of all the wonderful bad ideas in the world
this is my head.


i had the thoughts of comming back to the house
putting a cd on
listening to some music
and not thinking.

and then i thought else:
i would get back
and grab that bottle of vodka
and sit in the dark
and smoke some cigarettes

and not think.

but the entire evening i thought
and i talked with the people around me
and i mentioned what was on my mind
so
under those hospital desks
in the offices where i thought about what to do
i forced myself 
i remember'd the people i'd...



i sat at the table with jen.  we mentioned how great it would be if we took all of these odd-shaped tables and stuck them together
like a puzzel: everyone in the shop trapped in our patterns
and it would be like unity 
in some way...
but she was playing chess with scott
and her attention was focused more on her back than either of us
[as the room filled with all of the people, all of us; as they sad down and started moving their words around; glances were made
; ideas thrown out...]
i suppose i was just waiting until there was enough auxilliary conversations going on for mine to fall into that level of white noise that exists in coffee shops...
and i 
thinking of all that had been said
ever
between jen and i
started with
' you know what it's like... When you're ok with yourself.  When you're sure things are fine; you can talk with people and be close and be friendly and such...
but you don't need to drop off. you don't need to let go; lose yr bits all over the place when they walk in.
that is to say
your social interactions are on relatively secure grounds and you are moving along quite freely...
then you meet a person that makes you desperate...
you know what i'm talking about '
she laughs
she says 
she laughs
her eyes all lit up
and kinda darty
around the room
back at the chess board
[ i know of misunderstandings; i wanted to keep this objective ]
she said "yeah, i know what you mean"


and now i've got fucking gorecki in my head
wrapped up in my headphones and tape suppliment
and now i've got those people
the ones i mentioned earlier.

One gets to a point where one has to accept the fact that one won't get what one wants.
that is, one isn't even sure what one wants because one knows one cannot have it
so the thoughts one has are all scattersed
circling what once was known to be a desire
and what has been gathered in mistakes and the everyday trauma of living
so that the mind just takes every instance of that desire
and negates it into safety
a
" You needn't worry about ever finding that because it's not out there
 you may think you've found it
 but that's not it...
 you can stop now.
don't give up, but stop looking
because it's a waste of energy you could better spend"

and one thinks ov better ways to spend time...
one passes people in the street
that one no longer has any feelings for
because it is known...
and one meets people in the aisles...
but one doesn't offer a hand

ha
well
we try and stay well protected
but i guess i broke through again...
it happens every once in a while:
the part of me that is still me 
the part of me i can't objectify
the part of me i wish didn't exist
and sometimes doesn't
but
still finds ways to get back inside
when i'm unprotected

hey
look-a me.

[vodka and sedatives]
you know what i mean.


chance.
my aletory life.
Chanse
you could fall to your knees at all of their feet
they'd place a hand on your head
but they aren't thinking of you.

You see...:
find another.
remember gloves
hand in gloves
find another
remember faces
look at beards
make it a criteria
get disappointed
it's always there
because you've been rejected again

there must be a reason.

you know you can have anyone that wants you
and there are plenty...
but how come you never want them?

every kid who touches your shoulder
turns you around
every kid who bores out your mind
drills holes in your patience
and your will
every kid who makes you want to drink
and get fucked up
>> oh, i don't want to have to protect myself anymore; i don't want to have to think about this... i want fucking rest...<<

running through the crowds with arms flailing
remembering the people you were too scared to put your arms around
remembering the people who you did put your arms around
and they left you there
in the street
as the sun went down
as the orange lights came on
as the drunks came out
as you sat down in the alley
on the stones
in the dark
to wish you could just fall asleep
in the middle of the road
to get a car
to take you out
   the only way it can.

this stopped you from going out; you're staying in.

and you wish you could cry but your hands just feel warm
bleeding 
bruises that won't heal
why does it always come back to this?

oh, did i forget to mention the reason?

it starts with mr. low-expectations comming out the front door
wearing the confidence suit
and apt exoskeleton
down the walk
to the white car
getting in and driving out
to see the lights
to see the citie
in all its emptyness
[when there is a calm]
going in public isn't that bad
when you invest nothing in what's around you
and aren't afraid of anything
because you won't do anything.
[oh, but everytime you try, antennae poking out of shell
 salt on yr mullosk skin
  people don't know you're alive
  they are just as bored as you wish you were]
til it gets easier
and it's a matter of waiting around
and playing games
and poking holes
because you know where all of yours are
and you're the mirror man
now left in a dark room
you get only glints
[passing cars]

to drive down town
no matter what city you are in
and meet him at the park.
he looks good in those jeans
too bad he's married
he's got glasses
and good story to tell
and a large hand
to place on your shoulder
and make you feel grounded
and glad to be touched
which is so rare these days
my dear boy.

[beaten to death
 so you can feel life when kindness of the implicit bi-polar variety
 places his hand
 or tongue 
 on your raw back
 
 you'd want that cock up your ass again
 if it didn't make you think of farm animals]

Well damn
i let him in
so i guess that means something
and i'm not so alone anymore
but i'll write you letters
you can't return
and can't reply to
because i'm sure they don't mean anything
to anyone.
and so
good bye.


They've all asked me what i'm running from
[maybe it's just my fleeting ideas; i'm tired of expaining them all the time]
i really don't know
i just want to stop thinking
and i want to stop looking
i'd rather just do
but nothing in this life really seems all that worth-while to me.

oh, let me get back to my story.
it must have been a year ago
if you remember
i met him in some channel or other
he said he'd come back from the dead
at least we had something in common..
and we talked of wife killing 
needle using
lonely old
authours
who wrote what they needed to
and got paid out of our pockets
and the likes of us
to provide a modicum of entertainment.
the conversations were brief
but i wanted to talk a bit more
so manythings can be empty, you know...
then images across the wire
get that ideal flipping up in yr mind 
like a target in a shooting gallery
you wish you'd brought your arsenal
but just touched it with your fingertips instead
and felt a quiet desperation
[printing off pictures in a dark-room 
 feel incredibly stupid because of you'r own self]
fell out
fell over
it's ok now.

time 
time
time
and so much distance.
people you fucked in boredom and alcohol.
people you kissed out of pity and vacumes...
 a breathing lesson you wish you could learn
until you found yourself running again...
[cigarettes and vodka... grapefruits burn off the fat]
[the voice severs the mind
 just leaves the raw thoughts
 flipping around in consciousness
 like fish out of water
 they are all dying]



The boy had been living inland for many years
he remember'd being born there... so many years ago. it was a silly ritual; one he could do without... other people found it so necessary...
but i guess that set the pace for the rest of his days.  he walked behind people
watching the steps they took
and when they weren't watching
he'd match his feet to theirs
and walk behind them
feeling normal at last...
and walked a million tired paths til dawn
when he left the nation
on a trade ship
bound for a new land
where he could feel whole
where he could be a part of the human race
where he could choke on the milks of human kind
ness
es.
a storm blew up
and the ship must have gone under
but she was a sturdy thing
and when she surfaced again
the boy was alone
standing at the gaurd rail in the dim light
watching the waves washing over them selves
completely self satisfying
and without a model for him to coppy

the days and months and times went on
he never noticed the absence of people
he'd relaxed
and breathed in the clean air
like he'd never done it before
and finally
this was how to do it
an idea of claity and safety
solitude, yes...
but at least he was alive
and that was more than anything he'd had before...

he fell asleep.



the boat destroyed it self
as was its wont
upon a sandy shore
protected by choral
an island with no people
just trees and fruits and silent animals
with wood for a home
and time for his thoughts
he settled in
and stared at himself in the tides all day
and the stars all night.

he summoned up his spirits
the ones he knew he could trust
the ones happy to understand him
the ones happy to be his servants
his teachers
his friends.

he lived
for a moment or two....
all things move towards their end...
and the boy-man-child 
met a native of the island
a shock, of course
but welcomed
the boy, in his current state, felt he had the strength and the actual desire to deal with this native
and the boy looked at himself and smiled
and the boy walked across the beach
the rocks
the island
to shake the hand of the man there before him
and when their hands touched
the boy felt he could never live with out him
and all power got transfered
and all desire became focused
and all the emptiness was filled with desperation
to be taken in this large hand he had in his
to be taken in the pair of hands
these arms
this chest
this forest
this body
to finally be able to feel warm
to feel flesh
to feel 
to see into the eyes and see a reflection
over just a blank stare
and this was what he'd been looking for
although he gave up any ideals epochs ago
this one had come back to shake his hand
and his life was now a shared process...

ah
but the secret lies in this:
the native loved the island
was confused by the boy
nice and all
to have a visitor
but really would prefer to have the tourist just fuck off
if he wouldn't mind
mmmm
well maybe a shag and a snog and a bit of heavy petting
but really
" you don't belong here
  you don't belong at my side
 i'm really not interested at all in you
 give me what you came for
and leave me alone
 i've got my own world to live through"

and the boy looked
into the eyes
and saw this
and every word said this
and the skin
now held in his hand
felt this
and the boy became desperate
not to lose
what he'd never had
and used his other hand
in the idea of wrapping the native
who must belong somewhere
whith his people
and his customs
and his past
and his inevitable future
without this boy
alone boy
boy born slippy
with many a mask
but no past life
and no post life
and only ideals
and ideas
what could he do?

and this was the place
this was where the boy told this story to the audiance before him
greeted with blank stares
in preparation to slam their hands together
for lack of a better gesture
for the boy to sit back down
and not know what to do
in quiet desperation
not allowed to take all of the pills he's acquired
not allowed to take the girl's hand
who he'd told the story to
who he'd seen the face of
not allowed to feel alive
not allowed a man nor a woman
a boy or a girl
this boy in front of you
in quiet desperation
attemptedly verbalized
with watery eyes
yearning a vodka
and cigarette
and some one he could talk to
and hear
and see
almost eye to eye
almost cheek to cheek
almost body to body
i this cold park
at five in the morning
with tired legs
and manic mind.

we got through these actions to validate our lives
to explain to those around us who we are.
to explain to those around us what we think we need
which must be wrong
because we can't get it
and we are tending towards something else
an ardous task
when the weather is such as this
and all we can do is clap our hands at the end of our exhibitions...

i'd give you all presents if i could.
i'd wish i could be your friends.
i'm sorry
but i have to go now
lest i fall through the holes i've ripped in the floor
beneath my feet.
i'll walk out that door
i'll bade 'fare well'
i'll go back to the place i just left
i'll try and find somewhere else to go
where maybe i could sit down
and have a conversation
and figure it all out
with my numb head
and broken hands.

just make me feel listened to
if you can
remembering that i'm just shouting at a mirror
shows up all my silliness
and i forgive you
and apologize for doing what i've just done.
good luck, and thank you.
[2.27.98.4:57.denver.colorado.roomdownstairs."no no, you should" tape.]

you're going to turn yourself into a plastic arm chair
a bit of art
people can look at you 
and whisper under their breath
:"How tragic"

you're just a symbol.