From NOEBIE.net
The poems and lyrics included here have been written in the 21st Century. They are presented without context or unifying theme, other than my own halting pen, eclectic interests and prodigal nature.
Many, though by no means all, of them were written using Burroughs' cut-up technique, which is one of my favorite tools for getting my ego out of the way of the creative energy.
the common ruin
of social rank
the means developed
the old ones
paved the way
demand ever rising
the rising bourgeoisie
took its place
new conditions of oppression, new navigation, railways extended
in the same rapid development
same rapid development
the new markets
no longer sufficed
bourgeoisie and proletariat
from class antagonisms
from class antagonisms
commence, middle ages.
combinations together
meaning of means
feel the room
we swayin’
everyone:
resistance together…works
the time connection
strange
expected that
everyone together, connected
hope gently
not connected
connected
and connected
but specific of meaning
events meaning
combinations is acausal
expected inconceivable. on causal chance
closer
readily are inconceivable
closer
examine their reflection
impossible connection to all
it’s a poor sort of memory that only works backwards
polished difficulty
telling gently impressive
retort resistance. strange.
into the against beetle,
into hope broke I
what together – so together together…
that everyone
they
(that means everyone)
touched religion
go on
it sounded more like a compliment
than an inquiry
i felt uneasy
no gangs? he asked
and i’m thinking
no, not really – are you joking?
and then i’m imagining menacing groups of teenage boys in do-rags
galloping
through the streets of
the gracefield subdivision
i tell him
no, not really, but of course they’re kind of everywhere
i’m trying to say that we’re all the same
and that nobody is really secure
and that
well, also, gangsters are just people
i mean, if they were around here
i wouldn’t be
uh, terrified, or anything
i drive through some pretty
rough neighborhoods
every day
hey – it may look like we’re doing well
but i’m not like the rest of these people
it’s just good luck at the moment
and it could change
i wonder where he lives
and what it’s like there
but i don’t ask
why
am
i
ashamed?
you people
i don’t know what to say to you
you expect some sort of
explanation
or
justification
or insight concerning my state
of mind
at the time
you can talk all you want
about cries for help
or
brain chemistry or
family history
and some things being overdetermined
but i swear
to christ
some days i am just
disgusted with you
disgusted with myself
disgusted
with this world…
ps:
but, honestly
mostly with you
god forbid
we should ever be
twenty minutes without some grey haired white guy
casting swine before pearls
the people
cannot be all, and always
well informed
am i right?
lethargy
misconceptions
you have the right to
remain silent
and pardon my pacifier
but the blood of tyrants
will not be shed
by your update on facebook
empty feeder sways
over the backyard terrace
birds have flown away
i look up to the heavens sunday night
if there’s a star up there to wish on
i don’t see it
if there’s a prayer
or an incantation
i don’t
know it
if there’s a reason
to believe
in anything
i suppose i believe
in leaving
well enough alone
i solemnly swear
or affirm
i swear
it’s not the tragedies that
kill us
it’s the paper
cuts
that awkward thing where
the woman who calls you her husband
reaches for your hand and tries to interlace fingers
she never does that – not in all these years
and it’s like somebody just tried to hand you a spider or
a bucket of something repulsive
and you pull your hand away and shudder
ew
was that out loud?
also, you’re in the same mall
where you strolled with your lover
just days ago
fingers interlaced
where you had your picture taken in one of those
coin-op photo booth things with the curtain
you still carry the pictures
of smiles and passionate kisses
in your wallet
and you’re coming upon the photo booth now
and the woman who calls you her husband
suddenly gets this great idea
he stands
blue
against a gray sky
memory
it’s loose gravel underfoot
you
remember one thing
you remember
another
and then the thing you wanted to forget
the bitter wind
chafes his cheeks
collar raised and
face set
he steps toward the abyss