My Filthy Nails, My Dirty Mind.
5/9/2005 12:49:47 PM
Why can't I see the light. It's been a very confusing four weeks.
I cant remember the last time I was so confused. Maybe Im always confused and oblivious to the sad despicable fact. I said this to someone, that I was just so confused. It was Big Jim. Some Ex-jazz cat I know. Hes been unemployed now for a year. Cant get a job. Cant get laid. Cant get drunk. His, ...whole life is a bunch of cants. On top of that, hes actually rather small. This is why we like each other. Were on equal ground. We were at the bar drinking when I said to him, Im just so confused. He said, Everyones confused. They just dont know it. This may be true but it doesnt help me at all. I was walking along the Riverside Park yesterday enjoying the spring when I came across a discarded Barbie doll on one of the benches. It was dressed in a yellow miniskirt and bent over in a provocative way. I was immediately aroused. I thought damn that is one sexy doll. It occurred to me that I was in trouble. To be found in the park holding a Barbie, with a chubby and a shit eating grin is a bad career move. My loneliness knows no bounds. My depraved ache for love is a sickness that can not be cured. I decided to go home and do laundry. I took the doll with me and will have to take precautions lest my wife catch me with it. Yes, laundry on a spring day. Theres no limit to how low Ill go.
Today I woke up hung over and finally paid my rent and utilities. My accounts are officially empty. The dentist called, he wants his money. I want my tooth back. I received a get well card from Caldwell. This is making me nervous. Caldwells not the sympathetic type. My suspicions are aroused. It seems theres no limits to my arousing either. Needless to say Ive been down. My friends girl friend thinks Im morose. What she doesnt know is, A.) The meaning of the word. And, B.) That I was trying get a good look up her dress. Which is anything but morose. My cynicism is not sullen and I am not hard to please, just give me a peak. I am not morose. Im morbid, mordant and even moribund. (Sort a speak.) Hell Ill even settle for heroic! For in the midst of my suicidal swamp, which I often dwell, I found the clarity of mind to cogitate upon those juicy white slabs of sex she kept flashing every time she crossed her legs! I crossed my heart and hoped to die but not with out getting one more glimpse of that succulent fuck pump of an ass she was sitting upon. So although I may have been morbid, sick as they say of existence, the energy it took to remain surreptitious was of heroic proportions which I have recently discovered were pointless because Im told she finds me disgusting because I dont clean my fingernails. Wait till she meets my wife. If I knew I was disgusting I would have simply tossed all pretense of decency and stared at her legs. Nonetheless and maybe even because of my mood I turned up shitty and had a good time. (I know: define good.) I don't remember getting home. My friend J. assured me I was a perfect gentleman. A very drunk perfect gentleman. I dont believe him.
I havent been writing lately. Ive been convalescing from my cracked, infected tooth. I checked my journal this morning to see what I was up to. This is what I found:
May 6
is this to come---arrive
as my sole defining feature
the irony blazing
blue ruin
and bruise flavored blossoms
The old wheezing song
of an old man
the smell of diapers
The loss of feeling in your lips
the loss of feeling in your chest
Building line beneath
lines
in long lines
in the cold
and rain and empty coffee shops
May 7
A piece of paper that dangles
from the sole of a raised foot
piece of white debris
caught in a spiders thread
that twirls like a distant lynching
it quivers in the air
May 8
What dark moon
is this that blots you out
what infection is this that
now rakes your septum
the hard hurts. Its to much
too hard upon the dark night you jolt and ripple before the girls. Swollen like a tic stuck to the neck of an eel.
May 9
On this day
there were swings
New York in the spring
those long Elms that reach out from the rock
from the stone wall
as if bending down
wanting to lie down they reach for the river
and make me feel
as though Im in a Dali painting
if it were not for the bright spring
for the green loneliness
the bright pale green
like open limes in the sun
acceptance
this invitation to fall
these never ending moods pull
the rood coo coo
blue sky
the bling bling pigeon
as arrived.
My journal does not tell much. This does not auger well.
Peace.
M