Sleep Furiously 1
Published in Everyone's a fucking poet! 1995
This is the first in a series of missives sent to The Ryder magazine, chronicling my adventures upon arrival in Baltimore.
when you say goodbye, think of these things: have you learned to appreciate silence? there is a woman in the corner. do you know her? how many times will you see this sight again? but the answer will always be never. there must be an equation for departure written into our DNA. i have arrived unscathed to a life of adventure, and have yet to meet anyone who writes like hunter s. thompson, which is probably a good thing, in terms of marketability, but i haven't anything to sell. been sleeping terribly lately, but having wonderful, beautiful dreams. there are telephones in the house, ringing constantly, and i get angry quickly. i grit my teeth and think of sex, cigarettes, and milkshakes. in the morning, my hair is disheveled, i've overslept for nothing, and the mailbox is still empty. "zen mailbox," i say. does no good, but it doesn't hurt. there are fourteen good reasons to kill myself, right now. i can't tell you what they are because i've made a vow to save the world, and, still unable to intuit the deep value of the spaces between these words, the pauses, ruptures, intentional breaks in continuity, i've found that speaking enigmatically often adequately replaces the awkward gestures of silence. not everyone looks good with a buddha smile and a knowing twinkle in their eye. the check's in the mail. salvation by postal carrier. poverty always strikes when you need aspirin. it promises to be a long cold winter, and elegant words are no substitute for long-awaited house guests nuzzling against you in bed. i've put my bathroom on trial for disorderly conduct. it stinks, and the cats won't even call the litter box by its first name anymore. "mr. poo," they say. it spits sticky pellets at them, infusing the closet with the stench of ammonia. my lawyer says i won't stand up in court. anyway, thank you all for being you, and not me, i'm already crazy enough and couldn't bear to feed another dirty mouth. smile when you think of me naked, if you can.
Page generated by the dadaPHP system.0.006 sec.