I’m sick of stock photos – of feeling my skin crawl with caricature
standing there, under an awning, eyes glued zoomed in the snowy peaks
distant West, looking there into the future, into where the sun goes when we die
I could assess the wooden angles of the library
I want to ruin the high stained glass peace with an amplified guitar
I would turn the distortion over peak and scream into the pickup
scream about my own studies, my self derision, what is it that matters what I do?
Do you know who you are? Do you know who you are?
Until someone pulls the plug – I’m banished from the quiet study center
the high arched ceilings of a cathedral with disorganized books to freely browse
feel free to browse
“it feels like forever”
these people accomplished something.
they saidI’m going to write a fucking book about marine population, ignored peace treaties, a single mother and two step-daughters, a cave diver with a sex obsession
and then they did. I’m surrounded by the dusty evidence of creative, purposeful thought
Never knew how to write a story – a novel seems impossible, improbable
all the work and focus.
I would kill off all of my characters before chapter three.
My deficient attention is worse and worse
there is a door slamming in the distance
coffee maiden with long eyelashes
wonderful keyboard tone and falsetto voice over organ
I want to record the ocean waves and release an album
there is an idea
meditative sleep music
all I need is to create long intricate loops and let it swell
let the wave crest and land and murder my darlings
in the heat of passionate insanity
take photos and sell them to the ceiling
float bridges of birch with bright birds
perched
—–
(alphabet soup)
assure an associative artist
to believe his blog beats bold blood
then claw through his crazed unconscious clauses
double doubt his dredged up death
every eternity eventually ends
in fumes of fire, funneling flames
gorgeous grief guzzling greek gin
how have houses held this hell?
in this invitation is incipient intensity
just joking, jesus, just jealous jabs
killing kids with kindness
little loves letting life leave
maybe monday maybe month of may
no, nothing, nevermind, Nate the narcissist
oh, okay, offer others outs or else
pleased to pick pure powdered power
quick, question inquiry to quiver
real rave reviews rating riots
so as snow some subtle sound succeeds
touching tough tundra, taking terrible time
underground, unearth uncle universe until
violent variable votives evoke voluntary
waste while waiting while whistling whiskey
xenophobe, xylophone, excellent
your youth, your yonder, you, and you, yearly yearn (for)
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
