Deconstruction

The evening wears on, is still young at midnight; gets old around five.  Reality progresses to the point where it hits her: there is no way she's going to have the book read by eight.  She gives in with a sigh.  At some point during the course of the night, she has decided to drop the course, anyway, and thus, she escapes the reality of failure.  Hmm. . .  That sounds too much like something out of the book she just stopped reading.  But it's the truth.

She's got homework on top of the book, but she's given in to her creative energies.  The caffeine has made her queesy, and to write a report on top of that would make her downright sick.  She would like to avoid throwing up what little she has left in her stomach, right now.  Hence, she contemplates her wardrobe, when to see the movies she's been wanting to see, and what to do with the money she just got from her dad.  It won't go far, she knows.

Delirium increases.  She listens to baroque music and stares at a picture of Carl Sagan.  She nearly screams as she looks out the window.  The sky is getting lighter.

Staring carelessly towards an object on the floor, the young Bohemian contemplates many early-morning aspects of life:  Will she ever get the guy she wants?  and which one does she want?  If she doesn't get him, whose fault will it be?  If she does get him, how long will it last?  and will she cry in the end?  Should she turn off her lights now, or would that make too much noise?  How much work will she get done today, or will she sleep in every class?  How long can the nausea last, and is this what morning sickness feels like?  Questions, questions. . .

Obsessed, now, with looking out the window, she questions her very existence.  This is not a simple task.  That music is so very faint. . .  Is there dust on that poster, or is she just seeing things?  Who invented liquid soap, and why?  How do they get the coating on candy to be so even?  What do her dreams represent?  She has exactly one hour and five minutes left.  The tape rolls to a noisy end, and she is left with herself and the sound of an amazingly large amount of traffic outside.  Somewhere out there is a bird, sounding rather melancholy at this time of day.  She can't help but wonder. . . 

- March 18, 1985, A.D.

Behind the Garage (My Spooky Autumn)

I bang my head against the wall,

throw myself from room to room,

scream in the darkness of my life

and grasp for the light

which becomes dimmer as I gaze upon it

It flies away from me, faster than light's speed

and becomes a star

one among millions in a gloomy November sky

Suddenly, I see that my life is parallel to that star

as the lives of my friends are oblique

I look down, and there we are

behind the garage

smoking a clove and holding each other

like we've never been held before

radiating with love

reaching out for assurance

flowing in and flowing out,

but always coming back to the reality of our lives

The pain

that we've given each other

that we've created ourselves

When I look up, my friends are gone

the sky is a dark haze

I am alone with my cigarette and my thoughts

But they are no comfort to me

I scream out, but no one comes running

I cry

but no one is there to wipe tears,

or rid me of frustration

I'm cold -

when did it grow so cold inside me?

Why is there so much pain?

The wind whispers past me

softly, hoping I won't notice it has no answers

There is too much light in the world and not enough enlightenment!

Inside, I am struck with mental arrows

and torn apart,

piece by bloody piece,

devoured by my own frustration and unrest

I lie down on the grass and put out the cigarette

ignore the tears, falling

as though there were a leak in my life

Where is the star that parallels me?

Up there, somewhere, in the haze

I can't see it, but I need it, now

to know it's there

and my life has a purpose

Eventually, I pull myself up,

walk back towards the lifeless house,

up the creaky stairs

and back to my nothing half-thoughts

that keep me from school work

My mind is still behind the garage with the others,

and in the stars -

but I tap off the ashes and live on...

- Nov. 16, 1983, A.D.