I used to
leave class
in high school,
go to the bathroom stall
and masturbate whenever
I let dirty thoughts
build too long.
“the rooms”
I sometimes
have to fight
the urge to dip my
fingers into the
garbage disposal
when it’s on
to challenge mechanism
designed to fillet.
“the rooms”
“Mercury trine North Node is an awesome ability to manifest the future.”
today we are at “it is not self seeking.”
he’s wrong about many things and I don’t mind telling him,
I say in a slow drawl to no one.
“This was about space. I wanted a close, inviolate and most of all immutable space.”
–House of Leaves
I spent an hour in that graveyard,
sobbing openly over a child
named Catarina.
I held my hands out to the
trees and told her I was
so sorry for pushing her
down the well.
returned to my slanted
cat piss house covered in
tarot cards, my smattering
of piecing the way I push
and pull and you,
a mirror in the afternoon
sunlight;, now pink in a yellow room
from the rectangular stained glass
windows that I watch move
as I lay naked on the floor,
let my neck rest,
so deserving, all day
tense and up and vigilant
and watch the glitter coat
the ceiling. let my
mind race to empty
and it felt dramatic,
the walk there and back
and the way I stated it
like that as I threw my arms
out to Ebby, I am back
from the graveyard
and ok, no falling,
my biggest fear is
falling off the Earth,
I’m talking to myself
unsure of what had passed
over me I began to draw
myself large and
cartoonish, figure myself
against a backdrop
as I let the sweat
roll off my back.
she beckons.
throw change on the floor
and make way for an assiduous
pursuit of more but
she only gives me one future
and that is a rift
that I have caused.
I wrote some other epiphany somewhere
right? in my large sketchbook,
it’s all
phrases like the way
systems reflect larger pictures.
we’re all in conflict now.
we’re all detainees or holding keys
and then longer processes:
in one lifetime, I’ve collected
several horror stories especially
if you tell them from the
bug’s perspective, as I’ve been
known to switch
narrative
direction and you didn’t
cross my mind at all the day
of August in my sweat,
the last confirmation that I was
scared to feel a void so deep
the only word to
muster, God.
like falling.
coming down is
like falling into
the fourth wave
which is waking up
but you have to be careful
what you say.
also be careful what
you think.
“fourth wave”
–no crisis
–no overreaction
—no seduction
–no manipulation
(relationship)
“south node in Scorpio”
after each meeting,
I stood awkwardly and
made small talk.
I would give almost any
woman my number and barely
kept up with what I had told
anyone but I
made efforts.
one day I got a fortune cookie
that said
“focus in on the color yellow
tomorrow for good luck.”
this meeting held
a lot of talk of God,
as it had a few catholics
and devoted disciples like
I, interested in the supernatural
themes of faith and
manifestation.
we spent many days
focusing on the third step
regardless of topic
and the passivity of that step,
being actually a willing action,
yet a passive stasis to uphold
is what kept me under spell.
“Made a decision to turn our will and our lives
over to the care of God
as we understood him”
the carpet was blue
with yellow circles everywhere
and that’s probably why
I made it my home group
shortly after I got the fortune cookie.
after much reluctance to join
any of them, ironically,
I picked the only group
that was mixed but
mostly men.
just me and one or two others.
and these men were
not young, but old.
I slowly invited more women
and they showed.
what they always ask me
is what my motive is.
I cannot simply say
that I looked at the carpet
and saw it was yellow
as someone spoke about the
divination of action into form.
I did not intend
to build the group,
amass it,
celebrate it,
throw an anniversary picnic,
show up weekly and
listen, share, open
vulnerabilities but listen.
To wives and the ways advantageous
players play,
then let my serpent spine
sizzle in its case,
one day call them all sexist,
balk at the coming year’s celebration,
do nothing but exit
and get all of the women
to leave.
“God”
sometimes when I think back
to my fuck ups or falling down,
I come here and I see all these
women and I think,
whose answered prayer am I?
she said
and that struck me.
when women speak
I put my head down deferentially
but also out of my own
need to curl up
inside myself.
It’s winter, 2015,
just past the new year,
I’m broken hearted
and knee deep in
some fucking secrets
but whose answered prayer
am I? who called
the wounded shepard
here? It’s 2015 and I had
just been gifted three thousand
dollars from my grandmother
that my parents called and asked
for back.
I gave them two thousand and
used the rest to move out of
the townhouse
into a one bedroom
in the heart of Kensington.
embraced by the “Auspicious
Coin Laundry” service next door.
no one would ever miss my house.
I didn’t have anything left o
over but I never did.
it’s worth mentioning that when I was
eighteen and just home for
the summer from college,
my mother told me they had
cleaned out my savings account.
“family”
Monday:
two grapes
half a tuna sandwich
half an apple
a plum
another half of tuna sandwich
a medium size piece of salmon
steamed corn (five bites)
twelve cups of coffee.
tuesday:
five grapes
one apple
one plum
a tuna sandwich.
a medium sized flounder
steamed broccoli
eight cups of coffee.
twelve shots of vodka
wednesday:
seven grapes
two apples
one plum
*a pan crusted salmon
french fries
house salad
steamed broccoli
ice cream sundae
half a bottle of ipecac syrup.
(purged)
five cups of coffee.
*dinner out with xxx.
this is 2004 to keep up.
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