Fear and Loathing in the DQ, '86

You know that saying, "You're going to have hell to pay"?  Well, this was the year the bill came due - the hangover year, where people would tell me later how fucked up I had been.  They didn't have that phrase, then: "whatever happens in Vegas stays in Vegas".  Or in my case - Mardi Gras.  I didn't know I was just supposed to sow some wild oats, go to confession, and come home free and clear.  Instead, I had to keep it.  I had to carry Mardi Gras around with me for the rest of the year; a bug in my ear, telling me to live free at any cost.

But that's the problem:  There was a cost.  I had already gone home with the first man who asked me to stay.  I was in love, for sure, but I didn't know what to do with love once I had it.  The other part of me - Miss Free Love 1985 - was furious, and she wasn't giving up without a fight.

After my trip to New Orleans, I stopped trying to be good.  I dropped out of school, fell into love triangles, had an affair that I wouldn't stop talking about, got engaged way before I was ready, got drunk and did interpretive modern dances in rooms full of strangers at parties I wasn't even invited to. . .  you name it, it was that kind of year.  If I told you everything I did in "poor judgement" in 1986, I don't think I'd have your sympathy.  There were some prize-winningly bad ideas, which sent me well on my way to becoming a true asshole (in case I wasn't already).  

Out of college, and with no other prospects for the future, I tried vocational school, followed by a summer in the back room of Dairy Queen, washing dishes and dipping dilly bars.  I found myself relegated to that humiliating position because I was completely incapable of pouring the perfect 6-ounce ball of soft ice cream with the curly-q top that DQ was known for - just as it had always been done.  In the fall, I advanced into a soul-sucking waitressing job at a pizzeria, where I worked the day shift (who eats pizza during the day? NO ONE), served the same homeless man with the dark eyes that pierced my soul every day, and couldn't wait for the night servers to come so I could flirt with them before I headed home to my fiance.

That was all bad enough.  But the worst part was how stupid it all made me.  The writing nearly stopped.  I lost the poetry that sustained me through so many other hard times, and I had nothing to show for my supposed brilliance except for a wildly dysfunctional relationship and a barely decent restaurant job.  At least, that's what it looked like from the outside.

If the fall of '83 had been the first shoe to drop, 1986 was, most assuredly, the second shoe.  '83 brought the painful reality of growing up, and being ultimately alone in the world.  '86 was all about learning to function once I was out there.  For a radical dreamer, these were the hardest lessons I'd ever confront - lessons that keep coming back to me even now, in so many reminders that I need to be present in my life and responsible to the real people who count on me.

Even though I wasn't writing much, the Vision was still guiding me.  The Vision was what I called the voice that came to me in my dreams, and spoke through my poems.  It gave me my poetry, but never asked for anything in return.  It was a part of me, but distant.  Not wanting to live anywhere near solid flesh, the Vision just floated around in my subconscious, waiting for me to get out my pencil and write.  It seemed harmless enough.

But something happened.  I had a bad mushroom trip.  Nothing terrible came up at the time, except I saw ancient spirits of the forest in the wood paneling of my boyfriend's apartment.  But an incredible sadness fell over me after that.  A darkness possessed me, and I felt that the Vision was suddenly pulling me under water.  I wasn't depressed in a way that I could write about, this time.  It took me a long time to figure out it was suffocating me, and that I might need to send out a flare or search for a life preserver.  In my previous depressions, I had let the whole world know, and friends came to my rescue.  But this time, I didn't have the words to call out.  I couldn't define it, but I felt that it was trying to kill me.

Then one night, I had a dream that it - whatever it was that possessed me - was a big, fat, poisonous spider.  I took a large, hardcover book and smashed it against the wall until the blood spurted out of its abdomen.  And that was it.  I woke up, and I knew it was gone.  It WAS gone.  The unknown curse was lifted.

As much as I call myself a dreamer, deep inside, I've got to be in control.  That's probably the only thing that saved me back then.  I didn't have a prayer to call upon, but I had my stubborn will, and once I realized the ground was slipping out from under me, I willed my way out.  I did it in dreamtime, because that's where the whole scene was going down, but it had a tangible effect on my life.  I started to breathe again.

If you think this is when I turned the corner, it's not.  Surprise, surprise. . .  This is actually when I stopped writing.  I decided that if the Vision wanted to kill me, I'd rather be a pathetic, drunk, love-torn waitress than a dead genius poet.  If the Vision wanted me to suffer for my art, then I was just going to skip it.  I was pretty sure I could live without the glory, but I knew I didn't want to live my life without love, and a shot at happiness.  Even if I fucked up at it for years, even if I hurt a lot of people along the way, I wanted a solid chance.  I couldn't give up on my dream of a happy ending.

So, ironically, I had to ditch the love poems in order to feel real love.  I stopped being "a writer", and set myself to the task of being human.  I'm maybe halfway there.  I've even learned to speak, instead of containing all my feelings on a piece of paper, and slipping it under a door.  The language of people talking to people - the listening, understanding, and the constant adjustment - still eludes me at times - but it's the best work I've ever done.  I still, in fact, have the pencil to paper connection.  (As you must know, this isn't the end.)  But now, I nurture my life, and hope the words will follow.  You are why.  You are the reason I'm still here.  Whatever this is, whatever I have since I woke up that morning in 1986, unbound and imperfect - it is for you.

Happiness Lies

I used to be

so moved

by the stars

I believed 

I was struggling,

then

but now 

I am fighting

to save my world

Happiness lies

in the ability of a woman

or a man

to maintain

their world of illusions.

- Nov. 6, 1986, A.D.

Change Your Fate

It's fate, that's all --

my usual state

It has to happen

It has to hurt, too

But you can turn it around

I always do.

Why, this feels perfectly right for me

A melodrama, meant to be

You can do it, and you should --

Turn the bad around to good

Turn the arrow, facing up

The sky's the limit

Come with me.

You need some pain

Come on, don't deny it

You need some fate

Just look at me

Don't I look good in my agony?

Don't I glow against the gray?

You can do it, start today

I'll conjure pain enough

to share.

It's fate, that's all

You know, destiny

And with my help, you can have some, too

But you can turn it to good --

I always do.

- April 25, 1986, A.D.

Deep

And now, would you like to go a little bit deeper?

          I didn't even know it was this deep

And now, would you like to go a little bit deeper?

          I had no idea that it could be this deep

And now, would you like to go a little bit deeper?

          How could I have known that it was this deep?

And now, would you like to go a little bit deeper?

          How could I have ever known that it would go this far?

And now, would you like to go a little bit deeper?

          O, god, how much further could it go?

And now, would you like to go a little bit deeper?

          O, god, please - NO!

And now?. . .

- March 29, 1986, A.D.

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.

Nothing Day

The time:

the day after happiness --

a day when everything is so painful

that we talk about the weather

that is, if it's nice out

the contrast to yesterday

is not the worst day of all

but a nothing day

like always

I watch the people:

the tall one -

there -

he doesn't walk

he floats down the hallway

he doesn't know how she 

watches him

another girl joins another guy

they talk

she nears closer -

as if to touch -

but draws back

somehow, she sees the futility

of it all

and another hurts

as he watches her eyes

as she watches, and feels for

something she cannot have

don't think she doesn't know

he's watching

but she goes for the lesser of the

two futile pursuits

people chase,

people follow,

people watch while others gain

he is always better off than you

he gets your goal

but you get his

there are no answers

the time:

another desperate day

two would-be lovers try to find a way

to bridge the gap

two has-been lovers try to find a way 

to bridge a different gap

two friends walk in silence

and here, the place:

a musty garden

with rust-covered trees

and moldy daffodils -

no place for the innocent

surrounded by the Institution,

the garden sweats in anticipation

of a light

but today, the rabbits are eaten

by the stale air

and become cannibals

and the inevitable last rabbit trips,

and chokes on a stray piece of barbed wire

oh yes,

it does die

and if you walk through there, sometime

you will find strange remnants

you will see long hairs -

or antennae -

12 inches or more

or a black, broken, half-digested wing

but no source,

only the terrifying guess of what 

crime had occurred there

at the center of the garden,

the one object that retains any beauty

is an emerald-green beetle shell,

proving that something good did

live there once

and something good can live there again

but no, children

don't dream of it happening too soon

there is too much death there, now

and the place?

where is the garden?

up here

back, behind my eyes

below my hair

above my neck

within the slosh -

within the place of greatest

scientific awe

it's here

oh yes, it's here

it's all within

alas, my nightmare

and the time:

another nothing day

when the pain is so terrible

that we talk about the weather

that is,

only if it's nice out.

- Dec. 19, 1984, A.D.

This is My Life

A poem day

a stifling, hot, hateful day

a day for the city to sweat from its own hot air

A journey inward

trying, trying for a good feeling

zombies running in a term paper maze

be exact

do it right

this is your life

sleepless nights 

daytime haze

tomorrow looks gray is today already

stomach hurts

wanting to double over

wanting to forget for just one moment the constricting

walls of this prison

nervous laughter

no real smiles

tears from unknown wells

broken bonds

broken promises

plastic people in pastel cages

this is my life

a whisper from a distant realm of my heart

tells me to find peace

no peace

only aching moments

only tomorrow is tomorrow is another day

but not a new one

trying to see beyond the deadline

to life again

everyone wilts beneath the pressure

not today -

tomorrow, I'll try

only promises to myself

take a bow

for something real

one day off is all I need - 

one night on the town

but no one sees the real thing

their heads are turned down

to the words

the words mean well

but are destroyed

I've come so far so fast

and now, what's this?

it is not yet time to break loose

another week and I'll be complete

holding out and holding on

night and day come as extremes

I wanted summer until it arrived

now, I'd do anything for a cold winter

summer only brings fall

and downfall

I will see it through

I will live again

it will happen, I know

Egypt to Falsetto

Falstaff to Francke

Goethe to Hearst

nothing more in this place

but this is my life

I will see it through

- April 27, 1984, A.D.

It Still Holds

Another empty day

another lifeless existence

what's one more tear to a face that's seen floods?

what's one more wound to a bleeding, dying soldier?

There is a break in the glass

where the cold air invites itself in

I wait for the blast of wind that'll shatter 

the window

sitting, waiting, 

each blow is stronger

waiting, waiting,

it still holds

that's the worst part

it won't be over with

it still holds

ragged shoes tread

the wet, musty floor

where the rain - the tears - have fallen

too worn to care

what's one more drop of water 

when it's already ruined?

I stand in front of the window

watching, waiting

expecting the next wind to send glass slivers 

into my face and eyes

but it still holds

Out the window, I see a world I once knew,

I once understood

Now, I'm confined to the inner chambers of 

this prison

watching, waiting

living for giving in --

to what?

I don't know, something

I'm looking out the window to another life

waiting, watching 

for the storm to come

what's one more death to a mortal world?

- April 16, 1984, A.D.

A Prisoner in All Senses

A starving emotion

the burning need for a safer feeling

an ache

a malnourished idea

of what truth is

and where faith can be found

a barren hope

of gaining hope

and evacuating the terrifying loneliness

a shot in the dark

plays tricks on my nerves

and no one to hold on to

a life sentence in my prison cell

gives me time to reflect 

how love had stripped me bare

though I never even thought I had

let it in

memories

of distant friends

never understood

never breaking through emotional barriers

but wanting

vague memories

of a happy childhood

before wanting

but the wanting overcame all other feelings

the aching hindered me

led me to make risky mistakes

it locked me up

it sent me here

now, I've lost all contact with my senses

I have memories of feelings

vague associations with real emotions

now and then, I touch upon them

but I can't commit myself to any of these

sensations

they are only history

I still want

but the wanting is different, now

I feel so caged

false motives

brought me to this cell

this isn't me, and I know it

letting the lifelessness seep into my mind,

I am a prisoner in all senses of the word

like they always tell me,

I can't escape

I have to earn my way out of here

maybe someday, I'll find out what freedom is

yet another day, and I fall victim to the wanting.

- March 29, 1984, A.D.

Tears for Fears, The Hurting (lyrics)

Is it an horrific dream
Am I sinking fast
Could a person be so mean
As to laugh and laugh
On my own
Could you ease my load
Could you see my Pain
Could you please explain
The Hurting

Could you understand a child
When he cries in Pain
Could you give him all he needs
Or do you feel the same
All along
You've been told you're wrong
When you felt it right
And you're left to fight
The Hurting

Get in line with the things you know
Feel the Pain
Feel the sorrow
Touch the hurt and don't let go
Get in line with the things you know
Learn to cry
Like a baby
Then the hurting won't come back

(1983)

The Mercy Drug

This is no ordinary pain-killer

this'll last me the rest of my life

I feel so brilliant!

I'm doing the best thing I could ever do for 

myself

here,

today,

I've got everything going for me

I am the master of my existence

no more social pulls in all directions

no more faked love affairs

no more anything

it's all in my hands, now

and a glass of water to wash it down

it's like a dream come true

in the last few, hazy moments of my consciousness,

I smile when I think of those who once hurt me

this is no ordinary pain-killer

this is the mercy drug

and it's come to take all of my hurting away

forever...

- March 29, 1984, A.D.

Confined

is there no hope

for a weather worn soul

when the storm returns after midnight?

is there nowhere to go when emotions unfold

and you find that there's no one in sight?

I am the jester

and you are the fool

I am the hero 

of tragedy's rule

and I am confined to my weather-worn box

it is here that I'll wait for the call

is there no light

in the thick of the night

that will carry me out of this darkness?

is there no one to call

or to hold when I fall

who'd help make my suffering less?

I am the jester

and you are the fool

I am the hero

of tragedy's rule

and I am confined to my weather-worn box

it is here that I'll wait for it all

I am the warrior,

rusted, unfed

my enemy dragon's

undying, undead

and I am confined to my weather-worn box

the feeling is nothing at all

- March 13, 1984, A.D.

Every Season Hurts: A Melodrama

Day after day

the leaves fall and blow across the road 

Why they fall is no matter

that they fall is important

I am crushed like a leaf under the foot of life

pay no mind to my tears

Day after day

the snow falls and sweeps through the air

like a silent angel

but the wind bites at eyes and ears

I melt like that snow

becoming grey and washing down the gutter

pay no mind to my tears

Day after day

the rain falls on the sidewalk 

and beats 

heavily 

against every new blade of grass

the thunder drums and rolls along the sky

I am like the rain,

accumulating mud and sweeping over 

the ground

pay no mind to my tears

Day after day

the sun falls down into the horizon

but the heat remains

the leaves of the trees whisper in the hot wind

I am like the sun

living in the memory of yesterday's 

brilliant sunset

pay no mind to my tears

Day after day 

my life falls 

like two suicidal lovers

down the cliff of life

they clench each other as they

fall to their death

but one survives

although broken and bloody,

she still lives

only one lover is always doomed to survive

in my life

pay no mind to my tears

- Jan. 26, 1984, A.D.

She is me

Shy eye 

but it does not conceal

what she would have revealed

a sigh

released under her breath

is just the sign of inner death

and slowly she walks

and slowly she speaks

and lonely she is

she is me

across the room,

her heart trips over

a stepping stone

she looks up in hopes

that I did not hear

sorry, I thought,

it wasn't my right

I won't do it again

and slowly she walks

and slowly she speaks

and lonely she is

she is me

across the room,

a teardrop falls

and she looks up in hopes

that I did not see

sorry, I thought,

I'll look away next time

her soul is fluttering between 

two places

between laughter, smiles, familiar faces

and the deep dark tunnels 

where there are only traces

of lost memories and tears

and slowly she walks

and slowly she speaks

and lonely she is

she is me

painfully, I set out to tear down the wall

I stand up and walk through

the barrier between us

she's surprised

not angry

not scared

not annoyed

but surprised

I smile at her and think,

she is me

I must tear down walls

within me

how strange it is

and how familiar

and slowly she walks

and slowly she speaks

and lonely she is

she is me

shy eye

but it does not conceal

what she would have revealed

a sigh

released under her breath

is just the sign of inner death

as I confront her,

she is relieved 

she sees what I have seen

a wall broken down

confidence built up

she had been lost,

confused

now she's been found by herself -

by me

and slowly she walks

and slowly she speaks

and lonely she is

she is me

- Jan. 17, 1984

Tribute to a Candle

memories fall

like rain

down the windowpane

listen to the music

see the pictures

hear the words of past conversations

watch the candle as it burns down the years of my life

every object

holds a memory

every word spoken

reminds me of times past

every dark corner

represents the dark corners in me

listen to the silence

the wind hits the glass windows

this night is timeless

I am a glazed doll

kept alive by the heartbeat

of a previous day

are you there?

yes, you are there

you feel it too

the candle holds us in

and keeps us still in time

you are here

but we don't know where we are

there goes another year before our eyes

and where has it taken us?

farther from each other

further from what we know

how many candles have there been before?

we are still in fluid time

I feel spirits within me 

that are not of this world

you are one of them -

the missing link

so close, yet so far

I look,

not surprised to see you in the candle

are you happy? 

even though it isn't the same?

I usually am

the music soothes me

and helps me forget

a third year goes by

what a time it was, huh?

and when will it ever come again?

in the fourth year comes the pain

of separation

I see many good-byes and

few hellos

hello, friend

we begin the fifth year

what is to come?

and what is to pass?

where will it take us?

more broken dreams, crushed fantasies?

more tears?

yes, more tears

I have a lot of things to comfort me

but they don't make up for you

my heart has a crack down the side

which, every once in a while

makes me skip a beat

another year goes by

and I'm getting more skilled at hurting

another year goes by

and haven't we aged?

now, you've got love

now, I've got poems

and the strength to be alone

memories of a sunny day

warm me inside

memories of a day when the world 

was at my feet

and not down my throat

a day when I could easily tell

what was real

and what was illusion

it was simple!  illusions didn't cast shadows

but I've been deceived again

another year goes by

every day is another drop of wax

down the candle

marking the distance between us, now

I put out the candle

and hope for the best

what else can I do?

and another year goes by

- Jan 11., 1984, A.D.

Autobiography

There is a crack in the dam

and water is streaming out

it won't be long before the dam breaks

It's losing its foundation

and it's trembling from the pressure

the people have tried everything

to no avail

Someone,

go wake up the villages below!

Get them away before it's too late

It's just a matter of time, now

- Jan. 5, 1984, A.D.

This is not cool, by the way

This is not cool, by the way. This is not a Hollywood script.

It's not Juno or Napoleon Dynamite or anything with Michael

Cera in it. (As much as I love those films)

It may have looked that way on the outside. I may have been

quirky and eccentric, but also well-spoken and self-possessed. I

may have sauntered around looking confident and mature, and

willing to ignore my imperfections. But just below that ego-driven

surface, the princess who wished to slay the dragon and walk

barefoot over hot coals, and, frankly, do anything that could prove

her womanhood, was still driven by the child within. I was still

playing games - it's just the playground had changed.

There is that thing about playing with fire, though. Suddenly,

hearts were broken, and depression was real. And I talked of

suicide. I can tell you that I never came close to really killing

myself. But the truth is, I did want to die. That's how hard the

pain gripped me at times. I'm glad I never tried, but I don't think

I'm any better than the ones who did.

I could have used some help. I'm not blaming anyone who was

there at the time, because I'm sure I did my best to look okay. But I'm

concerned for the readers who identify a little too much with all of this.

A lot of you are well aware that you are struggling, and you know you

don't have the support you need. I'm not a counselor, so I don't want

to give you bad advice. All I can say, as someone who's been through

major depressions and come out okay (give or take), is ask for help.

And ask for help. And keep asking. And if you end up in a room with

an idiot high school counselor (not that they all are, but that one

surely was), you are allowed to think he or she is a dick, and that

their advice stinks, but don't let that stop you from asking. Just ask

someone else. Ask friends, ask teachers, ask someone cool you just

met yesterday, ask books, ask music, ask the stars - ask God, if you

want (it works, but I didn't figure that out until much, much later).

JUST KEEP ASKING.

I was blessed with a lot of simple things that got me through -

like great friends. I was blessed to still be driven by the child

within, who could fall in love with pop stars and find meaning in

their love songs. And I was blessed with a short attention span,

so if I waited long enough, the seasons would change, and I would

find myself in a different place. If you find an ounce of immaturity

in my poetry, I say thank God. Because that little bit of fairy dust

that was stuck to the bottom of my wand really fucking helped me

through.

* * *

LOVE DOGS, by Rumi

One night a man was crying,

Allah! Allah!

His lips grew sweet with the praising,

until a cynic said,

"So! I have heard you

calling out, but have you ever

gotten any response?"

The man had no answer to that.

He quit praying and fell into a confused sleep.

He dreamed he saw Khidr, the guide of souls,

in a thick, green foliage.

"Why did you stop praising?"

"Because I've never heard anything back."

"This longing

you express IS the return message."

The grief you cry out from

draws you toward union.

Your pure sadness

that wants help

is the secret cup.

Listen to the moan of a dog for its master.

That whining is the connection.

There are love dogs

no one knows the names of.

Give your life

to be one of them.