Thursday, March 23, 2006

Spheres



“Useless bastard!” Then, when I was at the bottom of the stairs I felt the first pelts of saliva that my father was spitting down at me, a fiver flittered down and I danced for it. That was my last late night visit to the old man. I post this like vomit. Do I feel better? A little, yes, am I resolved, purified, more relaxed, settled? Absolutely not, a great bag of memories fit to burst like an overstuffed cosmetic breast. I pierce myself and everything’s going to be all right, for a bit. But I’m sick of sticking it to myself. I’ve had a belly full of an adult life wracking myself against a hair shirt. But what am I now? I live alone, clean a café and spend my cash in the pub. I collect a lot of rubbish that comes through the door and most of the rooms are stuffed with possibilities of one form or another. I record the sounds of lids in the kitchen, the lid on the coffee, on the peanut butter, on the jam. I compare them, spend hours realizing their harmonics and sometimes when I get it I feel drunk.

I work in fives, fifths, a diatonic, sets of clumsy heart felt pythagorean solids. It all seems to work well enough for me. I like the door open and swinging in the simplicity of knowing without a definitive equation. All this stuff, it’s not academic. I’m not talking about absolutes because there aren’t any. I like the stuff in between because we can touch it. We can gather it up, throw it out, leave it to evaporate, set fire to it, let it rot, stretch it, pluck it, twist it’s sign and this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this makes for a great dissolution. From nothing comes something even if it’s flawed. It’s essential to be flawed because if your not flawed you’re deceiving yourself, which is the biggest flaw of all.

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

<< Home