torturing into aught of the sublime
o, it's the night of the evil birds, shrouding my eyes in the simplified room - strewn - wild desk of books and alcohol and drugs. it's the tortured night - so distracted have i been and so to save myself from some bleak insanity - the veil lifting, thinking of everyday things - finding out what i'll be in the coming months, and maybe i'm throwing my life away, but i swear that i'm not cos i'm in love with my life, and i'm telling myself that and sometimes really feeling it, or at least the belief in it - making up for the botch of my days, creating a vast universe - phosphorescent far-off isles in sweet and sometimes macabre movie-house reveries - waiting for the sun to rise.
there's a chinese man sleeping down on the couch.
and i'm praying for my pops, a dime and two, working and earning a few bucks and getting into bed, all quietsleeptight - so here i am stealing off like a fugitive, inexplicably drunk too often - though i feel him tottering in the dark like a slave - are you happy? comfortable? numb? whisked away from this sad, lonely land by the sea, saved by my brother the sea - to wit - rocked and rearranged, dark and grappling with shadowy fancies, dear mr. warhol, is plastic fun?
ah, but the sun'll be shining soon - i know how to fight and survive - thinking of grand boyhood trips through the colossal new york countryside - you see, overlapping books and moods and my own life makes for a heady time in the black nothingness of 5:16 a.m. - though i'm beginning to hear trucks, echoes of life and the newspapermen are gathering in the streets, shouting or standing pat and cool in the impending wintery air - their faces of resolve and hopefulness and pride in their work - this great american lonely crockashit is stirring, and soon the coffee'll be making nice, stretch out to golden rays...
adieu. i'm haunted in the mind by you. cock weather to change my concepts.
there's a chinese man sleeping down on the couch.
and i'm praying for my pops, a dime and two, working and earning a few bucks and getting into bed, all quietsleeptight - so here i am stealing off like a fugitive, inexplicably drunk too often - though i feel him tottering in the dark like a slave - are you happy? comfortable? numb? whisked away from this sad, lonely land by the sea, saved by my brother the sea - to wit - rocked and rearranged, dark and grappling with shadowy fancies, dear mr. warhol, is plastic fun?
ah, but the sun'll be shining soon - i know how to fight and survive - thinking of grand boyhood trips through the colossal new york countryside - you see, overlapping books and moods and my own life makes for a heady time in the black nothingness of 5:16 a.m. - though i'm beginning to hear trucks, echoes of life and the newspapermen are gathering in the streets, shouting or standing pat and cool in the impending wintery air - their faces of resolve and hopefulness and pride in their work - this great american lonely crockashit is stirring, and soon the coffee'll be making nice, stretch out to golden rays...
adieu. i'm haunted in the mind by you. cock weather to change my concepts.
posted by liam at
4:19 AM
4 Comments:
come to the land of sunshine. well, it's bucketing down with rain at the moment, but come anyway.
ladyb - no doubt, i've been getting sunshine lately, though i do prefer the night. the day's all showy, you know? i like the nightsuggestion, that of a disquiet otherness, i say.
*on mini-break, too*
I think night time has an element of truth..I prefer it too..
I love the pace you set here. Fast but controled. A well tuned Ferrari that corners like its glued and accelerates like a rocket.
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