midnight in queens
january 12, 98; flushing, new york city

i wonder where my friends have gone
we drift into different parts of the globe
creating our own little ninches
i've been thinking about them for the
past night and the many other unmentioned moments
when i lay in bed with a million thoughts
racing through my mind
and there are also pictures and visions
and dreams that almost seem real
only to fade away in the dark of the room
and then i'd tell myself to hang on to them
it's ten minutes to one in the morning
and i'm sitting here remembering
and trying to remember cause i want to
with headphones playing some lyric-less music to my ears
echoes it is, on fm in new york city this late nite
another monday morning -- january 12, 1998
already...

"if i ever have an installation show of my own, i'll put myself in it. literally. i would be in the show. it would be a wirelike kitchen scene. everything done purely by line drawing. and i'd be sitting on this chair writing something on some sketch notebook. filling up its empty white washed pages. listening to some mind bothering music over the walkman, with my head in my hand, elbow on the table. i'd imagine people walking around me. watching me. examining. as if i'm some piece of art. except this one's organic. and how my kinetic organic form and movements contrasts with the static line drawing of a kitchen i've made. it should be interesting..."

"perhaps i died and my whole lifestory would be revealed?
perhaps there would be no answer to my pointless query.
and so i'd just keep writing and writing and writing?
and one day, discover the inner voice in me
becoming as clear as crystal.
then i'd have a reason for all this. a purpose.
but is there such need for one?
sometimes i'd think this is some form of therapy.
letting them thoughts spill out.
them repressed thoughts and words.
to lay them out naked on paper.
and face it bluntly and humbly.
and maybe someday i'd figure myself out.
hopefully, it would all come clear to me."

"and it's past midnight,
in queens..."

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