Failed.

originally written oct 2016. 



Alright I failed. Maybe I failed. As the crickets whine into another autumn, - and I get it. I should've gone so long ago, because some time ago in all the mess I lost all of myself and my pieces, and my... I don't know it was lost.
Entirely this time. Unlike all the fabricated false tortures before (for art! for youth! for anything..). Hah. Because those were the times I felt I was standing there in the middle of the Wide Open screaming poetry and it was good.
And then, this now, so bad.
Serious and lacking taste kind of terrible-bad.
The other day I picked up a pen and it trembled, it shook, all my letters looked a-mush. And that was it. That was the giving up reality. There's no new paintings, no new words, no new stories and no new love - so what the F have I done?
Sigh and breathe.
My own language, don't you see, "dear friend" (I once wrote), it's forgotten. I fear on certain afternoons (all of them) and certain shakes awake in sleep that I'll never find again - never see again - never truly create again. Cause what is that? This is the end, I well know it - curtain close on creativity.
If I could get the dream, the glittering other place we're all really writing about and so we share it - maybe. Maybe it's just the MOVING that matters. New entries and new walks home - new faces and new thoughts they've gotta muster. Escape myself if I could, so I will, cause I rattle the cage. And it aches.






. . .

The first time back.

It’s a strange night here with the wind and the frozen snow, and I’m upstairs hearing it howl - the thoughts of someone new being easily forgotten in it - and I’m not yet sure. Not sure how I feel either. Feel the gloriousss -damn- wake of nights out drinking again, in my renaissance of beginning age, and it should be catching up any minute — like the piles of the books half read at 4 points of the bed, and the record player left on just spinning-glitch-spinnnn.
Sometimes I like that sound better than any of the motown records that remind me of glory days and my old love. 

{Speaking of} - Was thinking about the stage the other night - the lights again, and the movement of it - and it all got rolled up in my mind with - shooting from the darkened seats looking in, to dancing looking out, to walking back down that street, to a blurred motion through the whole blackened year more recently past. Like a dream that begins and turnssss.....hear the spiraling music and you WAKE.

It was the darkness in all that, that I had loved then - painted myself black - and wore the cobwebs and the funeral tales; loved the violence of hearts bleeding and ravens calling and my dear Poe and Yard. The friend I had in all of that, still do, — how we marched in our woe down Howard. 

But then he really found me - that real life version of a night you can’t see through and it wasn’t magic anymore. Stole stars out from the always-night and then I stood there for so many months…

Now there’s a lamp on in the hall when I come home that I love (used to hate it), and a sharp cut of sun that comes up from the floor to the pillow in the morning at the exact spot where the floor creaks upstairs. Everywhere creaks like me hah. And it’s empty bottles filling up the big old kitchen 'sill, the metro rides, the music, and the warmth in his hard-to-please eyes when he walks out my door. That was the last look we left off on :). Yeah, theres a joke always on my lips on Friday night, plans filling up, and my name called out of offices, and the ah, life again. 

Guess I’ve just storied you into spring, while we wait for it… 

...

Write man.

1.25.16 - redone 3.28.17



Everyone had everything to say last night.
Telling you - you gotta write. Write. WRITE man. To feel it, to know your soul. It's the only bridge to happy dreams and hope. Love and nobility. Writing is pain known intimate. It's the medicine to nightmares. It's home again and it's onward from it all. It may be everything of who lived in you, but that's okkkk. Feel good again.

// So, to "hours to live" again!

Come one, come all -- a toast!
To the time when each of us met, to the beautiful lives of our dreams we chase. To these drinks we have, to the looveeee we'll make tonight (wink); and to dawn coming just a little bit slowly...





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