Vanessa called me out and said: Share it! Share it more! You selfish shit! Perhaps she didn't say it that way; I'm remembering what I felt as what I heard. I'm recomposing. Yes, all the time! Recomposing myself, you, these memory bubbles I swim through and last night almost drowned in!
Anyway, the truth is I don't share enough. Now I'll share more. Remember that Bukowski didn't mean "keeping the bowels loose" as a private matter. I'll turn myself inside out now.
Dear one, you’ve given me everything but a place to be destroyed. In my insane desire for order I’ve failed to build a place for this to happen. All of my creations work against me in this way: they disallow me to solitude, the community, the resolute nobility of a place for my complete failure. Oh hold this ego holy and wrong who works so hard daily against me! Fuck being beautiful, give in to my profanity for this is where divinity and I come to play, to dance, to make love together in the twilight of what isn’t said. Repeat your mind. Drawn it into the sand. Let the ocean erase the sand and draw it again. Repeat your mind. Score the opera onto the sands of time. My music is only going to baffle you even more than it baffles me. Repeat my mind. My true lover, to whom my music is somehow melodies instead of baffling discordant empires built of a child’s sandcastles. My wife, on whom my life finally finds it’s solitude and breathtaking triumphant certainty. “I don’t need drugs to do that”. Fine, I do. Several bottles and one can of Colt 45 tell me what I need to meet you here in the unspoken perfection of what pretends to be memory. Pessoa knew he truth, that a liver is of no worth to mankind but words may be worth eternity. Fuck this eternal moment for being so and denying me my happiness. Fuck her legs and my desire that nestled between them for doing the same. Fuck all that carried the holy pretensions of eternity and failed to deliver. My eyes are watching you now and though the moment passes nothing will be forgiven. Nothing will forgive us now for wasting the dawn, and I have wasted many dawns. I include you only because I believe you are complicit, but it is my failure, it is me who has wasted the dawn, who let the last dawn languish in the peaceful land of sleep when I should have attended to the war. Forgive me, I become happy and forget the war is going on, I become drunk on the gorgeous desire of solitude and forget the war is afoot and magic exists only in between it’s tensile results. I do not know of whom I am asking forgiveness, for there is none anymore. All those gods have long since been killed or perished. Long since failed to deliver on our promises, which we made up for them in our dreams and well-ordered fantasies. You whom I have nothing for, you to whom I have come with nothing, you who stick out your soul and upend the lie in your noisy heart, you who have so often refused the lie which I made with my mind when my heart was dormant, you with whom I end this night and continue this life forever and I salute in this clarity of a drunken haze.
June 1st 2009
The “Glasslands” for Black Elf Speaks