Subject: currency information kit.[v1]
Date: November 2, 1998 10:54:52 AM PST
To: email@example.com, firstname.lastname@example.org, email@example.com, firstname.lastname@example.org, email@example.com, and 24 more…
all of you people are in my life somewhere...
i go through my pockets before i decide to finally take them off and
throw them into the machines
and you are what i find.
i guess that really isn't up to you
but i want you to tell me if this is a bit of a waste,
rather, if you want off this list
you're going to have to ask.
that if you're at all interested in me
you'll find me here from time to time...
i'll try and be constant [as the northern star]
maybe these things you'll be getting from me will just be something
consoling you'll find in yr box from time-to-time
maybe you'll read them [or whatever]
maybe you'll talk back to us [us, please REPLY ALL]
maybe you'll find yourself
either under your name
you'll probably show up somewhere...
i wanted to do this with my web page
all of this will probably end up on my web page
but i'm much more interested in getting it OUT right now
not presenting it
this shit is all raw, sorry about the typos and the like
you'll just have to deal.
i'm trying to find the distance between our bellies...
all of us.
it's unfair of me not to send these out, really.
it's not an argument, it's just a toy
i'll show you one hand and that's all i have unless you give me more,
we have to be together somewhere
maybe we can find a place here.
sorry about that.
please excuse the mess:
we're working to build you a better dominic.'
Date: November 2, 1998 11:40:11 AM PST
To: firstname.lastname@example.org, email@example.com, firstname.lastname@example.org, email@example.com, firstname.lastname@example.org, and 24 more…
i know some of you have these already... but you have them AGAIN now.
you can give one away to your friends...alright
[he said, and took it upon himself to come up with a distraction]
[he thought, he kept it inside]
[he noticed, and opened the book]
you know the drill:
it may get tiring
it may be what we have to do
but all things can change]
i'm here again
[he knows: it gives him comfort]
[he screamed, though it never passed his lips]
i still have them on;
funny...: i never noticed.
there was a time
[he remembers, it's part of being human]
when i didn't care about my socks.
i wore white socks.
i didn't care about my socks.
i distinctly remember having white socks
supplied by my mother
no importance, you understand: just function.
i distinctly remember black dress pants
slacks, if you will
(see, i never could... not then)
i can't remember my stomach though
[he stops; puts his hand to his mouth...
tell me if he's laughing
he might be trying to cry.
but maybe he's just waiting
[you could call it a sigh; he prefers 'exhale']
i'm getting to it
[another of those noises]
i can't remember my stomach.
i was younger.
i ate less.
i was thinner..
or more muscular..?
i was dead.
i had this body but i wasdeadandwhocouldsee?Ididn't care.
[he stops.. .has to think about this one.
we make mistakes... he and i... we do. see. get it? he and I?
we all make mistakes]
i once said... when i was younger
that life WOULD get easier...
but only as i got ...
less able to cope.
less able to deal with living...
AS my mind deteriorates due to time and drugs and air
(coke cans, television, computers; bad conversations)
life will get easier because i won't be able to think as well...
i'll have to change my perspective to compensate for that
and i'll just think things have got simpler
and they will...
[he stops... he has to do this.]
maybe i've got something really important to say.
let's pretend i don't leave this time, eh kid?
[no, that won't do]
no, that won't do... i already have.
where am i?
where am i?
no, that won't DO.
it's not OK.
i'd say 'i'm sorry' but i have never found that to really do any good...
like saying "i love you"
"I love you"
[he so whittingly scoffs]
it doesn't express what i need it to express...
this machine will... will not communicate...
[he took from his friend thom...;thom has only seen him twice.
these WORDS aren't going to do it for me
you SAID to me that "sorry" doesn't mean anything if you say it all the time
"stop saying 'sorry'"
it wasn't enough
it was never enough
maybe it was one of my earliest lies...
maybe i didn't know what "sorry" was...
i'm so sorry...
look, i love you
[he taught himself]
i've never said that before
[i whisper it all the time]
nothing is true anymore.
there are no more absolutes
i've never said ' i love you '
i've never heard " i love you "
i've never seen :i love you:
my heart is dead and gone.
[he's so shy]
you haven't the time, have you?
i'd like to make myself worthy of your time.
i'd like to be the one you'd come to
coz you needed me
but then you did.
well YEAH, but
i'm DYING here...
there's a WALL
you keep telling me about it
but don't forget i'm on the other side of it
and i'm COLD and i don't know how to get out
you keep telling me
you can see it
you can't see me.
you can't even touch me.
i'm trapped in here.
[he's also learning the lessons of desperation
he has a learning dis-ability.
he learned he could call it that
now he doesn't know what IT is.]
let's try again.
Hello. My name is Jeff. i'm not from around here, and i love you.
[he stole that too: this isn't going anywhere]
i'll go back again.
hello: i am alone here. i know i don't have to be... but you're not comming to me. Hello. i'm tired here. i'm a youthful boy but i'm scared. hello: i'm alone here and i'm calling out for you. hello: might we introduce ourselves? i don't know your name. Hello: my name isn't that well known either: i just have this shoddy one that was given to me... it makes me a killer. it makes me a dominator. hello: i still hate myself... but i don't believe i'm that person. hello: i want to get out of here. i'm still here. hello. hello. i'm trying. i'm listing: i swear. don't go. hello. i mean, HEllo. i'm here. i'm waiting for you to climb over. HELLO... i'm standing here with a dust-jacket on, hard-hat, gloves, jumpsuit, goggles. hello: where's your hammer? where's your fist? where's your heart? hello: i don't belive you, i don't trust you, i can't see you. hello. i'm cold. this isn't helping, i'm alone here. look: i'm trying; my throat's bleeding. i'm cold. HELLO
i'm wishing i could do it again.
i love you
and i don't even know your name
isn't that enough?
isn't that enough?
can't i stop worrying about my socks?
they way i'd like to sleep tonight?
can't i just be quiet, bite my tongue right off?
i never meant a thing
i'm in the corner
i'm waiting for you
i'm crying in my sleep.
like i said: it's cold here, all the lights have gone out. remember: it's dark.. black on the inside and out. we can't get through. we're stuck. like i said: there's a wall. i've learned a lot from you and you made me want to die. i'm sorry, what an excuse. i love you. i've learned a lot from you; you make me want to die. i'd like to meet you. i'd like to touch you. i'd like to be alive.
my hands are broken.
my head is broken: there's a million places to go
who's screaming loudest?
i can't hear you...
i just want to be home.
but know i love you
and i want you
like i could want myself
i love you
and i'm waiting
til i think i'm worth enough
i love you
i need you
more than you probably know
but i can't say it
and i can't do it
i'm trapped behind this wall.
[i remember him so quiet. not like he was keeping it inside: it was practicle. see, he's gotten me into this Rhythm-thing and it fucks up the words. i've got to breathe... to say: i remember when he was younger... and he thought he was so old. or maybe that wasn't him... he can't remember anymore. i remember him, so quiet, sitting by a wall. on top or underneath: he liked those things, you know. he had his reasons... built them up strong... high enough for towers. he had his reasons: defense from all that would destroy him. he saw the world as a war he wasn't winning. or less, maybe: just a sad and tired game. there was no longer any meaning in getting around all the bases.. and the president meant nothing, like a priest or pope or wife. he thought this of things. he thought he knew it all. he thought he knew absolutely nothing... but that's where words came in and left him looking like a fool. discrepencies, you know. these things he thought: they meant a lot, they kept him asking 'why?'... like he could ever get an answer. back in the days of things he could believe, he kept his eyes opened wide. now he can't see and hardly hear... another defense, he fears. this is life: Closing down when all excuses fail. the reason is gone and the memories blurred and he can hardly function. he doesn't remember why anymore. see: i can look over at him and see him lying on the floor.. he's getting sick. it's cold in here... he's nearly naked... lying on the floor. he'll sleep like this, i know his sort.. he'll try to make it into the next day. he knows if he gets up and goes to bed he'll be stranded there... i guess he's lost control. i guess he let it go. he let me in on this great idea a million months ago. but now: look at him: our darling dying boy. his mind is shot. his hands are still. his body's giving in. he could run a million place, til his walls cave in. then it's back to the blood,sea. it's back home for that mote. he will no longer be]
the pretties girl i ever loved i met behind me in a social-sciences class when i was fifteen...
she didn't really plus me then.
she was a year younger... something like that. she was really smart and she tried really hard.. and i respected that and all
but at that age, i was more interested in finding every reason i could to hate everyone around me so i needn't be bothered thinking about what they thought.
we all have our hang-ups, you know.
i left her when i was 17.
we never got on.
i, in fact, was an adversary of her brother
when he wasn't trying to make friends with me because he was just a down-cast loser
i spent sometime away from that place
but had to return less than a year later.
my wonderful re-entry was riddled with beer and solitude.
i'd cast-off my old friends like so much lice or lovers.
i'd decided it was best to return to a space of empty abandon... as i felt that i couldn't deal at all with the world i'd been given. [more on that later]
she drove my sister to school everyday:
picked her up in the morning and brought her back in the evening, had she any time.
my sister and her sister were good friends.
they hated eachother at times
but i just took it that girls spent their time like that to keep themselves from thinking about cleaning and cookies and cocks...
you know, girls are always trying to keep from thinking about something or other.
but this girl walked down stairs where i was in my underwear and a cloud of guilt and compression...
as if the entire atmosphere i lived in was meant to crush me
like i'd spent my entire time in a pressure cooker and i was just waiting until i became tender and soft and you could pick the meat off the flesh and tell the chef
"oh dear, it MELTS in the mouth"
we went driving.
i showed her how i stole things [all the time] and how you DON't get caught.
i took her all the places she thought you couldn't go [so it seems]
i asked her what she wanted to do but would never do
and we did it.
we burned magazines in an underpass decorated by the stress and the tension of my grestest and farthest lover
we spraypainted our confusion and angst on the hoods of the beautiful christian boys who were at an away-football-game
we talked about things she didn't really think could be talked about
we didn't have to be a boy or a girl
and we weren't.
the pretties girl i ever loved was introduced to my greatest and farthest lover in a cloud of pop music, stolen wine and puncturing orafices that hadn't been dealth with.
i was the one who was cold on the floor;
they were under an afghan on the couch.
i loved them both so dearly...
so i decided she was always the one i wanted
so pretty, i thought.
we had a dinner part at my father's other house
we fought eachother out.
i don't know, i loved her enough to give her acid and scream at her on the couch about MY world and how maybe she could see it
she sat on the floor enough to make me cry or shake or run
trying to show something i guess i never saw.
he put his hand on her foot
and she let him
and i was on my back...
staring at the ceiling in an effort to figure out why i couldn't be as simple as a boy and girl...
i left them
as is my style
for a place where i didn't think love could exist
[and manhattan was a good stomping ground too...]
phone calls and letters
[she sent them to me; i'd dial her up on her mother's 888 number]
stuff of the movies
fourteen times over
i loved her and my lover she was getting fucked by.
i came back to them
and scared them all with stuff to put in the needles she supplied
with a foriegn friend
who my lover fucked around
but never got to the point.
i left her
to follow my lover
to a town where i could dry out
and stay drunk in my misery
of seeing postcards
to him everyday
comming to our mailbox
and her wishes.
i translated her beauty for him
i bit my tongue til it bled.
she still called me when he never returned them. she still wanted me
in the way a person wants another person like they'd want themselves if they had the time.
a mirror, i wanted, i was, i was.
i loved her.
the prettiest girl i ever loved
cried on my bed
with the anger we'd always known.
my friends and my lover
the prettiest girl
we'd all been there before
we rooted her on
we secretly smiled.
she found me in her bed in the last mid-western city
she didn't have time or the patience
as a boy so lazy as me.
a girl like that, so pretty and distant
a girl like that doesn't need love from someone who can't do anything with it but scream and run from town to town.
who needs a bouy you can't rely on?
who needs a star
you can't be sure will be there at night?
i'm learning about the prettiest things.
distance is a teacher: stand on a hill and look at your house:
watch the front door open
and the curtains pick up through the breeze...
watch the sun set
and the shadows move
you can't see that in there
you need a broken perspective
why else would you try to run back to the past
in this present state
when you know what you've lost
and you've forgotten it's LOST.
like every real friEND
theses days i say 'i never lie'
i say ' i never say good-bye'
which isn't exactly true [not that i'm aiming at that one, but...]
i can't seem to ever mean it
but it does take its toll.
when i think of everyone i've ever let enter my life
from the most annoying mother fucker who'd bore holes into my starving body
to the last person on earth i never got to come inside me
or let me get inside them...
i always leave things up to chance, when it comes down to it.
[this, ov course, is today.]
i can't imagine you not being there anymore.
and i don't believe you if you say you're staying away for good.
and it doesn't hurt for you to say those things to me
it's always much better than you not saying anything.
the first people in my life i knew i'd never lose
i thought were crazy
--- they almost always prove themselves
even if i have to do all the work.
you know, they love you. they do what they can for you
but you must remember
they're trying to do more than they can for themselves...:
it saves precious little space and time for you
[sometimes you have to find something else than that nasty duality]
if she hits your brother again
and breaks that ruler over his ass
you have to watch his face
to see the blushing and the tears
so you can remember the way he laughed when he got through the door
and closed it behind him with an extra sob
just to make the point.
you've got to try and remember all the parts you remember missing as they happened. you have to retro-fit the next life into this. you have to have it all before it happens so you can be ready in the real-time.
so my wrist says...
or said, rather.
you know they love you, lover.... they really do.
whatever, they tried.
even though the bastard took to sticks in closed buildings where no one could hear you
it's not an excuse to say you hate him:
why give him such credit in taking up your mind?
he's done so many other wonderful things...
even when he cries and asks you to comfort him
it's time to be hard, just like you: kid.
she'll push you over into his lap anyway... it's the history of the trade.
you have to keep these fucked up bastards with you for the rest of your life.. and any longer that you think may be necessary.
they didn't get it right
they still aren't
they're tried filling you up and knocking you in
but you're the one they made to carry them into the story
the one you're writing to make them the heros
the ones who did it right
the ones who came out with a christmas card and a fishing rod
you have one hell of a responsibility
even if you never expect to pay it back.
well, they're there... on the bottom shelf, the one with the door
it's cheap: but it's a place for them to go.
and you can't forget their mates... the ones who share their space...
claimed by all the kids you can't forgive and can't forget
they're your friends
very best friends
they'd kick you when you're down
and smile when they got you wet
yeah, turning you on like a fucking fountain
at least you can please someone, eh?
well, remember them down there
and the doors you run to find and slam behind you with a masterful turn of the little crowned button in the centre of the knob
the sound of the struggle on the other side of wood
while you look around your country wondering where to go.
still thinking about where to go when you have all these things to carry round... you don't travel lite.
you've got the modle kinds ones
who didn't get you killed at every crossing
few, yeah sure... but important because they only PREtended to make you feel like a fool because they knew they were no better than you.
these are the kids you loved, back then. the ones with the games and the toys and the grade. these are the roles you wish you could fill, though they made you as sick as the rest they didn't push you away
well, not too far to get back.
and the images in mind,
a boy in black-leather. bleached hair. ear-ring. sunglasses blocking the eyes as you stroll out of the cornfields into suburbia where you have no history in this new skin
those things like that...
like the star [in some sport] who made them all happy or proud or other words that really didn't make any sense at the time
but a goal is a goal, right?
gotta have something to aim at.
i mean, remember the kids
the ones in the river
the ones in the fields
the ones in the parks.
you'd take up the day under grasses and trees and the house-sitting.
imagine a world where you're the winner. a crime-boss: it's something to do: fuck those squares.
you never even knew you had it in you
[i guess it never came out]
until late at night
what a game
it's something to do if both of your are moving your hands at the same speed
twelve times a night? was that the record?
videogame. new cd. sneaking out and stealing your father's cars...
gett itt off two more times before the sun cums up
we've got something to do.
the maitenance man on the first job after many years of
"you smoke pot"
'sure i do'
'sure i do'
and a back massage, maybe the only one you ever got and that huge bent thing in your mouth
it's unspeakable, that condition, but it's something work on with your friend...
which leads, of course, further into
the others: pick them out from the other school
or past kids you knew
and they knew them from church
[oh, i think that's in a box under the bed]
who read books and had nothing so bland to do [as deal with you]
but you're a persistant little fuck
your brother told you that was the only thing you ever did well
and you honed your skill like it was your only possesion...
what else could you do?
as you worked them into the idea of being a writer
the necessary adventures
you set it up
like you have every story you've never written
about the parties
those things you lost...
you'll have to have a loss somewhere..
a good friend; a lover.
make it older.
make it the same sex.
make it dirty as hell.
make it guilty.
you got a 31.32.33.
you're friends knew him as 32
til a year later... you know how it goes.
he is on the middle shelf...
oh, was... you've moved him into the cubbard in the back of the room
now buried in magazines and old scribbled books.
don't forget him: he's getting married in four months
sweetsweetsweet: tie me up and put me on videotape and make me scream.
it's alright if it makes you feel better you twat.
i love you.
i'll keep you right
[you'r gonna break your dolls treatin'em like that]
so how many now?
i have a million in my life
and i'll never let them go.
i mean... MOST of them are gone
or comming back
but the majority of them aren't HERE, right...
they're off on their own little thing
but i've got a secret...
like all the secrets i've got
it's not real... so it doesn't exist.
"i'm here with a cause. i'm holding the torch -- In the Corner of your Room, can you hear me? and when you're Dancing and Laughing and Finally LIVing hearmyvoiceinyourheadandthinkofme KINDLY"
it comes around like that.
things move into place
"the knight strikes at midnight"
it's all like clockwork
when the hands have broken from the center
and the watch is on the end of a chain
attatched to a world
that can't sit still
til it finished its dinner
can't go to sleep
can't wait til dawn
can't get away
has way too many things to do
before it becomes easy enough to set the alarm and trust not to miss anything.
like walking the sidewalks and staring at the cracks of bad-luck or just killing your mother
better yet: put her in a lot of pain
so you can take her off the shelf
and dust her off
and give her the reason to make you not feel like a fool:
you got a purpose now, mr care-giver
you got SOMETHING to do.
like any crowded room
where you only notice the people in your life
and if you seem them
and they aren't there yet
you needn't worry
coz you know they will be.
any passing face. any drunken story. any days of too-much of some-thing. you can see them as you walk out the door. you can seem them in the next car over. you can see thX-Mozilla-Status: 8009hen you're sitting down
having ordered already
having forked out the cash
which is worth more than the effort it takes you to go to them again
maybe someday they'll come back to you.
maybe you won't have to wish and want and feel the lack
they'll fill in your space for you
and you won't have to move your hand to be sure they're there.
you won't have to invent them anymore
and fear turning around
to give yourself the chance to lose them.
just because you say 'goodbye' does'nt mean you mean it.
and just because you never write it doesn't mean you've forgotten
and just because they never call
just because they're never there
just because you're still alone
it doesn't mean i don't miss you.
Subject: currencies in drinks: a screwdiver. a bloody mary. a shot of jagermister. 
Date: November 2, 1998 11:41:20 AM PST
To: email@example.com, firstname.lastname@example.org, email@example.com, firstname.lastname@example.org, email@example.com, and 24 more…
cold morning. cold enough so the throat is sore.
still in the fuzzy stages
knowing that boy, in the bunks down the way... one set under and at least 30[20(10<5>)] dream-feet away. he's clutching his groin like he were a woman. i thought he was a woman, the way he was clutching himself like that... the sound of them fucking woke me up and the way he was sobbing and clutching like that i thought the other guy'd just been too big for her. but it was a Him... and that changed everything... as his cupped hands moved away from his penis and tried to comfort his ass, he sobbed and writhed. his face glossy in the dim light of the morning. the hard-wood and dull colours only enhancing how distant and alone he was.
the many who fucked him into this state was angry as hell and buttoning his pants a few feet away. then further. he's gone now.
i remember a bit ago when his ass was pushing in the way a fucker's ass would push into that girl's body [i tought he was a girl then]. hshe was writhing even then, little whimpering sounds you'd hear from small puppies needing milk with no eyes to get it.
and it's a cold morning: i can tell.. my throat is hurting in the man i'm in bed with is moving around as men do in the morning. i know what he wants because i haven't been giving him any. i've been sleeping in. since i've stopped taking all those drugs [all of them] my mind has become a much more frightening place to be. maybe i only thing this because i've been on holiday from there... but i'm certainly comming back now. maybe it doesn't have anything to do with the drugs... it could be the atmosphereic pressure of fall forcing Back into my head.
regardless of WHY, my dreams have been knocking on my walls. they've been forcing me to pay attention.
just before the boy got... raped, as he did, we'd all been driving away from where we'd been... back to our bunks, that is. we'd all been at this old house in the country. a place of making noises, i guess. where someone used to be: now there was just us. an old theater in the morning light. next to: sun setting. emptying out through the wooden doors; all lights being extinguished.
his hand is on my cock. my mouth is so dry. he's writhing like that and you can almost feel him SUCKING on you. his legs, his hand: they're sucking on you. then his mouth... at least that's a standard... most people just Suck with their mouth.
maybe i should do something for him, he's been really ... useful,helpful,something to me since i've been here. he'd said "i'm thinking about my cock in your mouth" but that dream. oh, fuck that [i'm not having sex as a favour right now]<<
but now he's thrown a leg over my body and he's trying to make his cock something appealing... something i'd WANT to put in my mouth. my mouth which is so dry... my tongue moves around clumbsly inside. from tooth to tooth and wall to wall. i can hear it sifting through the night's sleep. i try and get the saliva working.
and i can still enjoy his body... if only he wasn't in his cock right now... and i can still enjoy his cock.. if only that wasn't IT. and he's pressing it into my face; i hold it under my chin. i let it in. just a little, just the head. but he's forcing it in and i hate when they try and "fuck" my "face".
i make every inch of my body a message saying "fuck you, tiger" i cum on his back and he comes on my chest.
too many things like this and i'll be a fucking monk again...
the way that boy was clutching like that.
i've got to go<<
one of my reactions now-a-days is to cover my mouth.
i find i'm doing this all the time.
-- there i am smiling, looking in the mirror with a hand across my mouth.
-- there i am talking with someone as my shoulders jerk up and i'm slightly turning away; hand comming up to stop my teeth from showing.
-- i'm talking to you, but you can only see part of it.
say you're with a construction worker.
say you've got a lot of work to do
and HE's saying something about the Lord.
ok, say you're in a BAR. say someone's made the kind move of takin you out Drinkin.
say they've taken you to not One, but Two bars.
so you're in the second bar and it's not really ok.
you try and explain this at one point
but he just buys you another drink.
you get bad cigarettes and someone tells you
the first thing to escape their stone face
"those things'll kill you"
and you'd like to let him know that you know that.
you'd really like to let him know that you know that and have known that for a long time
but what happens if you join the long ranks of What She Said?
she, she's up on stage tonight. she's being a bitch tonight. she's walking around tonight. she's a real slut, and i mean that dearly. she's a whore in heals, rubber insoles... if it matters.
say you're in a bar
and it's gone on quite long enough
and you have to take to walking.
Imagaine this is the time you go for a walk.
you're there with friends and it's time to stroll around because it's getting a bit heavy [or some such inadequate adjective].. maybe it's the lights or the music or the people who won't look at you. don't know.
walk out of one room and so obviously into another.
past the table.
past the doors.
do your business and think about leaving...
[they're talking about someone at the urenals.. is it you? is it me? arrrgh, cover your mouth]
you're out the door again and you decide to stop and talk to someone you've been looking at for various reasons... reasons, you know: reasons.
it's "Hello. paul. aaron." and some other one: you can't recal his name... but he's the one you left with.
so you're in a fucking Bar. two of two: this is your second time at bat for the evening. two of two, right: you're in a bar and you're doing what you think you're supposed to do. there's steam on the windows and the lights are that nasty yellow... that colour that seems to make everything a complete waste.
his name was bruce, i remember. at the table, first person you got a name from, kid.
corner of 51st, in the rain outside the bar.
at the table
frizzy hair up-top
hey, what was it? brown.
his name was bruce.
he said he was a contruction worker and he talked about the lord at some point... some point. something about a construction worker and something about me saying 'are you constructing your own reality?' something about the
and they have houses.
right, i was telling this story to someone about bruce.
bruce was introduced to me by julie... this girl that this one woman predicted i'd meet... it was all very important..
bruce used to work in a mental hospital... then they diagnosed him as severly manic depressive and he left...
we got on well. i was 17 and he was in his mid-twenties and
we drank a lot
we sang pulp together
i don't know if he's still alive
but i'd guess
that when this man said his name was bruce
[bruce, paul, aaron]
that he'd know better...
we're kindrid, our names...
we hang out... we're all in a club.
go ask dave
for that matter...
the evening wasn't going too well
i remember laughing and saying something to the guy i was with about how i didn't work well in bars.. and this drag show that was going on..
bruce in the car. not on the streets of england.
we didn't have a bottle of vodka this time
it didn't happen like that
not that well and not that majestic.
it was shit dance music
it wasn't classy pop songs pulped out into metaphors for your sorry existance
it was two men in a bar:
"So, this guy walks into a bar and he's been drinking already and i guess he's kinda fuct up ANYWAY and he's in this bar now and he's with soemone else who keeps buying him drinks that mainly feature vodka except one of them was a shot of jjaaaasaggggerrrmiiister.. which can cause problems with this guy who's a little fucctup. this guy walks into a bar and, we'll say, ends up at this table with three men now. well, he's the other. so there are four things at this table right now... he'd seen more and less.. and the guy that the cute twint was bouncing on is right there. he says 'hello' says 'my name is bruce' and the other says 'paul' and, ov course, there's aaron... who doens't introduce himself until paul already has. this guy walks into a bar and stands at this table looking at the three men there. well, one's a man, the other is a kid and the other is a queen, goatee and all. they're cute, you know, like the kind you'd want in a bar if you wanted to"
so, what do you do, then?
i'm all curious: you go to a bar and what are you supposed to do?
are you supposed to fall over and wake up?
are you supposed to get coffee afterwards?
you're in a bar: are you supposed to remember it when you DO wake up?
is it worth it? come on, you know what i'm asking...
ok, say you're talking with someone
you like their smile
they have such a nice chin... delineated like that with their beard
you like that
what's the point here?
am i picking you up?
so a guy walks into a bar
i'll tell a joke
' a guy walks into a bar and he stands at a table til he decides to sit and they get up, the contruction worker and this GUY like they're going to go build something, right? they jump this barricade... well the guy does... and they get yelled at so they leave the joint and they're outside. yeah, the man left the bar. fuck the bar: he just drank too much anyway. so a guy and this construction worker walk out of a bar (don't ask) and they're in the rain. what happens? ok the guy and the happy worker get a bit wet and walk around for a bit; stand on the corner of 51st and confusion to sit in the front seat [driver and passenger] of an old car. ish. kinda stationwagon thing. and then, like i said, the windows are all steamy and they're doing something in there. right, two guys walk out of a bar and they spend a good hour or so trying to get rain inside a car. the back seat. two guys trying to make rain '
now i'll have to catch a cab
coz the guy i came with isn't here anymore
and i'll tell him something when i get there
i'll tell him anything
it doesn't matter.
this night or the next.
it's LOve, you know
like picking someone up in a park, you know
like a million years with your lover
sugar, sugar honey
with your lover.
when he asks you for something
or if he'd like to see you
like that guy at the truck stop..
like if he'd like to see you
you don't know.
you don't know what to do about the future
not like this
not like fucking this.
you don't know if you should find another car
one with more heat
like two guys trying to make it rain
or just a room.
maybe you should find a room where no men can get in
when the rain comes down...
pretty safe in a desert, i'd say...
but who's to tell?
if you got a window
you gotta door
and people do the meanest things when they really set their minds to it...
if they put some effort into it
if they love you enough
they'll get inside
you know the feeling
you can't be alone
not even if you make rain for an hour in the back seat of something like a station wagon in a city you don't live in behind a bar you've only been in after the others you've walked out on with the people who always bring you there where they think they'll make you happy or focus on having a good time and the conversations aren't restless in the fading of a thought from alcohol and nicotiene or thc and opium like newspapers and television if you have enough to think about so you're busy as a bee making the world sweet and having it taken from you but you don't have any other function coz you love the queens and you wanna be good so you walk into these bars intoxicated on confusion and having some ideas that seem like good ideas and having some ideas that turn into action before they make it across your lips in the safety net of words
the action takes you
til you need a taxi to get back home
where you can fall asleep with your clothes on
and wake up
like usual, you know
just with a secret history
and draw out some conclusion
from being without a "someone"
on a rainy afternoon.
these are the times we could be together
my darling little boy...
when you get tired of all this walking in the rain
we'll sit and keep eachother warm
i'm here again
i'm here again
i'm waiting for you to come back
i'll be round in a minute
Subject: less than a cheerleader, more than an answer
Date: November 4, 1998 12:25:18 PM EST
To: firstname.lastname@example.org, email@example.com, firstname.lastname@example.org, email@example.com, firstname.lastname@example.org, email@example.com, firstname.lastname@example.org, email@example.com, and 21 more…
and i Wish i had that many nouns! but, alas,
practice makes perfect, and someday my verbs will add up to something.
i think they're up to something.
i think now, even, when no one is looking.
so i have a question --
Excuse me. I have a question.
I don't understand. Why.
I've never understood why, but I came my own answer and it stuck,
you know, sticky and all [giggle]
and I kept it till it dried. I had to admit
with the lack of babies
that my answer was mine and I
feeling weak, maybe queasy,
but bearing with me ...
So I don't understand.
I'm on a list of names and addresses, a list which has been given to me.
This list, were it to get into the wrong hands ...
We could all be killed.
We could all be written to.
We could all be remembered, later, when it's over and we are ashamed.
: WHY :
: ARE :
: YOU :
if you leave the fire on at night santa dies.
You send a message in a bottle:
You send a bunch of messages in a bunch of bottles:
You send the same message in forty different bottles, one for every name
you tried on and it didn't fit and you ended up on the desert i--
You send all our names in the bottle, and then you don't send it. You
You conjure us into your bottle, green genie grey, and we dance for your
delight. Forty days and forty nights he wandered in the desert, and the
devil tempted him and he refused. We surround you.
This is what I really see.
You brought us all together. Reply All you said. You brought us all
here for the purpose of watching you. We have booths. We can't see
each other unless we speak to you. It's a complicated multimedia
installation. It would be a community except it's like the spokes of a
wheel and you maybe didn't mean to be the hub but it's important that
you pay attention to little
like that and not get carried away and think that oh
i know them all
they should know each other
cuz we don't, even if we all think we're pretty.
This is public speaking. I'd like to thank you all for coming out
tonight, in honor of our hub, Dominic. Dominic, come on out! Everyone,
let's have a big round of applause for our Dominic! Yay!
and he stumbles out onto the stage, half-drunk, eyes rolling wildly. he
can barely walk, he trips on himself, he can't speak. he gesticulates
wildly, inbetween trying to wipe something sticky off his chin. he
isn't afraid, he isn't ashamed. he just has no idea what to say except
everything and that would take so long.
but we wait, we're patient.
we surround you, in a circle, and we approve. you twitch and stumble,
gag and scream, and we approve.
We all love you, Dominic. We always will.
we approve, you gain approval. you continue struggling, and eventually,
on the strength of our approval your confidence rises and rises, you
start dancing, you're amazing, we clap again, a miracle has taken place,
you save the world, etc. THE END
except it probably wont happen that way, and I don't know why there is a
list. I don't know why you brought us all together, and I'd like to
think it's not for approval, but then I'm so confused because what's it
for. Just eyes? Understanding?
Anyone can watch.
No one will ever understand.
are you looking for an answer? you couldn't be so foolish.
but if you were, why would you be looking to everyone except the one who
knows you best? it's an old trick, and i'll pull it again.
why don't you ever read anything you write?
why don't you follow your own damned advice?
You seem scared. It seems like, if you don't do it fast and hard and
all the time you'll stop and you'll never do it again, never anything,
nowhere. It seems like that's stupid, and you've made us your familiars
in a black magic spell
I'm a rat can type.
You're a rat can type.
i had a dream about white rats last night they were bigger than our cat
they were from need you tonight they were named plague
Do you exist when no one is looking?
Do you exist when less than forty people are looking?
How did you make the list? Do you know if anyone is enjoying it?
I'm enjoying it. But I can't help but criticize.
This is public speaking. Hello, ladies and gentlemen, I'm here to ask
you all why we are here, who you are, what I'm doing here, and why we
don't all leave. I'm been very ill for a few days, so I'm shaking a
little and I think I need to go back to bed, or at least eat breakfast.
Thank you for your time.
Mr. Eli, signing off.
Subject: A lack; space; a delusion
Date: November 2, 1998 2:40:49 PM EST
Cc: firstname.lastname@example.org, email@example.com, firstname.lastname@example.org, email@example.com, and 4 more…
reply why not--bored at "(Wor(?)k:
and love, o love and love
and fucking and fucking and fucking
no thoughts from me (hee) missing past cherryiats; rather agitated
stumble to where---there some place building warmth no duty possibly; but
rather rancid stench of ittie bittie poochie turds built up by rising
gentry rising fast up to even this height of man-hat isle: and putrid,
with riverside steeple a-shining----must turn back
fuck place: prefer the tremors and ensuing (but aka 'known')
depression: back to the trusty couch where free to twitch moan jump
stare dep into the spoon's eye:
-----do i think i completely rinsed the bastard
veins bursting with air
enter darkness trauma:
drunken serbians tumbling around
haunted by alternative endings for oscar awarded shit
they felt the punctures repurcussing
streams of deadened bufalo
streams of post-haste shit
and cum that can't believe to leave
o but that love and fucking and loneliness and obsession
but it will still be thought of now and now andnownownownownownow
but you know that whole line----can't think to avoid it
the dreams, but i am not yet asleep
but this night finally:first dream
that first sweet spoonful straight off train skip down escalator jump into
restroom pop and rekindled
o i loved her and him and you: