Tuesday, April 27, 2010

thoughts (fragments)

'Manas, we went through the repentance business yesterday. I told you what I thought. I won't do it. I appeared before an officially consituted tribunal, before a branch of the law. Before that secular tribunal I pleaded guilty, a secular plea. That plea should suffice. Repentance is neither here nor there. Repentance belongs to another world, to another universe of discourse.'

____from Disgrace, JM Coetzee

gelbes licht by suzy yes


it's after the pills wear off that it dawns on me. after the pills are gone and i've slept for 4, maybe 5 days straight. wake to eat, then collapse again, 8 hours on my couch after breakfast till my mother wakes me and i've slobbered and there's a plate with my breakfast on it within arms reach, and i've brushed my teeth and dazed and hazy-brained stumbled to my bed for another 10 hours till i wake some day maybe the next one maybe the one after with a god awful back ache and had another bowl of eggs and collapsed on my couch read half a chapter then wake up it's midnight; ____after all that; ____and after the books are packed away and the scraps of paper all over the floor from where i've wrote-learnt pages and pages of facts and section numbers and mind-maps of this and that, and the bathroom is vacuumed and the bedsheets are washed, and my heart-rate slows back down to nearly acceptable levels, after all that;

________then i notice what we're left with.

our parents bitching at each other or divorcing or both or neither; sitting in cars in traffic jams while the heat affects us in waves like a pendulum, or the ebbs and flow of tides so you can feel periodic rampages growing inside, subsiding for a second, then, tick (it returns), tock (it goes), tick (it returns), tock (it goes), each time coming holding a knife or a piece of wood to pummel you with, bludgeoning the final gasps out of another idle tuesday with too many errands that aren't your problem made your problem and the stench of burning rubber as they do roadworks and your ears filled with screams and paranoiac moanings of incapacitated family members once and for all you'd like to see locked within the confines of a silent film from the 30's or behind prison glass or whatever other medium can be devised with a mute button.
____by 10am my eyes are heavy and i keep dropping the fork, when no one's looking i take a pill to get me through till midday. the narcolepsy gives me the finger but at least i can drive without being a health hazard.

after the haze of drug crammed exam weeks and law competitions and folders full of papers read and remembered and noted and recalled and forgotten and oh yeah! remembered again just in time, woken again out of my 12 week comatose obsessive-compulsive dream, life is exactly what i remember it being: the bitchings and moanings of our hopeless mothers and deluded fathers and disabled sisters with their heavy anchors wrapped around our necks calling in their debts which somehow always manage to be unpaid.

________fu&* this.



"... with the estate vested in the custody of the Masters of the Court of Chancery..."

"... the Court likely regard it as a matter of omnia ritte esse acta praesumuntur..."

"... s 59 has been said to have 'obliterated the anachronisms and anomalies of the former law."

"... rather, to paraphrase Salmond J in Re Allen, the provision that 'a just & wise father' would feel it his obligation ... the High Court, sadly, not been wise in being too just."


even if the nightmares subsist, there's still the future-fear. i can't remember the last time i noticed the moon. there is no air. this is not working for me. i am going to get coffee and breathe air and read.

Friday, April 9, 2010


home stretch by Julia Pott

if you have nothing to say then you are nothing they say
it seems to me only that this table is white ,
that it is too warm for autumn ,
__(too bright for it to be tonight
____so then i must have nothing to say

all this time unused words continue to pile up
they make a thin film, like dust maybe ; like books and dishes and pizza boxes all over

(sometimes i tire of fantasizing about headlights and carousels and hometowns that stood in one place long enough to make sense,

god you're dull, tell me a story. ; 'there was this piano once' (it began), but before i could recall -
enough. (if you have nothing to say then you are

it seems to me only that tonight is (bleeds away from itself,
slips its fingers into sunrise and locks in tight and opens its eyes to a blueness
(she's looking in the mirror, says to me they're soo blue! i nod and she asks how blue? and i say vintage anatomy textbooks, faded pictures of the half blueness of the veins in my our these known empty parts of hearts but before i can settle the score) opens its eyes to a blueness,
morning like a stab of sincerity -

__that tonight is a dreamscape galleon floating , and that if you concentrate you can feel the warmth of stars pinpricks on your face when you wake left marks you have freckles, single-manned galleons and epic shrouds of darkness (when i cried i told her i couldn't sense if i was falling or rising, she said maybe it was neither, i said that maybe it was both)

____and tonight itself walks besides me,
pens and empty cans and tissue boxes are its teeth and
(as usual she reminds me i have lost myself mid sentence again ,
ran out of words, or ran out in front of them,

the forefront of life distance love humanity improbapossibility is silence, __and i ____sit ,
___________________________________________________out on a ledge
___________________________________________________kissing time
__________________________________________________and waiting
________________________________________________for my bones
________________________________________________to catch up.

meanwhile, books lapdance their stories and yapping girls in
giggly dresses with erect heels and nail polish crawl out from
behind every 3am and blow you kisses you're impotent to catch.

27 years and you don't got a story to help us pass tha time?
i always thought 27 years the story's been passing me along
you make no sense kid.

the Dr says it's good you came,
i ask him if it's a game of win or lose
and he says games you can't win at you can't lose at,
but before i finish smiling he says but maybe it's no game.

when you wake up you got two hours in the dollar and an amphetamine headache and a missed-call your girlfriend wants to know what gravity drags you through 3, 4, 5am or if it's just that you eat sunrise for breakfast.

you definitely got nothing to say kid, which is to say you probably are nothing

if only words knew the same stories as silence

but this is no life for dreams.

is it.

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

the too late part of the too late night

everybody loves somebunny by lauryn holmquist

sometimes it makes good sense to download 250 top hits of the 90s and to spend most of the night listening to them. i keep thinking any second Mr Jones is gonna come storming into my room holding a grey guitar ranting about some spanish girl he saw dancing with perfect black hair and throw me a bottle of Jack and pick my meds off the table and read the label with some difficulty, deehhxx, aah, phet, a-mine. hmm. and then throw me that too, tell me to mix em up nice. and to scratch his short beard and throw his long hair around and then say yo kiddo, lehss go, turning and walking out without checking to see if i'm following; __but next thing i know we're sitting on the roof of a building somewhere screaming PICASSO! loud as we can eyes-soo red we think we're on mars and finally, at some bar somewhere dancing the two of us holding hands and crying into each others' ears, don't say that word don't say that word don't say that word while we smell _l o n e l i n e s s_ in our heads uncontrollably. before, finally, in a fit of exhaustion we collapse into a small booth with two blonde 19 year old hairdresser-apprentices who complain about how their feet are uncomfortable in their heels and we look under a table and our groins twitch at their little feet in those long-necked aphrodisiacs. i think she's lookin' at you i say. but he just shakes his head without taking his eyes off her.


if you want to know why i don't write more it's because exams are two weeks away. and because i sometimes, especially lately, just... [he sits and stares away a while. she waits for him to answer; but after a few moments thinks she's probably lost him again.
___and that's just the thing with him, he lives somewhere between his thoughts and the interpretation of his thoughts he does (and does not) find around him in his daily life. and when he finds things contrary to what he thought he becomes confused and... [he sits and stares away a while. she waits for him to answer; but after a few moments she thinks she's probably lost hima again.


tomorrow we can drive around this town
let the cops chase us around
past is going something might be found
to take its place,

__(the 90s kick ass)



1. is that ocean?, if it is, i want to sit by it and breathe a little.

2. read. i have books everywhere, you can' reach to turn off a lamp or close a door without disturbing a small colony of books living on desks and under coffee tables and littering the couch. anything will do. maybe John Ashbery. dear poetry, it's been too long.

3. listen to the well-tempered klavier with the score in my lap.

4. dream.


- oh, lookee here, now we have tired-Q.
- whha?
- we've had four Q's tonight, it's been hectic
- [for me too... trust that] whhich?
- first we had drugged-up wide-eyed no-emotion Q. then after the movie we had crazy run around me giving me the finger dancing to the bathroom Q. then for a while over coffee we just had normal Q. and now we have falling asleep tired totally retarded Q.
- ...
- you're asleep aren't you?
- ...


when i was 12 i would blast Who Is It? by Michael Jackson out my bedroom with the window open, which i'd dance to like a mid-fit epileptic while playing basketball while taking breaks to dance with my overweight cat named Molly that i'd become allergic to in a week or two and would eventually have to get rid of to my still enduring sadness.


these are nocturnisms i guess. if that means anything.
i like to think of it though, that 3:18am Wed 7th April is kinda a strange planet somewhere. like i'm a man who lives on a moon somewhere who walks around kicking rocks and dipping cookies in tea and masturbating and who no one knows about. my neighbors think it's just a light in the house across the street that no one ever bothers to turn off.

floating off.

in our strange galaxies.

listening to Michael Jackson and thinking about cats and forthcoming autumns and when life became an is that was possible of a was.

what i mean is...