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It’s Saturday night in New York City, and the Upper East Side is empty. Where are all the pretty people? All that’s left are the rich and the very poor. I saw an old lady waiting for the subway. She had liver spots covering her arms, many rings on her fingers, a big fur around her neck. a big mass of platinum blonde hair. It was weird. She was perfect. Do you know what I mean? She was so old that her head started to droop while she waited, and her neck and back gave me the impression of a kind of crane; of an ostrich trying to bury it’s head in the sand. I thought to myself, how sad. I was wrong. She lives. And as long as she lives, she can be happy, and we can be happy for her. That old lady’s lucky. Deaf, dumb, or demented, she’s lucky. She might live longer than any of us. We can be sad for the towering dead. We can be sad for those that don’t get to live enough. There is always reason to be sad. Forget sadness and find livingness. Better to be manservant to the meanest peasant than king of all the shadows.
My writing is interesting, John, not because it’s good. It’s interesting because it’s my life. This is me. The good, the bad, the ugly, the imperfect. Me.
So many fleeting thoughts. how do I capture them? What makes me choose some, and not others, to put down on paper. I bought a studio pocket recorder to capture my voice for my music. I’m using it to record everything. Every conversation I have. I see everything that’s wrong. I hear my accent, which I hate. I hear the loudness in my voice. I’m so arrogant and stupid sounding.
I don’t intend to have a quiet life. I want to share my energy with as many people as possible. Let’s feed off each other. Why are we spending time doing things that anyone else can do? We should spend as much time as possible doing the things that only we can do, or doing the things that we can do best!
I’m not here to be nice. I’m here to be myself. The question is, can you handle it?
Get rid of your secrecy. Out yourself. Live openly in every way.
Q. When are you going to be there?
A. That is a difficult question to answer. I do things differently than most people. I have many obligations, and a commitment to myself to take my time and enjoy the process. I don’t know when I will be there, I don’t know how long I will stay, and I don’t know where I will be next. If I tried to give you the answer that you desire, it will probably be inaccurate and serve only to increase my level of stress, which is something that neither of us want.
I’ve been hit in the head a lot
blinding headaches sometimes
waking up in a cold sweat
maybe my end will be a blood clot
the old people gnash their teeth
don’t let them get the bed wet
I don’t think the split skull will heal anymore
I can feel the pulse when I hold my finger there
I don’t want to go to the doctor and
I won’t stop screaming at cars
I won’t stop yelling at people in bars
Weaving through traffic on quick cat’s feet
red lights mean go on full speed
No wonder people keep hitting me in the head!
Kiss my ass…
Why do they always hit a girl in the face
she asked me in Mexico city
she came back beaten but not raped
the kids huffing glue
stupid and indigenous
