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2003-02-15 07:10:42 ET one day as i am dying i will grip like a madman to a single crumb of faith. A single crumb on the white tablecloth of infinity. That somewhere, in the labyrinth of the world's Fallopian tubes, there waits a creature unborn. Who, years after my plug has been yanked out of its socket, will kiss the pages i have left behind, the words, the love, the madness. And proclaim me as their valentine. Happy Valentine's day, Henry Miller of Brooklyn, New York. You once wrote that you were terrified your words would never reach anyone, never spark a fire inside, but die like forgotten embers. I am writing to tell you that your fears have become utterly, utterly meaningless. null and void as the american dream I have seen the emptiness of Myrtle Avenue, i have had the tides of humanity threaten to drown me worse than any wave that ever pounded me into the ground in Florida, i have damned myself in the prison of human flesh time and time again only to come out and be called 'lucky devil' by awestruck villagers. Every time I touched a piano it got worse. And what is the prison of flesh, i ask you. what are the countless nights of clubs and ounces of poison and thousands of dollars and miles of sidewalks if what i was searching for the whole time, i could find alone in the office, hunched over words on paper. i'm not saying that i'm going to become a shut in. I'm not even going to pretend dramatically to 'stop posting'. it has been no higher sense of nobility that has kept me from being online, just an obtuse computer. but i have to say that i understand a little more why i went out all those nights, why i missed out on all that sleep, why i took so many prisoners only to find them empty vessels and set them free. i have caught a glimpse of what i was looking for. a longer glimpse than usual. i could write about it forever but there are so many other things to write about besides my own petty victories. _____________________________ and in other news, it is over. if you dont know what i am talking about, don't ask and consider yourself lucky. if you do know, and you are my friend, you will please allow me the dignity to bury my dead in peace. i sincerely apologize to all involved who got involved in what can only be described as a terrible farce. yesterday i took up a dead man as a valentine, and set free a living one to finish writing a book he started five years ago. Neither author nor audience knows how it will end, but upon meeting the characters in flesh and blood, I have determined that i am no longer needed within those pages. Not as i have been. I can no longer be the source, or even part, of another living being's self-hatred. Mine is eating me alive. I can only hope there is something left of me to operate on in April, that Dr. M- recognizes the last remaining scraps of the creature that took off from Orlando International over two years ago. and that he can reconstruct the remains into something stronger, less fragile, more pure. and that he gives me a lot of fucking morphine while doing it. So happy valentine's day, kids... and here's to the things that truly bind us. From getting goosebumps while driving and listening to Worlock, to being hallucinatory with sleep deprivation at diner, the way that broken glass shines under the streetlights.. the soft sounds of someone sleeping next to you...and all the words on paper.. all the words online... to all the words that were spoken, and all the words that still remain unspoken, perhaps forever.. this ones for you. and im out of things to say. deathbydesign erased.over.out. |
