Posted by marko on 12/25/2006, 8:34 am i don’t trust spit-polished shoes, or too much jewelry, even i never cared much for speed (as in amphetamines). i ate i can the beauty there—since that you mentioned it. & the tree are all stripped bare except for the evergreen. the scene 45 i feel like that monkey they sent into orbit. the one you see scene 46 when you turned off old tv’s the picture would implode scene 47 listen to what you’re told & you’ll be alright. stick to the
65.167.39.245
scene 41
if it’s costume, that demands you snap to attention. i’m a
dreamer. not an idealist or a utopian or a new age positive
thinker. in fact, some of my dreams veer off the road at
eighty miles an hour & plow straight into a tree, or i get
the wheel turning the right way & slam into a semi head on.
the world is full of strangers. we need something to go on.
maybe some small detail that nobody else would notice.
the way somebody puts the emphasis on the wrong word
even though they said exactly the right thing. i don’t like
crossword puzzles. especially one that’s half done. i’ve been
counseled to see each task through before i move on to the
next. so i don’t get overwhelmed. this flies right in the face
of my therapy. it’s difficult enough without having someone
leaving reminders lying around. i don’t like wearing a new
pair of shoes. it looks too obvious. like i went out of my way
to make an impression, but tried too hard. like i knew what
i was going to say. but it came out all wrong.
scene 42
black beauties as a kid to pull all-nighters. i’m wound too
tight for it. twisting in scatological streamers or my leg
won’t stop bouncing or i grind my teeth or i’m laying down
& suddenly realize that every muscle in my body is tensed
up & i try all the tricks to relax but nothing works & there’s
nothing to do but ride it out. having said this, i wouldn’t turn
away a line this morning—for purely artistic reasons. you see,
i have this gourd full of ideas. they’re spilling out, but i don’t
have the energy to chase them down. get i on paper some
way. my body isn’t up to it. i haven’t slept well the past few
nights, & it’s caught up to me. i drank a pot of coffee but it
only gave me an upset stomach. i still feel wasted. i’ll be
lucky if i can get a couple of these down. i suppose i could
jot down a sentence or even a phrase—something i could
run with later. i used to do that all the time. but i don’t
work that well any more.
scene 43
now you’ve pointed it out i can see that nick in the flawless.
& what i was sure was nailed down & ironclad is actually
quite incomprehensible. & sometimes it takes a sharper
eye to see what’s not there as to see what is. & you taught
me balance by charging me so many times when i should
have been paying attention. & you showed me how
overrated reason can be. & you drew me a dozen circles
of various sizes, & taught me i could fill them up with the
same number if i wanted. & when we were lying together
in bed & i asked you if you saw the demon too that was
cruising above us. you not only saw it too, but you quickly
reached up & tore it right out of the air, then ripped it’s wings
off & tossed it away. & you said it had nothing to do with
bravery, though you’re the bravest person i’ve ever met. it
was about realizing when they’re all bark & no bite, & if
we give in to fear we’ve lost. & for once in my life i believed
in someone completely. & that made me feel so happy. &
you convinced me that the color of the sky had nothing to
do with whether it would fall. & you told me it’s ok—take
a little taste. & it didn’t taste like lithium. it was sweet.
scene 44
house is perched high on the hill. they hang a star across
the river overlooking chester every year. but i didn’t believe
in stars any more. it’s 1977 & jesus hasn’t been heard from
in almost that long. there’s only a few inches of snow but
they say it’s the coldest winter in twenty years. it got below
zero for the sixth straight day. this house is almost a hundred
years old, & the furnace isn’t big enough to heat it. in the
living room there are those huge doors that pull out of the
wall to close the room off. but they haven’t been closed
in years, & i can’t pry them out. so i hang sheets over
the six feet long doorways trying to keep at least one room
warm enough. my teenage wife & our baby sleep on
the couch, & i sleep in a chair with another facing it
so i can’t put my legs on it. but have to sleep curled up
because my legs are too long. my daughter starts running
a high temperature. out of nowheere. my mother-in-law
comes & they bathe her in rubbing alcohol to bring her
temperature down. she’s already been in the city hospital
once & she says no. our car’s fifteen years old, has no reverse,
& besides it won’t turn over. so a friend drives us to akron
children’s hospital where they’ll admit her. she’s laying
there surrounded by white uniforms. & she’s screaming for
daddy. she always calls for daddy. & i feel so helpless. & i
feel responsible that we’re living like this. & eventually i’ll
feel dead inside. not numb, dead. it’s right after christmas.
our first christmas as a family. the only one we’ll spend as
a family again.
on black & white reels. lowering the poor little bastard down
into the cockpit. though technically it’s not a cockpit, since
i don’t think he actually has anything to do with being shot
into space, or later being spit out into the ocean. they just
want to know what effect it will have on him physiologically.
after they’ve scooped the capsule out of the water, they ran
him through a battery of tests. hooking up wires. checking
the results with those prior to the trip. i wonder if he was
sedated before they strapped him in. his eyes seem to be
filled with fear but he doesn’t put up a fight. but i don’t think
they could pump him with too much because it would mess
with the results. i just finished shaving. i hadn’t shaved in a
couple days. why bother? i avoid my eyes but caught them
for a moment. that’s all it took . i immediately poured a
cup of coffee & wrote this down.
into a tiny pinprick of light. now they go blank right away.
i couldn’t watch television for more than an hour back then.
i never watch it now. the boredom would set in quickly. i’d
run upstairs, & sit at the small desk my grandmother had
bought me. then i’d draw for hours. i never liked games
either. i’m surprised i had any friends at all. the neighbors
had a hoop nailed to their garage but nobody used it except
me. i’d shoot baskets alone. putting myself into different
scenarios that demanded i come through. the game was
always on my shoulders. i was 8-9 years old. skinny as
a rail. it took all i had to chuck the ball up there. they must
have had basketball on tv back then. but i can’t recall
ever seeing one.
rules & you’ll be alright. don’t make waves & you’ll be
alright. blend in with the crowd & you’ll be alright. try not
to stand out too much & you’ll be alright. speak when
spoken to & you’ll be alright. but don’t volunteer any
answers & you’ll be alright. always ask first & you’ll be
alright. if they start screaming, get out of there as quickly
as you can, & don’t look back, & you’ll be alright. look
people in the eye when they talk to you, & act interested
even if you’re not, & you’ll be alright. don’t run with
scissors & you’ll be alright. when you stick it in, turn
the blade sideways so there’s less chance of hitting a rib
& you’ll be alright. don’t play with matches & you’ll be
alright. learn to hold your liquor like a man but don’t do
drugs & you’ll be alright. fire into the back of the head
because it does more damage,& even if they survive they’ll
never be the same, & you’ll be alright. make sure you
scrub everything thoroughly with bleach & you’ll be alright.
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