Wednesday, February 24, 2010

sometimes i want to know

i have felt very close to dying for the last couple of months, it has to do with smoking, every time i would take a nice drag off a smoke this terrible buzzing noise would start in my head, a strange pressure behind my ears. sometimes the buzz and the pressure would build slowly, over hours, until i would get a moment or so of dislocation, as if my mind and body were decoupling and i would snap awake as if by some resolve of concentrating i could keep myself from a stroke or an aneurysm. maybe this is crazy or not, but it is true i live with these private sensations. i feel alone with the presence of death but a good kind of alone. i know i am loved, even if those that love me are too wrapped up in their own lives to help or listen. i know how it is to be human - it is not easy, and they would help if they knew how if they weren't burdened by so much torment and illusion. i can't decide whether i blame god or civilization for the fact that people must suffer in tormented illusion. but like i said, i'm alone with death - and that's a good thing.

the funny thing is, ask anyone in jail. they live with death every second of their lives. they live in the presence of horror all the time, are they better people for it? many of them would claim that they are, but they're liars - they might be tougher, but that doesn't mean they were better. the world is full of bullied cowards worth their weight in gold. anyway, certainly they weren't smarter or more talented, or moral for being so close to death. if anything, prisoners look like they're rotting on the inside.

so even the threat of death cannot conjure up the Great Transformation - from idiot to shining angel. all being afraid of dying has done for me is made me quit smoking - the thing i felt threaten my life. this is no more than survival. it was strange to walk around feeling like at any moment death would start pushing on my brain. on really hot july days i would walk around montreal alone, the sun so hot it dripped light too tense to even consider whether it was my last afternoon or not.

in fact, one time it was so bad on the bus i really thought something terrible was on the verge of happening. all i wanted was to be out of the bus. my biggest fear was to have some major meltdown in front of a lot of strangers. like a wounded animal, i wanted only a hole in the earth to lay my head down. if i had to die, i wanted to do so alone.

i don't know why, there are a lot of times when i don't want to be alone. i guess i feel safer alone. i look at people in a really harsh section of toronto, like parliament and queen, and i can't believe two things: how people can endure so much, and how fucked up they are.

now i can understand needing the warm awakedness of a human being. the silence of the real world can be terrifying. no wonder humans think that god exists through humans, to us only humans ever give a hint of god, are the only creatures who answer.

on the other hand, the natural world speaks too, just differently. sometimes the silence of nature is a cold, hard silence, but sometimes it is a language itself. silence is a language that can be learned, for that i think i would want to be around trees, if anything. the 21st century, though, the dusky skyscrapers, there is the mystery of where all this is headed, all the bullshit and murder and strangeness we've gone through and here i will be hanging, maybe vanishing. being alone is not so terrible, or maybe it is, but you do get to confront god-in-life one last time, you get to strain a look, one last chance to ask and listen to the air - what are you? what is this? where am i going? is life good, or is it just there? answer me. answer me. answer me. because most of the human questions seem so ridiculous and arrogant, and especially now, when the world is such a stark division between the fat and the starving. in this age of streetlights and nuclear weapons, sometimes i want to know -

Monday, February 22, 2010

vincent (the scumbags of dawn)

outside the bar, where old men meet, in freezing cold february, out in other countries called power lines and nighttime, the few, the driftwood of the rebels left against the shining steel giant octopus, called her highrise or ambulance, call her a ragged childhood stumbling along the dumpster back alleys with knifewounds in the belly, shards of mirror of common conversation about movie plots, song titles, insect trivia, see how the blood hardened on his knuckles until they were purple stones dominating a landscape of garbage stinking skin, leaves his apartment door open in a crack den, offers lasagne for guests, panhandles for hockey games, catch her in your arms: democracy before she dies, line up dressed up in black and throw newspaper boxes through bank windows, be a human being - which is only an animal that thinks too much , like wild horses at the edge of the mountains, running like flowing water the colts the mares the stallions like undulating stars, fight back, you cowards? fight for who and why? for each other, you cowards! who else? why else? the mohawks point their guns for the month of strawberries, the panhandler reveals a gun for the homeless, the horse kicks for hatred of the reins, they don't publish the names of those that died for their friends on the news because the news needs you to die for the news, and the news is a jealous god. how many suicides died for want of love because there was no one there to teach them to love to give it?

give more, give more, let them eat your heart out, you are a mountain, go be an ocean, go be a sun, go be an orphan like a giant with three hearts and seventeen uteruses, a daughter of an angel and a devil, go be a monkey, they kill some for talking, they kill some for walking, they kill some just for standing still.

go be the wind, go be the tiger that makes the wind, go be the fire that lights the dawn of new unborn days, there is no politics but the one that says you are my sister, brother,

Wednesday, February 03, 2010

me the machine

when i hit 140 km/hr then i and the highway were become one thing - me become a wheel, a ton of steel tiger, aquiline, roaring, become a long black vein twisting through the wild earth, this is the future come alive, me the machine, crazy freedom or just crazy power, "if a deer bolts in front of me (in front of me?) don't stop, speed up because if you try to stop you'll lose control and destroy yourself (yourself?) in the process. the deer is going to die by the skull of this metal monster with cold arclight eyes, so hit it hard and without hesitation. kill it fast or it will be you in pieces." in the night the rigs and cars flow and intertwine gliding reel and coil like elegant sharks with burning red eyes, so smooth and vicious dancing its the road and me/its the road: me/its me i am the road

and this is a truer gospel for now the gospel of saint engine thou shalt obey the machine thou shalt have no other gods but me though you may say in words that you believe in other gods but it is the machine you will love kill and die for, and if the machine should strike you on the right cheek then offer it your left also