Let’s go camping. You don’t need to work. I
don’t need to work. We’ll just send them all
away. Stop the pickup trucks, the movers,
and the well-drillers. We’ll take a long, long,
vacation. Remember Lucille Ball in that big
RV carrying all those rocks around? That’ll
be you. I’ll be DesiRicky, concentrate on
driving, making sure we don’t fall off the
cliff. If the RV breaks, we’ll pitch a tent,
sleep wherever we are. It won’t be difficult,
because the difficult part is past. When I say
I love you then/there it will mean the most
ever. Because we will have climbed a
mountain by then.
Every life is different, every fire. Sometimes
you know the end before you even set out
for it. On foot. Your feet. My feet. But you
want it so badly. So you work backwards.
You think What would it take to get there?
From the fire to the fire building. From here
to there. You go gather the wood. You store
it up like a squirrel with nuts. You
disassemble/assemble. You un-make. Until
you stop ordering the words around / they
fall out of your pockets. Then I’ll gather the
wood becomes We’ll gather the wood. It all
works out. Traigamos leña. Haremos fuego
en la montaña.
Poems are beautiful. Each one is breaking
into its own cut like a rough but organized
set list. There is a way to play them. If you
have songs in your blood you will know
what I mean. The order is what drives you.
The left one down, the right one up. Pick a
finger the good song the next one. Beat,
beat, the open elbow drum clang jam clang
the pick strikes the cord vibrates tiny hot
words. Think think. So much like a bass
line, you’re a bassist. Hopefully you can also
sing. Gordon Sumner, Geddy Lee. One of
those famous dudes.
Are there women who like Geddy Lee’s
voice? I am not sure I know one. But there
are plenty of women who like Gordon
Sumner’s voice. Men too. I remember when
he sang with the Police. Roxanne, you don’t
have to put on the red light… And we would
sing too. Each one of us trying our level best
to get the same falsetto/Sting sound. That
one I heard a lot. You couldn’t go to skating
rinks, pep rallies, or the parking lot after
school, without someone humming it, or
playing it on their radio. It was just fantastic.
WE couldn’t get it out of our heads.
I love this panel as art; I cannot explain why.
How you love a movie or a book title. A
snippet from either/inside more than the
whole of it. Unsaid as a whole. The figure’s
a microcosm. Speaking into an open box. I
love that art-side. How the two leaves are
like the hands pressing down / now lifted up
as in prayer. Although I do not pray. I no
more can. I love the idea of it. That
somebody may be listening. That we may be
thinking of something to say when we meet
each other. I talk to myself more than (I talk
to) others. I am an empty vase.
Deckard and Rachael are running into and
out of the downtown / out of and into the
new town. Which is no town with no death.
It looks like a library, but the library has a
ladder. Into the books, out of the freakshow
that is their lifespans. The librarian leaves
them alone. (The origamist). There is an
ample plain with dinosaurs. There is a space
mission. They can see heaven and its picture
window. They will live on a new planet,
they will not be extinct. When they go into
the rocket, do they ever know? They are
running into the sweet movie.
The daylight is what it is… I go to work I go
to school and I see buildings that aren’t
mine, plans that I didn’t make. Families that
aren’t in my neighborhood. Their homes are
so nice, they touch me. The people are so
quiet. (and the dogs). But I don’t live here. I
live where There is More daylight. It’s like
in the afternoon all the time and I need
coffee. Things are messy in my life. In my
own home. My kids are at play riding their
bikes in the yard. Now when they give me
presents I know it must be my birthday. A
kind voice is telling me that I should like it
here, but I’m not persuaded.
I want to live in Taos where I can build my
desert home again. It looks like a country
farmhouse but it has four patios. Where the
porch is but past where the porch would be. I
picture it full of bright sliding light. The
upstairs open over the main living space, two
small bedrooms in back. Can you play with
me there? (I never really learned about time
before but I am learning now.) I think I would
like a piano in my home. Next to a central
hearth. You can play the piano. Or learn. The
soul-loving hills of New Mexico are full of
pianos. That’s what I think of when I think of
you painting on one of my patios.
Gary Oldman is great, as always, kissing her
toes after ripping her stocking open. That
was so blunt. He sticks the knife in and she
is a real goner. But she prances about too
much. They fuck in his mum’s house; she
complains. She rips off his mum’s clothes in
the street. It’s sometimes better except for
when she yells. She is so whiny in the phone
booth; I wanted to kill her right then. Was it
just the actress or is that how it really was? I
want to ask Courtney, but she’s the only one
being quiet in this movie. She just sits there
pretending like she doesn’t know anything.
Foot fetish latex tranny stockings. I don’t
know if I have them all (down here). T/his
penis is so much like a thing you write with.
Pencil point. (Needle.) Like, how hollow it
must be. For poison to drip. F/or morphine.
Where I keep thinking you’re my Heroin,
not heroine. You left me outside in the alley,
face down. Not good. But punk rockers stole
this show. They started in the basement.
They moved to the attic. Finally, they had a
party in your bedroom. I pick up your
panties all over the place. My god, how
many things are in this house?
Does Maynard James Keenan like The
Books? This is a question I ask myself
lately. Does he even know who they are?
Has he heard of them? I would have heard
of The Books. But famous people are
different. Their time is full. So many side
projects. Besides fronting for the rock band
Tool, Maynard James Keenan also owns a
vineyard in Arizona. I heard about this on
the Discovery channel. This summer I am
thinking about making a visit to try some of
Maynard’s wine. I might even ask him about
The Books. I think of the bass line in
“Smells Like Content;” the singer’s voice
reminds me so much of Maynard.
Tell me I remember Flagstaff. I was there
and I saw people. Walking around and
buying things. Dressing up. Some of them
were like you. I saw a lady in a wool coat,
and scarf. She was bending over. I thought,
now this is a town that you might like. You
were always picking up things. The food
there—honestly I can’t say. I didn’t have
any. It was mid-January, the town reminded
me of dry-ice. I bought some gas.
Ultimately, what did Flagstaff have to offer?
Anonymity. A weather sample. Culture.
Pine trees, snow and fog. It was like the rest
of the world, I guess. Except that everything
there was lifted.
Paved roads or highways. That’s what most
of us dreamed of… to get in the car and go
somewhere. A vacation or destination.
Family outing on the beach. Drive to the
mountain. Ride on the Ferris wheel. The
larger the better, of course. Except for this
one little one. He was such a perv.
Daydreaming of affairs in the middle of the
woods. Sitting nowhere doing nothing.
Making a stump speech by himself. The
parade went by. He missed his station. It
would be his death, or most of it.
I’ve been thinking, this is how you fool time.
With parades. Parade floats. People seeing
sitting watching. So many sections. And
much like religion. How do you believe it
all? Beelzebub dragons begat Disney begat
Puff dragons. But not on them. Smoking
watching. Over the railing of love. Oh, the
lazy river. The streets are empty, except for
a few blocks crammed with people. Ants on
a jetty. At Rio the Carnival would wear you
out. It wasn’t like that on the water. There
was just one, cool breeze.
Sheffield in the little home looks back and
forth over his dream. He thinks of a woman.
The people are in his room and they shake
the sheets but he doesn’t mind. He is already
leaving/falling. In the Airstream there is cool
desert. It gleams; he has pictures in the tiny
box. One of them is of Suzie. Many Suzies.
Always this face sliding up next to him
reading to him. She could be his daughter.
His mother. His father’s mother. His wife.
She says I am a good little girl. He hears his
granddaughter laughing in the next room.
The girl is stoned. She looks scared/not
scared. She is Diane Keaton/Faye Dunaway.
She is a Hippie seamstress. Designer of
great clothes and writer of books. She has
come a long way for this. She knows about
herbs. She can cook. She lives in the 70s and
has no husband. She writes in her journal.
She gets in the car and says I am ready. She
shows him the designs. Yes, she is ready.
She has flowers in her hair, and bellbottoms.
She says let’s go to the city. They will go to
the city. She is getting her first tattoo.
The breakdowns happen in the broken
buildings. Here is a woman having one. She
doesn’t look good. See her, her lips are so far
apart they might split her whole head open.
Woe is me. Behind her, the water flows
slenderly from a wall. (There is a water
fountain.) Something is trying to break
though. But not breaking through. Her
breasts are not real. There is nothing flowing
from them. Her ankles are wrapped in ice.
The pipes hiss—or try to. There is too much
sadness/adhesive. See her, her feet are
Remember the Dr. Who episode? Weeping
angels. They are statues that haunt you.
Gargoyle. Wanderlust. Gollum. One of them
might look like a cherub. Another one might
look like your mother. They are all bad.
They come from the shadows and find you,
when you’re not watching. They touch you,
you go back to another place. (In Time.)
You meet your father, and end up killing
him. That’s really bad. You die before you
are even born…. you don’t exist. Who are
you watching? Are you sure that they’re not
The sea is arresting. With a pair of hand-
cuffs and a spring jacket. It does no good to
cover it with a wealth of daisies, or put it in
the wilderness with a lab-coat. The sea is too
deep, and huge. It wants you to go back to
Santa Barbara, so get on your bicycle and
head west. In the sunlight, you can still
make Ojai if you hurry. Pick some oranges.
Over there they are still walking. With your
wife, your friend. And there are no barriers.
You enter the tomb and you lie down with
someone. On the roller-coaster at Six Flags.
The paseos really help. It is a long way to go
but you don’t mind it so much. Do you?
Our F— Who Art in Heaven… You come
with me. You can carry a paint-can inside
your pussy, die your insides jet black. We
will walk together. The look I’ve had is still
the East / Coast West / Coast. Still mine to
keep. In the summer. Take the space /
blindfold yourself. Wear a sweater, it doesn’t
matter. The look I’ve had is still. Hollow the
eyelids of your eyes. It doesn’t matter. I
always dream of others. Why are they not
bothering me now? (You bitch, but they are
you.) Where in heaven? Who will you know
there? Apostle? Many many many eyelids
don’t fit. How will I know it’s you?