August 16

Have visions of tying and untying knots like boy scout troupes learned through vicious repetition in dark barracks, emptied of their soldiers and teeming with bouncing children. All of the commercial success behind smooth skin campaigns, as if rough skin is even an option, to have the hands of a woman, an incandescent lady of night-fires, burning at the stake a witch cackling beside a cauldron filling heavy with the aroma, dense, of the souls of men. They oblige willingly, though under hypnosis, ward off those crazy demons and the dark shadows of past relationships. Bring up and I must have worn a temporary pained expression. Remind me of her like a whip reminds me of my nervous system. I could never tire of the constant surprises. I had lucid visions of untangling, of pulling apart chain-link fences into straight lines, metal strips. I could feel myself unwinding clocks, setting them all back two years, dragging a comb or a brush through a reluctant knot deep bird's nest bad hair day. 'Just put a fucking hat on and go about your business," says George Carlin, the greatest. I felt a pulling apart at the seems, a bursting of balloon consciousness, those realities that dreams could never be. The unimaginable gap between near nudity and nudity. Full exposure as opposed to partial exposure. The scientific theories behind sexuality and ways to manipulate others to reach into our hearts. (She knew she had me jealous. Willed it on herself to make that happen. So it happened. She is sly, resourceful and easily manipulative). Reach below the belt and remove flowers. All of those breeds that grow, living and dying, entirely underground. The wink across a dinner table that comes across as a nervous tic. It is a nervous tic. The tattoos the love songs. The speaking voice and the outside voice. Yelling at the sky. Searching for blue hats in a vague obscene sea of heads. They all look the same and they all think the same. I came apart at the seems feeling torn apart, drugged and quartered by horses. Then the horses were drawn and quartered. 4 pieces of me and 16 pieces of them in a tortured pile though we share the same suffering. Feeling drugged and slipping unconsciousness into my malted beverage. 'See if you can remain healthy when you turn 21' nice dare. I already have the beginning development of a gut but I must kill that progress immediately. My sinews crushing together and I dream of unraveling plots. Unraveling sexual characters and introducing myself to myriad women. I thought briefly about the lacing up of shoes and the wearing of jewelry on stage. Rings. Chain around the neck. All I wanted to do was untie her shoes and let everything slip away