction
another time the three of us were doing the same on foot with tims birddog, budweiser.
budweiser went to get a fallen bird,but instead of bringing it back,we ran into another feild with it in his mouth to bury it,
we all ran calling him, tim shouting his name, me and chance yelling :C;MERE YA PILE A SHIT!"
tim saying it was no use,his dumb dog dont speak american.
it was really the last time the three of us hung out
afterwards,we didnt see each other as much,and a couple years later chance was killed when pulling a rifle from his dads gunrack the safety was on and the barrel was pointed his way,it went off.
i finally got out a while later
tim,on the other hand
stayed in vale, still a hunter,got married and has 3kids
works as a minimum wage box boy in the grocery
and is quickley becoming a drunk like his old man
he says he is happy,but i cant help but think that 2 of the three of us escaped...
Sunday, July 8, 2007
Sorry...
I KNOW I HAVE BEEN NEGLECTING THIS BLOG FOR SOME TIME, THE TWO OR THREE PEOPLE WHO READ THIS,TO YOU I GIVE MY SINCERE APOLOGIES.
THE MAIN REASON FOR MY DELAY IS THAT I HAVE A PUBLISHER FOR MY NOVEL AND I HAVE BEEN PERFECTING IT,HENCE,NOT DOING ANYTHING WITH THE BLOG THAT WAS SPECIFICALLY FOR SAID NOVEL. I WILL POST SOMETHING UP AT SOME POINT THOUGH, MORE PLAYS, MORE ESSAYS,
I WILL RETURN TO HERE....
THE MAIN REASON FOR MY DELAY IS THAT I HAVE A PUBLISHER FOR MY NOVEL AND I HAVE BEEN PERFECTING IT,HENCE,NOT DOING ANYTHING WITH THE BLOG THAT WAS SPECIFICALLY FOR SAID NOVEL. I WILL POST SOMETHING UP AT SOME POINT THOUGH, MORE PLAYS, MORE ESSAYS,
I WILL RETURN TO HERE....
Monday, April 9, 2007
MALHUER (chapter two part one)
Body:
the pick-up truck pushed its way through vale at a slow pace,but filled with the restrained energy of its 2 passengers;there was a desire to simply shove the gas pedal through the floor,this was their escape, after all. but instead,,sopia kept a steady pace at just under the 25mph limit.they knew they could really get going once they got on the highway,although it felt like it was farther away than they wanted,the most it was was a ten or so minute drive but ideally,they would have loved it if they could have gone from drive way to freeway,and in this part of oregon, that wasnt uncommon at all,grady grew up on afarm that was only a quarter mile from the highway,also by a bridge and railroad tracks,when puberty hit grady like a torpedeo,he decided to go off on the first of mny unsuccessfull escape attempts fromredneck hell.sophias eyes were fixed on the landscape that she was,hopefully,abandoning forever.she wondered if she would miss it,it was kind of beautifull in its stark barren wasteland kind of way,by looking at the horizon dotted with sagebrush and livestock and wire fences,,between those details,the fine line nothingness of the desert seemed to suggest that by looking just past it you could see into infinity,with god hiding in there somewhere sophia thought there had to be a cloud thrown in there on occasion other wise there would be the risk of a town full of enlightend rednecks kinda sounds like violent pacifsts. then there was of course, the mornings, with the fog covering the hillsides once you stepped out of town, and its funny to drive somwhere, outta town, and the fog,swirrling and churning,and siometimes,you could see the outlines of cows going about their buisness, it was like looking at a loose drawing of such animals,who would have thought that in such a simple area,you could allow your mind to run with such abstract subjects?
with the earth itself looking like a caved in skull in this part of oregon,it was easy to understand how grady and sophia wanted to leave before their lives were lft to mingle with the dust occasionally only stirred up by the wind.and their was a reason to think the area looked like a caved in skull,despite the fact that sophia did think it was beautifull in a way, the cracks in the ground and the complete and utter lack of any sort of visibel life for miles made it seem as though this were a close up on the face of death itself. we are finally gone,sophia said to herself,in what was probably the hundredth time in the couple days when they started packing, and making the calls and preparing to purchase the trailer.sophia heard that jobs were easy to get in twin,in a way she hoped she wouldny get strattled with another service industry jobalthough she could deal with it if she did,she was certain it would be different here anywy,that there would be some sort of sophistication in a town of ten thousand,it may sound like a stretch o say that that sounds likean area n which size justifies a sense of sophistication,but try living in a town of 1700 first. we need music,sophia said. we got music,grady said, as he opened up the plastic bag with cassettes,many of which without cases.the rod stewart cd in which they began their trek had long run out,"time for cyndi lauper" sophia said. "aw,christ," grady said, "what?" "i thought i was going to enjoy this trip" "you gotta problem with this" "yeah, kinda" "well, just what the hell is it?" "i just dont dig that 80s shit" "its not shit! it some of the best music ever made,fuck face," "right,girls just wanna have fun,never with me they dont.bitches." " need i remind you whos driving here?" "no,i am perfectly aware of whose driving.need i remind you whose paying for this whole goddamn thing?i dint invite you along just so i could gag on gay-ass dinosaur music" watch your mouth with the term gay-ass, fucklicker" "why?your a lesbian,i think of lesbians a much cooler than gay.when i say gay ass in this instance,i mean it in a way that some of what she writes sound sugery in way thats meant to be sentimental, i mean if i am beaten to death by a bunch of gay clown with whoopie cushions filled with straps-ons,play time afte time at my funeral. oh, and speaking of lesbians..if you bring a chick home, can i watch?" sophia rolled her eyes .but smiled and lauged under her breath. "you still have that winning personality,grady,"she said. "i know,"grady replied. how odd, sophia thought, that could try so hard to be an asshole,and yet somehow, make it seem charming. "ok, play cyndee lauper"gray said. "but were playing judas priest afterwards". "not a problem,sophia said.
the pick-up truck pushed its way through vale at a slow pace,but filled with the restrained energy of its 2 passengers;there was a desire to simply shove the gas pedal through the floor,this was their escape, after all. but instead,,sopia kept a steady pace at just under the 25mph limit.they knew they could really get going once they got on the highway,although it felt like it was farther away than they wanted,the most it was was a ten or so minute drive but ideally,they would have loved it if they could have gone from drive way to freeway,and in this part of oregon, that wasnt uncommon at all,grady grew up on afarm that was only a quarter mile from the highway,also by a bridge and railroad tracks,when puberty hit grady like a torpedeo,he decided to go off on the first of mny unsuccessfull escape attempts fromredneck hell.sophias eyes were fixed on the landscape that she was,hopefully,abandoning forever.she wondered if she would miss it,it was kind of beautifull in its stark barren wasteland kind of way,by looking at the horizon dotted with sagebrush and livestock and wire fences,,between those details,the fine line nothingness of the desert seemed to suggest that by looking just past it you could see into infinity,with god hiding in there somewhere sophia thought there had to be a cloud thrown in there on occasion other wise there would be the risk of a town full of enlightend rednecks kinda sounds like violent pacifsts. then there was of course, the mornings, with the fog covering the hillsides once you stepped out of town, and its funny to drive somwhere, outta town, and the fog,swirrling and churning,and siometimes,you could see the outlines of cows going about their buisness, it was like looking at a loose drawing of such animals,who would have thought that in such a simple area,you could allow your mind to run with such abstract subjects?
with the earth itself looking like a caved in skull in this part of oregon,it was easy to understand how grady and sophia wanted to leave before their lives were lft to mingle with the dust occasionally only stirred up by the wind.and their was a reason to think the area looked like a caved in skull,despite the fact that sophia did think it was beautifull in a way, the cracks in the ground and the complete and utter lack of any sort of visibel life for miles made it seem as though this were a close up on the face of death itself. we are finally gone,sophia said to herself,in what was probably the hundredth time in the couple days when they started packing, and making the calls and preparing to purchase the trailer.sophia heard that jobs were easy to get in twin,in a way she hoped she wouldny get strattled with another service industry jobalthough she could deal with it if she did,she was certain it would be different here anywy,that there would be some sort of sophistication in a town of ten thousand,it may sound like a stretch o say that that sounds likean area n which size justifies a sense of sophistication,but try living in a town of 1700 first. we need music,sophia said. we got music,grady said, as he opened up the plastic bag with cassettes,many of which without cases.the rod stewart cd in which they began their trek had long run out,"time for cyndi lauper" sophia said. "aw,christ," grady said, "what?" "i thought i was going to enjoy this trip" "you gotta problem with this" "yeah, kinda" "well, just what the hell is it?" "i just dont dig that 80s shit" "its not shit! it some of the best music ever made,fuck face," "right,girls just wanna have fun,never with me they dont.bitches." " need i remind you whos driving here?" "no,i am perfectly aware of whose driving.need i remind you whose paying for this whole goddamn thing?i dint invite you along just so i could gag on gay-ass dinosaur music" watch your mouth with the term gay-ass, fucklicker" "why?your a lesbian,i think of lesbians a much cooler than gay.when i say gay ass in this instance,i mean it in a way that some of what she writes sound sugery in way thats meant to be sentimental, i mean if i am beaten to death by a bunch of gay clown with whoopie cushions filled with straps-ons,play time afte time at my funeral. oh, and speaking of lesbians..if you bring a chick home, can i watch?" sophia rolled her eyes .but smiled and lauged under her breath. "you still have that winning personality,grady,"she said. "i know,"grady replied. how odd, sophia thought, that could try so hard to be an asshole,and yet somehow, make it seem charming. "ok, play cyndee lauper"gray said. "but were playing judas priest afterwards". "not a problem,sophia said.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
ENDTABLE (a short play)
cast of characters:
moses, late 20's to mid 30's,floppy hair,casual dress,dark colors.
robot:a little younger,maybe early to mid 20s,camoflauge clothing.wearing red sunglasses.
the set:
a typical portland coffee shop.tidy, but not particularly clean looking.board games strewn about. a chess board is between moses and robot.
MOSES:i love days like this; the sun makes me feel more alive,like the warmth from the sky justifies our body heat,our own inner warmth.
ROBOT: but it is raining.
MOSES: the sun is out.like it is everyday,just above the clouds to lightour faces;rays come in between the rain drops.we are able to see ourselves better,and hopefully,while our eyes are so filled with details,we can see the best in everyone.
ROBOT: you are too happy.
MOSES: i do not want to die.
ROBOT:but we all must at some point.
MOSES:but not at this moment!
ROBOT: no,not if we are alive...
MOSES:what do you mean?
ROBOT:well, 2 distinct ideas came into my mind just now...
MOSES: lets hear them,then.
ROBOT: the first idea is the somewhat frightening idea that we are already dead.
MOSES: nonsense! the dead do not partake in life to the extent that we do.that i do,at least.my walks in the park,watching the birds in the sky,i see their beauty feel the sun on my face,to go with the rain and the breezes.every day,i go through so many emotions as well.pain and pleasure.sadness and fear. seldom if ever have i met a corpse so moved by things around him.
ROBOT: it brings me to my second theory...
MOSES:is it as hair-brained as your first?
ROBOT: maybe.maybe not...
MOSES: well, get it over with...
ROBOT: my other theory is that we dontexist; that we could just be words on the page;scrawled down by some wanna be writer on a weekend morning.trying to write a play,maybe wanting to rip off beckett, think about it, why else would we have such ridiculous names?
MOSES:like we are just words put down to be played with like toys?thinking we exist?by someone who thinks they have an artistic vision?
ROBOT: that is what i suspect...
MOSES:then,i know the way to find out.we shall get up from this table,and go on about our lives.if we exist, then things will go on even when we are not seen.
ROBOT:fine.lets go.
MOSES: yes,lets go.
ROBOT:why arent we moving?
MOSES:i do not know...
(curtain comes down) fadeout
THE END
moses, late 20's to mid 30's,floppy hair,casual dress,dark colors.
robot:a little younger,maybe early to mid 20s,camoflauge clothing.wearing red sunglasses.
the set:
a typical portland coffee shop.tidy, but not particularly clean looking.board games strewn about. a chess board is between moses and robot.
MOSES:i love days like this; the sun makes me feel more alive,like the warmth from the sky justifies our body heat,our own inner warmth.
ROBOT: but it is raining.
MOSES: the sun is out.like it is everyday,just above the clouds to lightour faces;rays come in between the rain drops.we are able to see ourselves better,and hopefully,while our eyes are so filled with details,we can see the best in everyone.
ROBOT: you are too happy.
MOSES: i do not want to die.
ROBOT:but we all must at some point.
MOSES:but not at this moment!
ROBOT: no,not if we are alive...
MOSES:what do you mean?
ROBOT:well, 2 distinct ideas came into my mind just now...
MOSES: lets hear them,then.
ROBOT: the first idea is the somewhat frightening idea that we are already dead.
MOSES: nonsense! the dead do not partake in life to the extent that we do.that i do,at least.my walks in the park,watching the birds in the sky,i see their beauty feel the sun on my face,to go with the rain and the breezes.every day,i go through so many emotions as well.pain and pleasure.sadness and fear. seldom if ever have i met a corpse so moved by things around him.
ROBOT: it brings me to my second theory...
MOSES:is it as hair-brained as your first?
ROBOT: maybe.maybe not...
MOSES: well, get it over with...
ROBOT: my other theory is that we dontexist; that we could just be words on the page;scrawled down by some wanna be writer on a weekend morning.trying to write a play,maybe wanting to rip off beckett, think about it, why else would we have such ridiculous names?
MOSES:like we are just words put down to be played with like toys?thinking we exist?by someone who thinks they have an artistic vision?
ROBOT: that is what i suspect...
MOSES:then,i know the way to find out.we shall get up from this table,and go on about our lives.if we exist, then things will go on even when we are not seen.
ROBOT:fine.lets go.
MOSES: yes,lets go.
ROBOT:why arent we moving?
MOSES:i do not know...
(curtain comes down) fadeout
THE END
Sunday, March 18, 2007
SUNRISE
its funny to see a sunrise,in portland,over the horizon through the houses and trees and such,and often i am subject to such a pleasant site these days;whether it has something to do with work,if i happen to be working graveyard that night, or if i happen to wake up early or if i had been at a party a little longer than i had originally expected.
seems almot ironic that i would write about this sort of thing i am often disapointed by people who send time on contemplations of sunsets and sunrises and the lot,but i have thoughts i connect with the concept of watching the sunrise with that go well beyond nature and more into human nature.
being a poet,i am obviously subject to drift back into the past, which i am as guilty of cheese-ball sentiment as anyone,but also,i am as guilty as anyone as letting it pull me into my own personal resavoir of shadows,and it occoured to me the other morning that i had purpose fully avoided looking towards the horizon at morning,and it is for reasons that go back to the beginning of the new millenium.
back in 99 and 2000,i had drug problems,admittedly,i did before and afterwards also, but my focus is specific in this; i had moved away from my hometown(and i use that term very,very loosely) of Vale,Oregon, in a dsasterous move to twin falls idaho, of which,is apartial basis for my novel in progress,malhuer,in the sping of 99,and in idaho,my habbit had become strengthend, or i had weakend, however you want to look at it,needless to say many things went wrong,and i came running back home, to stay with my mothers for a litte while (i was only 18) while i tried getting my life in some sort of near order.
i moved out, in with a friend of mine, upon her telling me that there was work if i wanted it, doing the sort of manual labor farm work we both were acustom to,so i of course snapped at the offer. with my friend,well, we became more than friens,but unfortunately, some of my bad habbits rubbed off.and some of us are luckier than others.
but,
it was during this time,when we would do our work, usually having to start early on,when we could see the sun rise over the hills which, depending on the season were covered in either alfalfa or wheat or or just plain old sage brush,and seeing the light hit the hills and the brilliant rays seemingly envelop the hillsides like they were aflameand had become more than their value on the planet and were about to jump up into space itself and join in unison with the sun itself.
i am,finally, after all these years gone by,learning how to look at things and realize i am notstranded in memories, only visiting.
seems almot ironic that i would write about this sort of thing i am often disapointed by people who send time on contemplations of sunsets and sunrises and the lot,but i have thoughts i connect with the concept of watching the sunrise with that go well beyond nature and more into human nature.
being a poet,i am obviously subject to drift back into the past, which i am as guilty of cheese-ball sentiment as anyone,but also,i am as guilty as anyone as letting it pull me into my own personal resavoir of shadows,and it occoured to me the other morning that i had purpose fully avoided looking towards the horizon at morning,and it is for reasons that go back to the beginning of the new millenium.
back in 99 and 2000,i had drug problems,admittedly,i did before and afterwards also, but my focus is specific in this; i had moved away from my hometown(and i use that term very,very loosely) of Vale,Oregon, in a dsasterous move to twin falls idaho, of which,is apartial basis for my novel in progress,malhuer,in the sping of 99,and in idaho,my habbit had become strengthend, or i had weakend, however you want to look at it,needless to say many things went wrong,and i came running back home, to stay with my mothers for a litte while (i was only 18) while i tried getting my life in some sort of near order.
i moved out, in with a friend of mine, upon her telling me that there was work if i wanted it, doing the sort of manual labor farm work we both were acustom to,so i of course snapped at the offer. with my friend,well, we became more than friens,but unfortunately, some of my bad habbits rubbed off.and some of us are luckier than others.
but,
it was during this time,when we would do our work, usually having to start early on,when we could see the sun rise over the hills which, depending on the season were covered in either alfalfa or wheat or or just plain old sage brush,and seeing the light hit the hills and the brilliant rays seemingly envelop the hillsides like they were aflameand had become more than their value on the planet and were about to jump up into space itself and join in unison with the sun itself.
i am,finally, after all these years gone by,learning how to look at things and realize i am notstranded in memories, only visiting.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
A NIGHT IN SALT LAKE CITY (short story)
i was stranded that day,
although it would nothave been too much of a stretch to say i had been stranded for months. i followed a woman to provo utah,where i was the obvious forigner;i became engaged to her only to find out she had been fucking one of the 3 or so friends that i had made there.
so i moved out,
still looking for a job,the bulk of the work there being marketing,telephone and typing jobs.being from arural area, i was most comfortable with work i could accomplish with the strength of my back, not my voice. i had moved out, first sleeping on the streets,but it was august in utah,i didnt ever feel cold or anything;i just found an area not in public view and passed out, using my backpack as a pillow. i hooked up with labor-ready soon after,doing menial labor construction labor, and getting paid for it at the end of the day.
i befriended a co-worker,named jacob, who was a christian from st.louis,which normally would have unnerved me, but i had been spending all this time around mormons i was tolerant of jesus people,simply for reasons of fatigue.jacob often let me sleepin the back of his car since we both had the same common goal,which was going to labor ready the next day.
but somenights,i just chose to be alone,thinking of my idiocy,how i could have let myself fall into such a trap,although i knew it was because i fell heart-first. and on these nights,i would wander the streets of provo,looking at the emptiness of the area,seemingly,everyone tucked themselves into bed at nine pm,a very scary concept for me,thankfully, i had saved up enough money for a bus ticket back to portland,with a friends place where i could couch surf.i was staying here a few day more to earn extra money.
one early morning,i head to work to find jacob not there, but there many people all headed to a site,well out of town,so i get a ride with them in their van,travelling a good 90minutes or so.i hadnt packed anyfood or water,and by the time i got on the roof of this one project,i knew i was getting sunstroke.i climbed down,telling the forman i couldnt do the jobi walk down a mile or soto a shell station for something to eat and drink,sitting in the shade iplanned to head up in a while to catch a ride back to provo.when i returned to the worksite,i found the van and the workers gone,"goddammit,"i thought to myself and i sat at the shell station trying to think of how to get back untill a cop came by asking what i was doing there,i explain and im suprised to hear him recommend that i try and catch a ride,saying it would be eaier to get a ride to salt lake than it would provo.
so i ask this guy with purple hair,"sure,thing,dude," he replies.
he was a half punk rock half wigger type named dan, i got in the car and realised the skies seemed to be darkening with cloudcover quickly, dan has music playing, its D.M.X., cant understand most of the words except for "motherfucker". so i just sat there saying motherfucker in time with the music, dan says to me,"finally,someone ele who knows the words to this".
dan,the punk rock wigger drops me off on the outskirts of slc, tells me he thinks the greyhound terminal is thattaway,pointing straight into a building.then he speeds away,and i look in a phone book to get the greyhound adress,then wonder around trying to get a sense of direction,its dark by the time i understand the flow of the streets. i pass by a car wreck,dont see anyone setting or staning be side the cars,even the police seem a distance away. then i go into a bookstore,notice favorite authors of mine are nowhere to be found,no burroughs,no pat califia,no poppy z brite,making me miss powells city of books in portland, how they seem to have entire sections that could be labled "too fucked up for utah".i saw a sign in the store, it said poetry slam,1st monday of the month,and it mde me miss portland open mic, where the term for slam poets was "no-talent-cocksuckers". i drited from the bookstore.walked out, feeling so home sick,i didnt know if i could even breathe this air. i saw a discarded half-pack of cigarettes on the ground, i pick them u,sove them into my pocket for whatever reason,probably because i am always bugged for smokes in portland.
i come upon a woman standing on a streetcorner, by a streetlamp,it became obvious to me that this woman was a prostitute.shit,a hooker in salt lake,and i thought i was asore thumb."got a cigarette,baby?" she asks,i give her the pack saying consider them yours.then she asked me if i was looking for a good time,and i told her i was just looking for the greyhound station. she walked me there, saying its the least she cold do for the cigarettes,then she asked me why i was here,where i was from,i told her but i found myself directing my anseres less at her and more at the fishnets she was wearing and the leather skirt that stopped half-way down her ass.
we arrive at the bus terminal,"this is it,take care, baby,"she said as she went on her way, probably back to her corner.when i opened the door, a receptionist was saying they just closed,telling me to come back in the morning.i asked him what he though a ticket back to provo would cost, he said perhaps 15 bucks,but it would be smarter to just take the public transportation bus back to there,it would cost about 1.50,so i sleep in an alley that night,take the bus to provo.i decided i should celebrate, after all,i leave for portland the next day. what would bring me joy?i could take a nap,or i could burn my ex's house down.either one i think i would enjoy right now.
i didnt find any matches to go with the cigarettes earlier,so i just took a nap.
although it would nothave been too much of a stretch to say i had been stranded for months. i followed a woman to provo utah,where i was the obvious forigner;i became engaged to her only to find out she had been fucking one of the 3 or so friends that i had made there.
so i moved out,
still looking for a job,the bulk of the work there being marketing,telephone and typing jobs.being from arural area, i was most comfortable with work i could accomplish with the strength of my back, not my voice. i had moved out, first sleeping on the streets,but it was august in utah,i didnt ever feel cold or anything;i just found an area not in public view and passed out, using my backpack as a pillow. i hooked up with labor-ready soon after,doing menial labor construction labor, and getting paid for it at the end of the day.
i befriended a co-worker,named jacob, who was a christian from st.louis,which normally would have unnerved me, but i had been spending all this time around mormons i was tolerant of jesus people,simply for reasons of fatigue.jacob often let me sleepin the back of his car since we both had the same common goal,which was going to labor ready the next day.
but somenights,i just chose to be alone,thinking of my idiocy,how i could have let myself fall into such a trap,although i knew it was because i fell heart-first. and on these nights,i would wander the streets of provo,looking at the emptiness of the area,seemingly,everyone tucked themselves into bed at nine pm,a very scary concept for me,thankfully, i had saved up enough money for a bus ticket back to portland,with a friends place where i could couch surf.i was staying here a few day more to earn extra money.
one early morning,i head to work to find jacob not there, but there many people all headed to a site,well out of town,so i get a ride with them in their van,travelling a good 90minutes or so.i hadnt packed anyfood or water,and by the time i got on the roof of this one project,i knew i was getting sunstroke.i climbed down,telling the forman i couldnt do the jobi walk down a mile or soto a shell station for something to eat and drink,sitting in the shade iplanned to head up in a while to catch a ride back to provo.when i returned to the worksite,i found the van and the workers gone,"goddammit,"i thought to myself and i sat at the shell station trying to think of how to get back untill a cop came by asking what i was doing there,i explain and im suprised to hear him recommend that i try and catch a ride,saying it would be eaier to get a ride to salt lake than it would provo.
so i ask this guy with purple hair,"sure,thing,dude," he replies.
he was a half punk rock half wigger type named dan, i got in the car and realised the skies seemed to be darkening with cloudcover quickly, dan has music playing, its D.M.X., cant understand most of the words except for "motherfucker". so i just sat there saying motherfucker in time with the music, dan says to me,"finally,someone ele who knows the words to this".
dan,the punk rock wigger drops me off on the outskirts of slc, tells me he thinks the greyhound terminal is thattaway,pointing straight into a building.then he speeds away,and i look in a phone book to get the greyhound adress,then wonder around trying to get a sense of direction,its dark by the time i understand the flow of the streets. i pass by a car wreck,dont see anyone setting or staning be side the cars,even the police seem a distance away. then i go into a bookstore,notice favorite authors of mine are nowhere to be found,no burroughs,no pat califia,no poppy z brite,making me miss powells city of books in portland, how they seem to have entire sections that could be labled "too fucked up for utah".i saw a sign in the store, it said poetry slam,1st monday of the month,and it mde me miss portland open mic, where the term for slam poets was "no-talent-cocksuckers". i drited from the bookstore.walked out, feeling so home sick,i didnt know if i could even breathe this air. i saw a discarded half-pack of cigarettes on the ground, i pick them u,sove them into my pocket for whatever reason,probably because i am always bugged for smokes in portland.
i come upon a woman standing on a streetcorner, by a streetlamp,it became obvious to me that this woman was a prostitute.shit,a hooker in salt lake,and i thought i was asore thumb."got a cigarette,baby?" she asks,i give her the pack saying consider them yours.then she asked me if i was looking for a good time,and i told her i was just looking for the greyhound station. she walked me there, saying its the least she cold do for the cigarettes,then she asked me why i was here,where i was from,i told her but i found myself directing my anseres less at her and more at the fishnets she was wearing and the leather skirt that stopped half-way down her ass.
we arrive at the bus terminal,"this is it,take care, baby,"she said as she went on her way, probably back to her corner.when i opened the door, a receptionist was saying they just closed,telling me to come back in the morning.i asked him what he though a ticket back to provo would cost, he said perhaps 15 bucks,but it would be smarter to just take the public transportation bus back to there,it would cost about 1.50,so i sleep in an alley that night,take the bus to provo.i decided i should celebrate, after all,i leave for portland the next day. what would bring me joy?i could take a nap,or i could burn my ex's house down.either one i think i would enjoy right now.
i didnt find any matches to go with the cigarettes earlier,so i just took a nap.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
MALHUER chapter one,part two
but, then again,
grady being entertained wasnt really something to be concerned about,he always had a way of stirring up trouble and enjoying it. sometimes, his efforts to distract himself were humorous,like the time his friend blake dared him to give head to a strat cat for ten bucks,two joints and a biographical book about kurt cobain;it had become common knowlege that you you didnt dare grady,especially if he could reap some sort of bennifit from taking you up on the dare,needless to say,grady took up blakes dare,walking away with the money the joints,the book and a few scratches on his face;also claiming that the stray followed him home,that was gradys explaination for his cat,baal.
however, grady also had a dark side.saying darkside,meaning darker than his other side,which somepeople would consider dark,but still it was the side of him that showed a sense of humor that most resembled that of the rest of the human race,and on that sideof his disposition,you could at least want to try and understand what spectres of anguish hysteria,depression or whatever else it was that seemed to rest in the deepest regions of his mind,often sticking out, leaving people to see a somewhat antisocial young man,sometimes his very features would scream "leave me alone or your gonna get cut" without grady having to say a word. it was that side of grady that made the side of him that made the side that most people saw the "lighter side"and it was this darker side that aroused in him his desire to cause trouble that wasnt "fun trouble" but just a show of his sadistic streak that got off on inflicting pain upon others,even if it was something he saw as provoked,usually it was a very,very slight provocation,like that thing with that girl from a couple years ago,ella was her name,whom sophia hadnt met personally,but she heard the story.ella was one of those girls whose names comes up and if you had met her or at least heard of her, somekind of grey blanketof social guilt or sympathy just wrapped around you;ella had an eating disorder,not certain if it was bolemia or anorexia; when she first entered her teens,ella was what one would have called basically pretty,with glasses and a round face with tender and intelligent dark blue eyes along with a mole and olive skin and curly black hair,like her body was trying to find a middle-ground to show both sides of her basque/german bloodline;sje was a bit chunky,but that didnt really halt her from being an attractive teen ager.almost all teenagers have more than a few flaws,but ella took it upon herself to try and make herself perfect,to try and whip herself into shape,a thinner shape.by 16 ella wasnt the somewhat fluffy but healthy looking teenage girl she had been,she was nearly a skelleton,it was unnerving to just to see let alone to talk to this girl,excited about the way she looks,saying she just has to lose ten or 12pounds,and like so many of these fragile young women,she found herself atracted to the disruptive rebellious figure,in this case,grady,whom she had seen around the house often,he being a recent highschool drop out, she asked after gather up courage,if he would to go to the teen dance hall with her this saturday,grady at this point addicted to inflicting pain on others as a way of getting even for the pain he was in,recognised her condition and said,"in your dreams fatass"
turns out gradys sadistic side had its limits.when ellas eysgot to the size of dinner plates the quick smile that flashed on his face and the feeling of GOTCHA that brought a temporary pleasure to him faded quick,and next he saw her he tried apologising,but with ella walking away and usually yelling something like"go fuck yourself ,asshole"which grady deserved,butof which he was perfectly awareand though he said he had no conscience, there was something like one in him that ached severely and the idea of contributing misery on this girl,when it seemed aparent that she had a mountain of it already;still in the comming months there seemed to be something that resembled an unspoken truce,perhaps it was the feelings of alienation in a small town,alienation being the universal language of all teenagers,anyway,and there were a handfull of times afterwards that grady would walk by the cafe and ella would be sitting there, perhaps drinking a coke with a friend,a she would give him a slight wave to which grady would give a muted wave back;perhaps she was expecting more, perhaps she was expecting him to come in at somepoint and say hello or something but grady had felt that because of what he had already done it was best to stay away from her,sophia never really askedgrady how he felt when ella commited suicide.when sophia heard the story later, she thought it was potential material for one of those after school specials,girl get too self conscious, girl tries rememdying what she thinks her problems are,girl alienates friends and family ,girl dies in her room with sarah mclouglin on the stereo,and a stomache full of sleeping pills.thats the way it was told by the folks around here,but from what sophia gathered its tough to tell fi anyone cared about the situation ella was in,none of them could not help but wonder, where the hell were ellas parents,sophia thought that with all of our troubles,one of the biggest factors in our getting so screwed up was wondering where the hell our parents were hen we seemed so close to the edge the only thing that was keeping them from hitting the ground was a breese that blew them back up to the side of the cliff,but somehow thse winds that were so fortunate for her and grady were not able to puh back this thin waif of a woman.as ella plunged,sophia imagined,ella was left alone in that room,not just her bedroom,but in that cold dark windowless room of agony and hopelessnessthat room sitting behind her eyes,and sophia knew that n someway,grady barracaded that door,and that ella couldnt get out.
suicide, that was something that most of the people here whose i.q.s were higher than the livestock contemplated on a regular basis,sophia thought;it is probably easier than than escape, or that is what she thought before this whole situation with befriending grady and just in the nick of time really, he had just turned 18, and decided to sell off the inheritance from his grand- father from a couple years ago,so now that it was all a done deal, since grady would need someone to guide him to keep his ass out of trouble,and he knew it,also, she had been saving up herself, waitressing at the stardust, having to fake that she was flattered by those old,property owning goats and their and their flirts,grady once said that they had to be pathetic,as if you could look at sophia and not see a lesbian,even if you didnt know what a lesbian looked like,sophia looked like one,that ws gradys assumption, at least.and that wasnt even one of gradys worst jibes;once he referred to her as "sofa" or said she could pass for pete roses brother.
but sophia knew he was testing friends, to see how loyal they were,and sohia was going to be loyal at least untill they were setteled,he was her ticket out,and already,they had driven to twin falls before to look at trailers, they think they found the best they could get at that price range, grady sold his property for fairly cheap,fifteen grand,and itll be the small amount that sophia saved up that will pay for the trailer space rent and food until the two of them get jobs there.
just then,sophia herd grady cursing,his head underneath the tarp,'we need the fucking casette tapes or we'll go nuts,'he said.grady stepped in wih a hand full of tapes for the tape deck, his thin index finger pushing a copy of "the best of rod stewart,volume one" into the deck,sophia starts the pickup and they pull out of her drive way,preparing for the newest chapter in their lives.
grady being entertained wasnt really something to be concerned about,he always had a way of stirring up trouble and enjoying it. sometimes, his efforts to distract himself were humorous,like the time his friend blake dared him to give head to a strat cat for ten bucks,two joints and a biographical book about kurt cobain;it had become common knowlege that you you didnt dare grady,especially if he could reap some sort of bennifit from taking you up on the dare,needless to say,grady took up blakes dare,walking away with the money the joints,the book and a few scratches on his face;also claiming that the stray followed him home,that was gradys explaination for his cat,baal.
however, grady also had a dark side.saying darkside,meaning darker than his other side,which somepeople would consider dark,but still it was the side of him that showed a sense of humor that most resembled that of the rest of the human race,and on that sideof his disposition,you could at least want to try and understand what spectres of anguish hysteria,depression or whatever else it was that seemed to rest in the deepest regions of his mind,often sticking out, leaving people to see a somewhat antisocial young man,sometimes his very features would scream "leave me alone or your gonna get cut" without grady having to say a word. it was that side of grady that made the side of him that made the side that most people saw the "lighter side"and it was this darker side that aroused in him his desire to cause trouble that wasnt "fun trouble" but just a show of his sadistic streak that got off on inflicting pain upon others,even if it was something he saw as provoked,usually it was a very,very slight provocation,like that thing with that girl from a couple years ago,ella was her name,whom sophia hadnt met personally,but she heard the story.ella was one of those girls whose names comes up and if you had met her or at least heard of her, somekind of grey blanketof social guilt or sympathy just wrapped around you;ella had an eating disorder,not certain if it was bolemia or anorexia; when she first entered her teens,ella was what one would have called basically pretty,with glasses and a round face with tender and intelligent dark blue eyes along with a mole and olive skin and curly black hair,like her body was trying to find a middle-ground to show both sides of her basque/german bloodline;sje was a bit chunky,but that didnt really halt her from being an attractive teen ager.almost all teenagers have more than a few flaws,but ella took it upon herself to try and make herself perfect,to try and whip herself into shape,a thinner shape.by 16 ella wasnt the somewhat fluffy but healthy looking teenage girl she had been,she was nearly a skelleton,it was unnerving to just to see let alone to talk to this girl,excited about the way she looks,saying she just has to lose ten or 12pounds,and like so many of these fragile young women,she found herself atracted to the disruptive rebellious figure,in this case,grady,whom she had seen around the house often,he being a recent highschool drop out, she asked after gather up courage,if he would to go to the teen dance hall with her this saturday,grady at this point addicted to inflicting pain on others as a way of getting even for the pain he was in,recognised her condition and said,"in your dreams fatass"
turns out gradys sadistic side had its limits.when ellas eysgot to the size of dinner plates the quick smile that flashed on his face and the feeling of GOTCHA that brought a temporary pleasure to him faded quick,and next he saw her he tried apologising,but with ella walking away and usually yelling something like"go fuck yourself ,asshole"which grady deserved,butof which he was perfectly awareand though he said he had no conscience, there was something like one in him that ached severely and the idea of contributing misery on this girl,when it seemed aparent that she had a mountain of it already;still in the comming months there seemed to be something that resembled an unspoken truce,perhaps it was the feelings of alienation in a small town,alienation being the universal language of all teenagers,anyway,and there were a handfull of times afterwards that grady would walk by the cafe and ella would be sitting there, perhaps drinking a coke with a friend,a she would give him a slight wave to which grady would give a muted wave back;perhaps she was expecting more, perhaps she was expecting him to come in at somepoint and say hello or something but grady had felt that because of what he had already done it was best to stay away from her,sophia never really askedgrady how he felt when ella commited suicide.when sophia heard the story later, she thought it was potential material for one of those after school specials,girl get too self conscious, girl tries rememdying what she thinks her problems are,girl alienates friends and family ,girl dies in her room with sarah mclouglin on the stereo,and a stomache full of sleeping pills.thats the way it was told by the folks around here,but from what sophia gathered its tough to tell fi anyone cared about the situation ella was in,none of them could not help but wonder, where the hell were ellas parents,sophia thought that with all of our troubles,one of the biggest factors in our getting so screwed up was wondering where the hell our parents were hen we seemed so close to the edge the only thing that was keeping them from hitting the ground was a breese that blew them back up to the side of the cliff,but somehow thse winds that were so fortunate for her and grady were not able to puh back this thin waif of a woman.as ella plunged,sophia imagined,ella was left alone in that room,not just her bedroom,but in that cold dark windowless room of agony and hopelessnessthat room sitting behind her eyes,and sophia knew that n someway,grady barracaded that door,and that ella couldnt get out.
suicide, that was something that most of the people here whose i.q.s were higher than the livestock contemplated on a regular basis,sophia thought;it is probably easier than than escape, or that is what she thought before this whole situation with befriending grady and just in the nick of time really, he had just turned 18, and decided to sell off the inheritance from his grand- father from a couple years ago,so now that it was all a done deal, since grady would need someone to guide him to keep his ass out of trouble,and he knew it,also, she had been saving up herself, waitressing at the stardust, having to fake that she was flattered by those old,property owning goats and their and their flirts,grady once said that they had to be pathetic,as if you could look at sophia and not see a lesbian,even if you didnt know what a lesbian looked like,sophia looked like one,that ws gradys assumption, at least.and that wasnt even one of gradys worst jibes;once he referred to her as "sofa" or said she could pass for pete roses brother.
but sophia knew he was testing friends, to see how loyal they were,and sohia was going to be loyal at least untill they were setteled,he was her ticket out,and already,they had driven to twin falls before to look at trailers, they think they found the best they could get at that price range, grady sold his property for fairly cheap,fifteen grand,and itll be the small amount that sophia saved up that will pay for the trailer space rent and food until the two of them get jobs there.
just then,sophia herd grady cursing,his head underneath the tarp,'we need the fucking casette tapes or we'll go nuts,'he said.grady stepped in wih a hand full of tapes for the tape deck, his thin index finger pushing a copy of "the best of rod stewart,volume one" into the deck,sophia starts the pickup and they pull out of her drive way,preparing for the newest chapter in their lives.
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
MALHUER chapter one,part one
now the boxes were packed tightly and securely in the back of the pickup,covered with a tarp in case of rain and secured with bungee cords.
"thats it" sophia said as she packed one last box underneathe the already hulkingmass making the chevy nova look like some kind of mechanical camel as she and grady prepared to traverse the desert of south east oregon to some oasis in idaho,she never really thought it would be with someone like grady, this 18 year old guy,kind of a screw up, begining an uphill battle with a downward spiral,she had seen this kinda thing before,perfectly aware that he probably had no ideawhat direction he was going in like some lemming into the water,to be swallow up and have his husk tossed to the shore of the world,even if he is still breathing and twitchinghe will not be who he was,not as able toto focus or think as well as he could before,and it didnt seem like those were particular favorite passtimes of his,anyway, so if hehe ever decided to grow up,if he had the chance,f he didnt end up in a pine box before he turns 20,stumbling through anykind of education was going to be even more of an obstacle courseand he will be even less up to it,even less than now,she thought as she looked at him,confused eyes and greying skin furthered by his weight loss she swears he must weigh 10 or 15pounds less than when she 1st met him, and that was only four months ago.
No, she was hoping thatwhen she finally made her escape,it would be with a girlfriend;hoping she would be able to obtain as much,in the two years since she realised who she was,or as the rednecks would say WHAT she was;to hell with them,she thoughtthere were others like her here,she knew it,but she also knew it was hard to find those who would admit it,other than the hefty,bull dyke typesand she wasnt interested in them,i mean if your interested in girls, she rationalised,wouldnt it be most logical to appeal to other girls who like girls by being femenine,not like a man ,muscular and unlike a woman? she looked herself over in the mirror at night,over many nights,actually;to herself she admitted that you could kinda classify her as a bit of the bull-dyke lesbian,not that she was a weight lifter or anything;but she had some extra baggage and her hair never really would allow itself to be styled,so she just left it out in a pony tail and often wore a baseball cap or to take away further from her femeninity, a john-deere cap.
she theorised that such feelings of alienation were what made her feel close to grady brown.
he was another local freak,only she didnt do quite as well in the flaunting of it as well as grady did, he ofter decared himself to be proud to be immoral,immorral by these peoples standards,at least;fuck morality if you consider christianity to be the main conduit of morality,he would say as he pointed out what he percieved to be hippocracies,the wealthier folk about town(although calling anyone in a town of less than 1900 wealthy may be a bit of a stretch of the imagination)he would say they all had a lotta balls to be chastising him andhis addictions or whatever percieved deviation he partook,while they would spend their saturday nights on the town pickling their livers and picking up prostitutes,some of whom grady says are cousins of his,making nasty in their pickups and not hesitating to smack their wives aroundif they asked where they had been that night with a little too much accusation in their voices,but always up and ready for church on a sunday morning.
grady never really made an effort to hide his utter disgust of christianity,in fact, he flaunted it like a trophy of some sort,and maybe for him it was;sophia had heard that gradys father claimed to be a christian,and the stories about gradys fatherwere things she didnt even want to contemplate,maybe that was why grady was such a train wreck, the whole idea that someone can have his mind and in someways,his body marked by things that make people want to vomit if they even hear only part of the story,maybe that was the story with grady:he had puked awayany compassion towardspeople who were trying to life in a strait-and narrow manner,using the same methods his father always claimed to adhere to,and with his body and soul purged of the ability to care about people there was a hollowness and that was what he embraced,that nothingness,that was god to him,he proclaimed,somewhat off the mark of any recognised religion or philosophy,like zen or atheism,or even satanism,although the last one didsome kind of appeal to grady,perhaps it was just to appear being the exact opposite of these people,gradyalways wore black,saying it was symbolic of the nothingness inside of him,but he would also use a permanent marker and draw a pentagrma on his handand enjoyed flashing it to the little old ladies dressed in white on their way to church on sunday mornings, have fun in my house, he would say to them. sophia wondered how grady would keep himself entertained in twin falls
"thats it" sophia said as she packed one last box underneathe the already hulkingmass making the chevy nova look like some kind of mechanical camel as she and grady prepared to traverse the desert of south east oregon to some oasis in idaho,she never really thought it would be with someone like grady, this 18 year old guy,kind of a screw up, begining an uphill battle with a downward spiral,she had seen this kinda thing before,perfectly aware that he probably had no ideawhat direction he was going in like some lemming into the water,to be swallow up and have his husk tossed to the shore of the world,even if he is still breathing and twitchinghe will not be who he was,not as able toto focus or think as well as he could before,and it didnt seem like those were particular favorite passtimes of his,anyway, so if hehe ever decided to grow up,if he had the chance,f he didnt end up in a pine box before he turns 20,stumbling through anykind of education was going to be even more of an obstacle courseand he will be even less up to it,even less than now,she thought as she looked at him,confused eyes and greying skin furthered by his weight loss she swears he must weigh 10 or 15pounds less than when she 1st met him, and that was only four months ago.
No, she was hoping thatwhen she finally made her escape,it would be with a girlfriend;hoping she would be able to obtain as much,in the two years since she realised who she was,or as the rednecks would say WHAT she was;to hell with them,she thoughtthere were others like her here,she knew it,but she also knew it was hard to find those who would admit it,other than the hefty,bull dyke typesand she wasnt interested in them,i mean if your interested in girls, she rationalised,wouldnt it be most logical to appeal to other girls who like girls by being femenine,not like a man ,muscular and unlike a woman? she looked herself over in the mirror at night,over many nights,actually;to herself she admitted that you could kinda classify her as a bit of the bull-dyke lesbian,not that she was a weight lifter or anything;but she had some extra baggage and her hair never really would allow itself to be styled,so she just left it out in a pony tail and often wore a baseball cap or to take away further from her femeninity, a john-deere cap.
she theorised that such feelings of alienation were what made her feel close to grady brown.
he was another local freak,only she didnt do quite as well in the flaunting of it as well as grady did, he ofter decared himself to be proud to be immoral,immorral by these peoples standards,at least;fuck morality if you consider christianity to be the main conduit of morality,he would say as he pointed out what he percieved to be hippocracies,the wealthier folk about town(although calling anyone in a town of less than 1900 wealthy may be a bit of a stretch of the imagination)he would say they all had a lotta balls to be chastising him andhis addictions or whatever percieved deviation he partook,while they would spend their saturday nights on the town pickling their livers and picking up prostitutes,some of whom grady says are cousins of his,making nasty in their pickups and not hesitating to smack their wives aroundif they asked where they had been that night with a little too much accusation in their voices,but always up and ready for church on a sunday morning.
grady never really made an effort to hide his utter disgust of christianity,in fact, he flaunted it like a trophy of some sort,and maybe for him it was;sophia had heard that gradys father claimed to be a christian,and the stories about gradys fatherwere things she didnt even want to contemplate,maybe that was why grady was such a train wreck, the whole idea that someone can have his mind and in someways,his body marked by things that make people want to vomit if they even hear only part of the story,maybe that was the story with grady:he had puked awayany compassion towardspeople who were trying to life in a strait-and narrow manner,using the same methods his father always claimed to adhere to,and with his body and soul purged of the ability to care about people there was a hollowness and that was what he embraced,that nothingness,that was god to him,he proclaimed,somewhat off the mark of any recognised religion or philosophy,like zen or atheism,or even satanism,although the last one didsome kind of appeal to grady,perhaps it was just to appear being the exact opposite of these people,gradyalways wore black,saying it was symbolic of the nothingness inside of him,but he would also use a permanent marker and draw a pentagrma on his handand enjoyed flashing it to the little old ladies dressed in white on their way to church on sunday mornings, have fun in my house, he would say to them. sophia wondered how grady would keep himself entertained in twin falls
the origin of poetzombie
recently,
i was asked by a friendin the poetry scene, such as it is, where the title poetzombie came from, what inspired it,ect,ect.
the most obvious ansewer being that it came from my email,which is true, but it does of course go much further than that..
it goes back to the beginning of 2004,
when i was living in a truly inspiring house on southeast morrison street, one of the better parts of portland,though there are many great parts to p-town.
what was inspiring about it was the people, the synergey brought about by them,
an amalgam of activists artists writers people of spirituality, and intellectuals.
cheif among these friends was a young man named Josh Lorring,
who possed an acerbic wit andand warped sense of humor that the likes of hunter thompson and memebers of monty python would be impressed by,
who at the time worked at a pet store and told his co-works of the recent anecdotes of things around the house, changing the names, calling cetain members the monk, the activist, the ninja, the supehero,and i was referred to as the poet.
Josh loved zombie movies;
his enthusiasm for them rubbed off on me,
and in 04 they seemed to come back in fashion with a vengence with the likes of the dawn of the dead remake, the recent resident evil flicks, and the british farce shaun of the dead.
one afternoon, after a day in the factory where i was working t the time,
i,feeling sore and hot,since it was mid july,
i sat on the couch in the kitchen(dont ask) just groaning,in my quasi-miserable state.
Josh walked in,heard me,then saying aloud, "I think we have a zombie in here some, oh, its the poet. poet,zombie,poetzombie,whatever." then it stuck.
that title carried ith it kind of a morbid humor and unique image that i asociate with josh and sometimes,when i am at my best,i hope to almost share.
Josh commited suicide in september of 2005,
and with the title that he had given me,i try very hard to be as good a writer as i can be, since he
thought well enough of my writing to call me the poet.
i was asked by a friendin the poetry scene, such as it is, where the title poetzombie came from, what inspired it,ect,ect.
the most obvious ansewer being that it came from my email,which is true, but it does of course go much further than that..
it goes back to the beginning of 2004,
when i was living in a truly inspiring house on southeast morrison street, one of the better parts of portland,though there are many great parts to p-town.
what was inspiring about it was the people, the synergey brought about by them,
an amalgam of activists artists writers people of spirituality, and intellectuals.
cheif among these friends was a young man named Josh Lorring,
who possed an acerbic wit andand warped sense of humor that the likes of hunter thompson and memebers of monty python would be impressed by,
who at the time worked at a pet store and told his co-works of the recent anecdotes of things around the house, changing the names, calling cetain members the monk, the activist, the ninja, the supehero,and i was referred to as the poet.
Josh loved zombie movies;
his enthusiasm for them rubbed off on me,
and in 04 they seemed to come back in fashion with a vengence with the likes of the dawn of the dead remake, the recent resident evil flicks, and the british farce shaun of the dead.
one afternoon, after a day in the factory where i was working t the time,
i,feeling sore and hot,since it was mid july,
i sat on the couch in the kitchen(dont ask) just groaning,in my quasi-miserable state.
Josh walked in,heard me,then saying aloud, "I think we have a zombie in here some, oh, its the poet. poet,zombie,poetzombie,whatever." then it stuck.
that title carried ith it kind of a morbid humor and unique image that i asociate with josh and sometimes,when i am at my best,i hope to almost share.
Josh commited suicide in september of 2005,
and with the title that he had given me,i try very hard to be as good a writer as i can be, since he
thought well enough of my writing to call me the poet.
Thursday, March 1, 2007
EATEN BY GOD (a short play)
cast: Z, young man,early to mid twenties short hair wearing black pants and coat, green shirt. adolf wearing pink version of priests smock.
setting: a moderately well lit room, very few things in the room; a cross on a wall behind Z, Z sits on a large plate. Adolf stands to the side.
Z: I AM HERE WAITING.
WAITING HERE FOR THE ALL-CONSUMING NOTHINGNESS TO CONSUME AND TURN HERE INTO NOWHERE.WHEN I SAY HERE,I MEAN WHEREVER I AM AT THE MOMENT WHEN I SAY HERE,SO I SIT HERE,THEN HERE IS HERE,IF I GET UPWALK TO OVER THERE,THEN THERE WILL BE HERE.
I WONDER NOW,SINCE WHERE EVERI AM I AM HERE,IF I DIE AND THEREFRE I AM NOWHERE, DOES NOWHERE BECOME HERE, AND MORE IMPORTANTLY, DOES HERE BECOME NOWHERE,SINCE I AM IWILL NOT BE ANYWHERE IN HERE ANYWHERE IN THE WORLD TO MAKE IT A PLACE CALLED HERE?
AND WHAT THEN OF THERE? THERE:THE PLACE BETWEEN HERE AND THE OTHER HERE,LIKE SOME COMBINATION OF EGG AND CARCASS,THAT IS WHAT "THERE" IS...
BECAUSE BEFORE WE GET SOMEWHERE TO MAKE IT HERE,ITS OVER THERE,AND AFTER WE LEAVE THAT AREA TO MAKE ANOTHER AREA HERE,THAT AREA THAT WAS JUST HERE IS A "THERE" AGAIN.IT IS ALL SUCH A MESS. SUCH A CONFUSING MESS,THIS MESS,SO CONFUSING AND SO MESSY THAT WE HAD TO INVITE OR INVENT GOD TO LET HIM TRY AND SORT THIS MESS OUT SINCE ITS GOTTON OUT OF OUR HANDS,LET IT BE PUT IN GODS HANDS,LET US HOPE THAT HE HAS BIG HANDS;BECAUSE THE WORLD IS NOT A SMALL PLACE AND ALL THE WORLD IS HERE IN THE MIDDLE OF THIS MESS WE HAVE MADE AND YET,WE DONT WANT IT UNMADE, WE WANT OURSELVES UNMADE,TO BE INTO THE NOTHING, BUT LET THE MESS STAY HERE,WE WILL PASS AWAY FROM IT,IT WILL STAY HERE AS SOME KIND OF REPRESENTATION OF WHAT WE WERE,LIKE ART...WE WILL DIE FEELING LIKE ARTISTS.
SUCH A CONCEPT, THE ARTISTS,MAKING ART,WHATEVER ART MAY BE,
THOSE ARTISTS CAN MAKE ANYTHING BE CONSIDERED ART,AS LONG AS WE CAN FIND A WAYTO SHOW IT TO OTHERS,O MAKE A STATEMENT,TO STATE TO OTHERS THATTHAT THIS ART, IN OUR MINDS,OF OUR MINDS,THAT WE HAVE THE MINDS OF ARTISTS,WHICH ARE LIKE NESTS,ART LIKE BIRDS SITTING IN THESE MIND NESTS AFTER WE INVITED THEM IN BECAUSE OF OUR INTREST IN ART,THE ARTS INSPIRE,INSPIRATION BEING THE BIRTH OF IDEAS,IDEAS LIKE EGGS BEING LAID,THESE EGGS THAT WILL HATCH INTO ART,GROWING INTO STRONG BIRDS,LEAVING THE NEST TO FIND OTHER NESTS, AND LAY MORE EGGS,MORE AND MORE ART,DESPITE THE INFLUX OF ARTWE WILL BE LEFT A BARREN NEST AGAIN EMPTY AND WAITING FOR SOMETHING.
ADOLF: (COMMING UP TO Z AND STRIKING HIM ON THE HEAD WITH A SPATULA)
MEAT! SHUT UP! GOD IS COMMING! ALL HE WANTS IS A QUIET DINNER!SHUT UP!
Z: FINE! I WILL BE QUITE, AT LEAST WHEN HE COMES, BUT HE HAS NOT COME YET.
OH, THE PATIENCE I NEED.TO WAIT FOR A PERIOD UNDEFINED,I CANT REMEMBER WHEN I STARTED WAITING AND NOBODY GAVE AN EXACT TIME OF WHEN HE WOULD ARRIVE,THEY ONLY SAID SOON, AND THEY SAID THAT A LITTLE WHILE BACK,I SUPPOSE THEY MEANT IN A LITTLE WHILE, BUT THAT WOULD MEAN NOW,BUT HE IS NOT HERE,SO IT MUST HAVE MEANT A LITTLE WHILE LONGER,MEANING SOON.
HE WILL BE HERE SOON,I WILL DIE SOON.
SOON, I WILL BE DEAD,SOON HE WILL BE HERE,IF HE IS NOT HERE,WHICH HE IS NOT, THEN THAT MEANS HE IS "THERE"; THERE BEING SOMEWHERE THAT IS NOT HERE,SO GOD IS NOT WITH ME....HE IS NOT HERE WITH MEHE IS THERE,IN SOME UNDEFIABLE AREA,PERHAPS LOOKING DOWN?
I WOULD LIKE THAT,LIKE MANY WOULD LIKE THAT,MANY ALREADY THINK THAT, THAT THEY SET BESIDE THEIR BEDS AT NIGHT IN PRAYER,HOPING THE WORDS THEY SAYWILL TRAVEL AWAY FROM HERE TO SOME "THERE" AND WILL BE HEARD BY SOMEONE WHO IS MORE THAN SOMEONEAND MAYBE THAT SOMEONE WHO IS MORE THAN SOMEONE CARES,BUT IF SOMEONE IS MORE THAN SOMEONE,THEN THEY ARENT SOMEONE,IF YOU ARENT SOMEONE, THEN YOU ARE NO-ONE; THEN WE HOPE NO ONE CARES, DEEP DOWN,THAT IS SOMETHING WE ALREADY KNEW WE KNEW THAT NO-ONE CARED,AND THAT HAS ALWAYS BEEN THE CASE,IT IS COMFORTING WHEN WE THINK OF IT IN THIS LIGHT:GOD CARES,GOD IS NO -ONE AND NO-ONE CARES.
BUT WHO IS NO-ONE?
HOW CAN YOU DEFINE SOMETHING/NOT SOMETHING/NOTHING ? NOTHING ,I ASSUME,IS THE HOMELAND AND PROPERTIES OF NO-ONE SO SOMEONE WHO IS NOT SOMEONEWHO IS THEREFORE NO-ONEIS SURROUNDED BY NOTHING,WHICH IS IMMEASURABLEBECAUSE NO-ONE HAS EVER MADE THE EFFORT TO ATTEMPT MEASUREMENT FOR NOTHING;AND FROM WHAT WE CAN TELL, NOTHING IS EVERYWHER AND INFINITE,EVEN IN BETWEEN THINGS THAT ARENT NOTHING,EVEN IN SPACE,INFINITY ITSELFIS NOTHING SPECKLEDWITH A FEW SOMETHINGS HERE AND THERE,BUT MOSTLY A VAST EXPANSE OF NOTHING, OH,THE GLORY OF IT!
(Z STANDING UP)
ADOLF: MEAT! SIT DOWN!SHUT UP! DONT MAKE ME HIT YOU!
Z:BUT I CANNOT CONTAIN MYSELF ANYLONGER! I UNDERSTAND NOW!THE GLORY OF NOTHING AND NO-ONE!NOTHING AND NO ONE MUST BE ONE AND THE SAME,WHEN I THINK ABOUT IT,BECAUSE TO BE SOMEONE YOU HAVE TO BE SOME SORT OF SOMETHING IF YOU ARE NOT SOMETHING AS NOTHINGIS,THEN YOU ARE NOT SOMEONE,HERE NO-ONE LIKE GOD IS NO-ONE,GOD IS EVERYWHERE,SURROUNDED BY THE OCCASIONAL SOMEONE AND SOMETHING!
ADOLF! WHO IS HERE BESIDES YOU OR ME?
ADOLF: NO ONE.
Z: DO YOU SEE? HE IS HERE,THIS NO-ONE THIS NOTHINGTHIS GOD,ALL OF THIS TIME,I WAS AFFRAID HE WAS DENYING ME THAT HE WOULD NOT CONSUME ME,BUT I REALISE NOW,THAT BETWEEN THE FLESH AND THE BONES OF ME,IN BETWEEN THE MOLECULES OF AIR IN MY LUNGS, IN MY MIND BETWEEN MY THOUGHTS, GOD IS HERE,DRAGGING ME DOWN INTO FATIGUE WHEN I CANNOT ANYLONGER SUSTAIN MYSELF,CANNOT ANYLONGER MAINTAIN BEING ABLE TO BE ME, TO BE SOMEONE,CLOSER TO BEING NOTHING.I AM CLOSE WITH GOD.
SOON,I WILL BE GOD.
(LIGHTS FADE,CURTAIN COMES DOWN)
THE END
setting: a moderately well lit room, very few things in the room; a cross on a wall behind Z, Z sits on a large plate. Adolf stands to the side.
Z: I AM HERE WAITING.
WAITING HERE FOR THE ALL-CONSUMING NOTHINGNESS TO CONSUME AND TURN HERE INTO NOWHERE.WHEN I SAY HERE,I MEAN WHEREVER I AM AT THE MOMENT WHEN I SAY HERE,SO I SIT HERE,THEN HERE IS HERE,IF I GET UPWALK TO OVER THERE,THEN THERE WILL BE HERE.
I WONDER NOW,SINCE WHERE EVERI AM I AM HERE,IF I DIE AND THEREFRE I AM NOWHERE, DOES NOWHERE BECOME HERE, AND MORE IMPORTANTLY, DOES HERE BECOME NOWHERE,SINCE I AM IWILL NOT BE ANYWHERE IN HERE ANYWHERE IN THE WORLD TO MAKE IT A PLACE CALLED HERE?
AND WHAT THEN OF THERE? THERE:THE PLACE BETWEEN HERE AND THE OTHER HERE,LIKE SOME COMBINATION OF EGG AND CARCASS,THAT IS WHAT "THERE" IS...
BECAUSE BEFORE WE GET SOMEWHERE TO MAKE IT HERE,ITS OVER THERE,AND AFTER WE LEAVE THAT AREA TO MAKE ANOTHER AREA HERE,THAT AREA THAT WAS JUST HERE IS A "THERE" AGAIN.IT IS ALL SUCH A MESS. SUCH A CONFUSING MESS,THIS MESS,SO CONFUSING AND SO MESSY THAT WE HAD TO INVITE OR INVENT GOD TO LET HIM TRY AND SORT THIS MESS OUT SINCE ITS GOTTON OUT OF OUR HANDS,LET IT BE PUT IN GODS HANDS,LET US HOPE THAT HE HAS BIG HANDS;BECAUSE THE WORLD IS NOT A SMALL PLACE AND ALL THE WORLD IS HERE IN THE MIDDLE OF THIS MESS WE HAVE MADE AND YET,WE DONT WANT IT UNMADE, WE WANT OURSELVES UNMADE,TO BE INTO THE NOTHING, BUT LET THE MESS STAY HERE,WE WILL PASS AWAY FROM IT,IT WILL STAY HERE AS SOME KIND OF REPRESENTATION OF WHAT WE WERE,LIKE ART...WE WILL DIE FEELING LIKE ARTISTS.
SUCH A CONCEPT, THE ARTISTS,MAKING ART,WHATEVER ART MAY BE,
THOSE ARTISTS CAN MAKE ANYTHING BE CONSIDERED ART,AS LONG AS WE CAN FIND A WAYTO SHOW IT TO OTHERS,O MAKE A STATEMENT,TO STATE TO OTHERS THATTHAT THIS ART, IN OUR MINDS,OF OUR MINDS,THAT WE HAVE THE MINDS OF ARTISTS,WHICH ARE LIKE NESTS,ART LIKE BIRDS SITTING IN THESE MIND NESTS AFTER WE INVITED THEM IN BECAUSE OF OUR INTREST IN ART,THE ARTS INSPIRE,INSPIRATION BEING THE BIRTH OF IDEAS,IDEAS LIKE EGGS BEING LAID,THESE EGGS THAT WILL HATCH INTO ART,GROWING INTO STRONG BIRDS,LEAVING THE NEST TO FIND OTHER NESTS, AND LAY MORE EGGS,MORE AND MORE ART,DESPITE THE INFLUX OF ARTWE WILL BE LEFT A BARREN NEST AGAIN EMPTY AND WAITING FOR SOMETHING.
ADOLF: (COMMING UP TO Z AND STRIKING HIM ON THE HEAD WITH A SPATULA)
MEAT! SHUT UP! GOD IS COMMING! ALL HE WANTS IS A QUIET DINNER!SHUT UP!
Z: FINE! I WILL BE QUITE, AT LEAST WHEN HE COMES, BUT HE HAS NOT COME YET.
OH, THE PATIENCE I NEED.TO WAIT FOR A PERIOD UNDEFINED,I CANT REMEMBER WHEN I STARTED WAITING AND NOBODY GAVE AN EXACT TIME OF WHEN HE WOULD ARRIVE,THEY ONLY SAID SOON, AND THEY SAID THAT A LITTLE WHILE BACK,I SUPPOSE THEY MEANT IN A LITTLE WHILE, BUT THAT WOULD MEAN NOW,BUT HE IS NOT HERE,SO IT MUST HAVE MEANT A LITTLE WHILE LONGER,MEANING SOON.
HE WILL BE HERE SOON,I WILL DIE SOON.
SOON, I WILL BE DEAD,SOON HE WILL BE HERE,IF HE IS NOT HERE,WHICH HE IS NOT, THEN THAT MEANS HE IS "THERE"; THERE BEING SOMEWHERE THAT IS NOT HERE,SO GOD IS NOT WITH ME....HE IS NOT HERE WITH MEHE IS THERE,IN SOME UNDEFIABLE AREA,PERHAPS LOOKING DOWN?
I WOULD LIKE THAT,LIKE MANY WOULD LIKE THAT,MANY ALREADY THINK THAT, THAT THEY SET BESIDE THEIR BEDS AT NIGHT IN PRAYER,HOPING THE WORDS THEY SAYWILL TRAVEL AWAY FROM HERE TO SOME "THERE" AND WILL BE HEARD BY SOMEONE WHO IS MORE THAN SOMEONEAND MAYBE THAT SOMEONE WHO IS MORE THAN SOMEONE CARES,BUT IF SOMEONE IS MORE THAN SOMEONE,THEN THEY ARENT SOMEONE,IF YOU ARENT SOMEONE, THEN YOU ARE NO-ONE; THEN WE HOPE NO ONE CARES, DEEP DOWN,THAT IS SOMETHING WE ALREADY KNEW WE KNEW THAT NO-ONE CARED,AND THAT HAS ALWAYS BEEN THE CASE,IT IS COMFORTING WHEN WE THINK OF IT IN THIS LIGHT:GOD CARES,GOD IS NO -ONE AND NO-ONE CARES.
BUT WHO IS NO-ONE?
HOW CAN YOU DEFINE SOMETHING/NOT SOMETHING/NOTHING ? NOTHING ,I ASSUME,IS THE HOMELAND AND PROPERTIES OF NO-ONE SO SOMEONE WHO IS NOT SOMEONEWHO IS THEREFORE NO-ONEIS SURROUNDED BY NOTHING,WHICH IS IMMEASURABLEBECAUSE NO-ONE HAS EVER MADE THE EFFORT TO ATTEMPT MEASUREMENT FOR NOTHING;AND FROM WHAT WE CAN TELL, NOTHING IS EVERYWHER AND INFINITE,EVEN IN BETWEEN THINGS THAT ARENT NOTHING,EVEN IN SPACE,INFINITY ITSELFIS NOTHING SPECKLEDWITH A FEW SOMETHINGS HERE AND THERE,BUT MOSTLY A VAST EXPANSE OF NOTHING, OH,THE GLORY OF IT!
(Z STANDING UP)
ADOLF: MEAT! SIT DOWN!SHUT UP! DONT MAKE ME HIT YOU!
Z:BUT I CANNOT CONTAIN MYSELF ANYLONGER! I UNDERSTAND NOW!THE GLORY OF NOTHING AND NO-ONE!NOTHING AND NO ONE MUST BE ONE AND THE SAME,WHEN I THINK ABOUT IT,BECAUSE TO BE SOMEONE YOU HAVE TO BE SOME SORT OF SOMETHING IF YOU ARE NOT SOMETHING AS NOTHINGIS,THEN YOU ARE NOT SOMEONE,HERE NO-ONE LIKE GOD IS NO-ONE,GOD IS EVERYWHERE,SURROUNDED BY THE OCCASIONAL SOMEONE AND SOMETHING!
ADOLF! WHO IS HERE BESIDES YOU OR ME?
ADOLF: NO ONE.
Z: DO YOU SEE? HE IS HERE,THIS NO-ONE THIS NOTHINGTHIS GOD,ALL OF THIS TIME,I WAS AFFRAID HE WAS DENYING ME THAT HE WOULD NOT CONSUME ME,BUT I REALISE NOW,THAT BETWEEN THE FLESH AND THE BONES OF ME,IN BETWEEN THE MOLECULES OF AIR IN MY LUNGS, IN MY MIND BETWEEN MY THOUGHTS, GOD IS HERE,DRAGGING ME DOWN INTO FATIGUE WHEN I CANNOT ANYLONGER SUSTAIN MYSELF,CANNOT ANYLONGER MAINTAIN BEING ABLE TO BE ME, TO BE SOMEONE,CLOSER TO BEING NOTHING.I AM CLOSE WITH GOD.
SOON,I WILL BE GOD.
(LIGHTS FADE,CURTAIN COMES DOWN)
THE END
Monday, February 26, 2007
ELSEWHERE IN THE BLOGGING WORLD...
HELLO, TO ALL WHO MAYBE READING THIS...
MOSTLY JUST MY FRIENDS AND PERHAPS SOME PEOPLE WHO WILL STUMBLE UPON THIS WHILE LOOKING THROUGH THE BLOGSPOTS, SO THIS IS ACTUALLY A SECONDARY BLOG FOR ME. MY FIRST AND STILL MOST DEAR TO ME IS ACTUALLY MY MYSPACE ACCOUNT, AS CLICHED AS THAT SOUNDS.I HAVE ABOUT 1500 POEMS AT THAT SITE. HERE IS A LINK: www.myspace.com/poetzombie
SO THE PURPOSE OF THIS BLOG WILL BE TO DISPLAY THE NON POETIC PIECES. THOSE WILL INCLUDE A FEW PLAYS, MOSTLY IN A BECKETT HOMAGE VOICE, AND EXCERPTS FROM MY NOVEL IN PROGRESS "MALHUER". WHICH I WILL BE WRITING MORE OF IN THE COMMING MARCH, HOPEFULLY HAVING IT DONE IN MID-MAY.
SO WE WILL SEE HOW THIS BLOG GOES,IM CERTAIN IT WILL SERVE ME WELL.
MOSTLY JUST MY FRIENDS AND PERHAPS SOME PEOPLE WHO WILL STUMBLE UPON THIS WHILE LOOKING THROUGH THE BLOGSPOTS, SO THIS IS ACTUALLY A SECONDARY BLOG FOR ME. MY FIRST AND STILL MOST DEAR TO ME IS ACTUALLY MY MYSPACE ACCOUNT, AS CLICHED AS THAT SOUNDS.I HAVE ABOUT 1500 POEMS AT THAT SITE. HERE IS A LINK: www.myspace.com/poetzombie
SO THE PURPOSE OF THIS BLOG WILL BE TO DISPLAY THE NON POETIC PIECES. THOSE WILL INCLUDE A FEW PLAYS, MOSTLY IN A BECKETT HOMAGE VOICE, AND EXCERPTS FROM MY NOVEL IN PROGRESS "MALHUER". WHICH I WILL BE WRITING MORE OF IN THE COMMING MARCH, HOPEFULLY HAVING IT DONE IN MID-MAY.
SO WE WILL SEE HOW THIS BLOG GOES,IM CERTAIN IT WILL SERVE ME WELL.
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