Tuesday

A Closer Look


Meow.
The cat comes out at night.
Swoosh.
The angry neighbor's boot will join him.
Zoom in and you can see the pen strokes.
This is not reality.

There is a man in a suit.
He has just come home from work.
"Hi, Honey!"
His wife greets him with a smile.
Arf, arf.
The dog barks cheerily.
Look below:  "See Spot bark at Dad."
This is not reality.

Boom!
The door is slammed shut.
"Shit!"
She yells and throws her books against the wall.
"I can't believe this is fucking happening to me!"
She paces, she screams, she throws things.
There are no pen strokes and no captions.
THIS is reality.

- Feb. 26, 1985, A.D.

Thursday

I Heart


I, Heart
do solemnly swear
[and yet, I must protest!
This isn't the heart -
this is the mind speaking. . .]

I'm going mad
with these feelings
[This is but a fleeting moment. . .]

You're making me crazy
[People cause their own insanity. . .]

Okay, I confess!
I've been doing this to myself
and it isn't so bad

Maybe, even, I like it
[You've loved it all along. . .]

And now,
I love it and hate it
all at once
[Enough!  Enough!  It gets you by.
Don't put it down. . .]

I, Heart
cease to protest
just yet, I will deny what I've said
what is is what's best. . .

- Feb. 21, 1985, A.D.

Monday

Fuck Lovely Days


Headache!
Screaming!  Screaming!
O, the pain!

Words!
Invading my peace
Crossing my borders
Free me from this pain!

"Lovely day, isn't it?"
No
It's not a lovely day
I'm facing the oppression of the whole fucking world,
and you give me this "lovely day" shit

I'm trying to break free from a lifestyle that's killing me,
and you tell me it's a "lovely day"?

FUCK LOVELY DAYS!!
I want to go home

- Feb. 18, 1985, A.D.

Sunday

Excerpt from "Demian", by Herman Hesse


"Like most parents, mine were no help with the new problems of puberty, to which no reference was made. All they did was take endless trouble in supporting my hopeless attempts to deny reality and to continue dwelling in a childhood world that was becoming more and more unreal. I have no idea whether parents can be of help, and I do not blame mine. It was my own affair to come to terms with myself and to find my own way, and like most well-brought-up children, I managed it badly.

"Everyone goes through this crisis. For the average person, this is the point when the demands of his own life come into the sharpest conflict with his environment, when the way forward has to be sought with the bitterest means at his command. Many people experience the dying and rebirth - which is our fate - only this once during their entire life. Their childhood becomes hollow and gradually collapses, everything they love abandons them and they suddenly feel surrounded by the loneliness and mortal cold of the universe. Very many are caught forever in this impasse, and for the rest of their lives cling painfully to an irrevocable past, the dream of the lost paradise - which is the worst and most ruthless of dreams."

Wednesday

Magic Poem


I'd like to thank the girl in Lindsborg, Kansas,
who one day, instead of killing herself,
decided to find this poem and let it change her life

I'd like to thank the old man in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania,
who always longed for a poem to be written about him,
who read this,
and let it make the difference

I'd like to thank all of the lonely people
who helped create this magic poem
for themselves
who knew that somewhere inside,
they had something very important
and waited all their lives to read
these words

I'd like to thank all of those on the verge of despair
- and some who are beyond -
for finding their poem
and for finding hope
here
we are all together

And finally,
I'd like to thank you, with your
sadness or frustration or unrest
for wanting to make it to the 
next line
of your magic poem

Tell me,
you feel like you're the only one, don't you?
well, you are
and yet, there are millions of other
"only ones" in the world
but that doesn't make your pain any less

Tell me, you need somebody to talk to, don't you?
and you feel so desperately alone
you cry in the dark
and you scream in the pain of the light
but knowing is, by no means, solving

Well, here I am
your magic poem
I was created by you, for you
and because of you
I know where you've been
- I've been with you all along -
and I'll be with you till the very end
I'll love you
even when you don't love yourself
I'll care about you
even when you don't care about 
yourself
I'm going to give you a reason
for doing the hardest things in life

I'm your magic poem
and I'm going to hang on for you -
even when you can't
If you decide to kick it in,
I wish you the best in the next world
If you decide to stick around,
I'm proud
I'm really proud
but wherever you're going,
I'm going to get there with you
we can tell jokes along the way
I'll even do so much as unpack your bags for you
and make sure you enjoy your stay

Hello,
I'm your magic poem
I'd like to thank you for making it
to this day
and for creating this poem for yourself
I accept you for everything you are,
everything you feel,
and everything you want to be

This poem is for you
and you alone
I'd like to thank you for letting it
change your life
I'm going to cry with you
I'm going to hurt
I may not make your pain any less,
but I can teach you how to do it

And in the end
- always in the end -
I'm going to make you love yourself
I'm going to call an end to the suffering
I'll help let loose all the grips of pain
and finally,
I will greet you to the new day

I'd like to thank you.

- Feb. 6, 1985, A.D.

Monday

I walked


I walked
farther, faster
becoming the road
facing the horizon - racing forward to the horizon
but I never arrived

Hello?
Do you know me?
Did you ever feel lost?
I did
so I began walking

I had an idea 
of my surroundings
but then I looked up 
and somebody had changed the furniture
I was lost
so I began walking

and here I have stopped
but this is not my destination;

I went from Summer
to Autumn
to Spring
there have been cities
and countrysides
and I have met many people
but still, I was lost
so I kept walking

I walked
sometimes, I ran
trying to catch the rainbow
trying,
but it disappeared

hello?
hello again
I've see this place before
but even yesterday, it was different
I came to a place where I was happy
and I stayed
but it left me
I was lost
so I began walking

And here, I rest to reevaluate
but this is not my destination.

- Feb. 4, 1985, A.D.

Subtle Exchange and the Neuro-Dancers


His fingers curve gently around mine 
during the exchange of
a pack of cigarettes
they hold softly -
for a moment too long to be a simple
exchange
but a moment not as long as I 
silently wish

He diverts my attention to his touch
long enough
for him to slide the pack away
from my fingers -
like a magician,
he leaves me astounded
he leaves me in awe of his subtle artist's touch

Every move he makes seems somehow to have
a purpose
not a deep, serious intention
or a powerful, mystifying meaning
just a simple purpose
to open a few of my hidden channels
somehow, he knows just the combination

Yes
sit there
look reserved
look like we're being hesitant
only we know of these subtle exchanges
we are the only ones who need know
of the contact

As we look into the pack of Camels,
we slip temporarily into a world
of little, drunken neuro-dancers
who travel up through the skin
like a small band of gypsies
to any observer, we would appear to be 
engrossed in the cigarettes
but the cigarettes are quite removed
from our minds

The brush of knee against knee
whisk, whisk
it sends a party to my mind
should I move an inch closer?
or would that offend?
I never know
I only guess

The feeling progresses
deep, shallow, barely there,
intense, piercing,
then hollow
then overwhelming
then gone

Don't ask me who I am
don't ask me why I'm here
but meet me at the movies
I've got a subtle exchange for you

Here comes the hard part:
I'd like to know what you're thinking
but I'll wait
I'll wait for the message in a smile
or in a look

whisk, whisk
the knees keep their appointment
the pack of Camels returns to the pocket
the neuro-dancers sober up
but they'll be at the movies tomorrow

Like a magician
he slips out the door
I wonder. . .
the party moves into my imagination
without asking permission
I contemplate everything that IT IS
and everything that IT COULD BE
I come to no conclusions
nevertheless, I am fascinated

(whisk, whisk)
I reenact the evening in my mind
and I decide:
I'll wait for the movies tomorrow
I'll not think about it tonight
I can't, for the sake of my sanity
(whisk, whisk)
the party retreats
but deep within,
I still feel EVERYTHING THAT WAS 
about the evening

Yes
leave now, before it's too late
leave others to guess at our private affair
how can they know?
how can they perceive?
today, only we see
here, it is a memory
here, a feeling

Expectingly, we wait
for a day that is a lifetime
for tomorrow, it will come again
the answer - another subtle exchange
another party for the dancers who spend
so much time waiting
tomorrow, again, he'll captivate me;
someday, like a magician,
it may - instead of the Camels - 
be my heart that's taken

(whisk, whisk)
I sigh and turn out the light
and wait for tomorrow's electric surprises
Subtle Exchange and the Neuro-Dancers. . .

- Feb. 4, 1985, A.D.