by Tomorrow's Man
September 2000
Friday, 1 September 2000
She's 14,000 miles away. Can you feel her? She's smiling. I can feel it. Like sunshine, bended around our planet. And as beautiful. She is.
What can I say? I'm moon maddened. She's starlight. There she went; Here she comes.
Saturday, 2 September 2000
In a blink quicker than my eye could close the tide rolled in off the top of the sky, gold glittering along the edge of grey, here came the breath of the sea, here came Canada's lust, rolling and tumbling like a waterfall of bones.
Sunday, 3 September 2000
I realized I was a god the day I farted moonstars.
Monday, 4 September 2000
Floating like the moon full-lipped in this Guinness, I can glide across a cloud, a fog, a mist of starlight twinkling in off the hooves of animals striking sparks off the moon, watch them kick, antlers raised, musk thick and funky in the cool night, a blanket of stink wrapping you in wooly-furred lust, there they go, prancing, charging, butting chunks out of the moon, coated in starlight they rear up to bring down the sky in spirals of their hot trailing breath.
Tuesday, 5 September 2000
The Hunting Place
Satan
rose, never fell
Satan is the wish in the well
Satan fell from clouds on high,
Satan never touched the sky
Satan got lost his way down, but
Found a warm place so safe
That Satan never went to Hell
And watches, still, from his hunting place.
Wednesday, 6 September 2000
Dogs
are animals
people are food
all of these teeth are hard,
hard
biting in and
bleeding
the skin of dogs
is thin
as the rose in my teeth,
petals
bleeding.
Thursday, 7 September 2000
It's 4:41 AM. The light has not yet come. It is one of those moments when I'm not only not sure if it will, but I'm not sure if I care. It's gotten colder all through this evening's darkness. Maybe the sun's gone out. I don't want my blanket anymore. Perhaps to be on the shore, awash in the salt-tide as it freezes, preserving me in ice blue beauty, is what I want. What is going on in here...something is coming; it's the sun.
I think this should make me feel better.
Friday, 8 September 2000
food
for fish.
the great below.
belly of the beast.
there's death down there.
and it's cold.
Saturday, 9 September 2000
It is amazing how days turn into hours when you want time to go more quickly....
Sunday, 10 September 2000
Until I was about 10 years old I despised my birthday. Somehow I had gotten it into my head that everyone lived to 100 years old; then at 100, poof, you dropped dead - right on your birthday.
Amazingly, I was always upset by that because I had always pictured myself quite spry, exciting, and looking about 31 in my images of being 100.
It's amazing how time turns into hours when you want it to slow down....
Monday, 11 September 2000
I'm officially a zillion years old. And I plan to live for about 9 zillion more years...wish me luck. I will never grow all the way up; hell, even doing it a little hurts. I plan to want to taste clouds, want to steal packs of gum, want to play with frogs, want to be scared of girls, want to eat the cheese of the moon, want to have the see-saw not hurt my crotch, and want to kick and scream and throw public tantrums for as long as I can breathe. Let's hope the cigarettes don't get me.
Tuesday, 12 September 2000
Tomorrow's Full Moon is an important one; the Harvest Moon.
Gather together what you need. Sweep up into your arms your thoughts, desires, wishes. Throw them to the moon, around 2:30 tomorrow afternoon.
If they fall back to earth, they will stay real; if they stick to the moon, they will be true.
Tuesday, 13 September 2000
The Pope lost an exorcism to the devil; it's in the news today. But they don't say what happened to the possessed woman. Also, Paul McCartney still talks to Linda McCartney; and she talks back. On the internet, a trip to outerspace is being given away - but you can buy a ticket out there for $100,000.
This weekend I was called Satan. Repeatedly. I believed the human screaming this at me.
Look out. I control the vacuum. I'm the ventriloquist of every spirit. And I just clocked the Pope in a direct challenge. I'm growing bored again. And humans are supple game.
Thursday, 14 September 2000
Sharpen the skates, grab up the swords, get ready to rend the veil, the way is opening, the skin is thin, it's time for a letting, a letting go, go, get the energy as it comes screaming toward you...
Friday, 15 September 2000
A small boy held a light in his hands. He was hungry, but could not eat the light. Instead, he kissed into the wind, which blew from behind the Veil. From the kiss a sigh arose, then a mew, the sound of something small and hungry, curious. In his hands he held a kitten. The small boy, a smile wide, kissed the kitten. The buzz from its fur attracted the wind, which blew from behind the Veil. In the wind came the scent of the sea, fecund and full of fish. The boy carried his kitten behind the Veil.
They ate. They grew. They became a man and a cat.
And now, in the gentle tearing of wind on spiderweb, the man and his cat have come back.
And they are still hungry.
Saturday, 16 September 2000
How did I miss this...how did it slip through.......like blue through the veil, remember that light burns before it teaches, the ocean drowns you in thirst, and thinking is not the same as knowing.
I think this.
Sunday, 17 September 2000
I once took a balloon ride with Christ, and man, could he put away the hot dogs. I liked mine with just mustard, but that dude, man, he buried his meat, man, I mean in everything; onions, mustard, relish, ketchup, mayonnaise, hollandaise, bouilliabaise. His beard looked like Picasso was getting head while holding his brush.
Yeah, those dogs were good. Then we crashed into the sun. I survived. Charon, 1, Icarus 0.
Damn, I want a hot dog.
Monday, 18 September 2000
As a youth, I played reindeer games. My friends and I would jump miles high, kick off the moon, and race back to the snowy field in Melrose where we played behind the school. We would buck antlers, sending sparks like glitter into the snow. We would chuff and snort and bleat, making rhythms with out throats. The ladies would dance, staccato in lines of four hooves. Others would come by and call us vampires for frolicking into the wee hours, but we knew we were just children who could touch the moon.
Tuesday, 19 September 2000
I'm sensitive today. I feel like an overripe banana. If a breeze blows by, I am going to bruise.
Wednesday, 20 September 2000
Yeah. Yeah, now. Now seems good. Now seems really good, to tell ya. Wow. Now. Yep, now. I am all about: Right Now. Now is it, now is exactly what I am thinking. So be it. Now. Good. Good.
Thursday, 21 September 2000
The hardest part of all this is finding a sentence at this time of the morning, before even the sky has crack'd open its eye, when the sea is still dreaming in sussurusss, and the crows that fly are invisible hunter of restless souls.... This time of the morning is made for despair, cowardice, and murder; but it is also made to dream.
Unfortunately, I can in no way feel it was made for the composition of sentences. So, therefore good morning; and good night.
Friday, 22 September 2000
11:59
here it comes, another one, i've made it again, the clock's gonna click,
my eye's gonna blink, the sky won't shiver an inch,
the planet will continue its slip, (the moon will just be the moon)
and here it goes, the red-armed swing, 11:59:59...
+00:00:01!
NOW
here we are again. Kiss my teeth.
Let's begin.
You feel the butterflies. You swallow. Again. You blink, think, then you're on the stage. Perform magic; you can. It's simple. Just do what you know - breathe, and I guarantee they will all breathe with you.
Sunday, 24 September 2000
Hot tubs and lashes, and blinks from honey kisses, and red-heads whom you worship and their coy smiling faces, Irish smiles and Canadian voices, applause and gazes cast out by strangers, a hug from the stinking man who loves you and a shy kiss from the woman who does not know it, yet, a honey kiss and your eyes blink, and the night has been delivered on the golden wings of Icarus; this time, I did not burn.
Monday, 25 September 2000
I am the kitten in the cream. I'm licking my face. Don't you just adore me? Pick me up and I'll squirm...but I'll love all of your touch....
Tuesday, 26 September 2000
They come in right over your head, sniffing rubber, heat caking, crashing your anvils in a tympani-free rumble like the fart at the end of the world; here they come, they're landing, better duck.
Wednesday, 27 September 2000
The dolphin charges, arcs through atmosphere, a death ensues, life goes on and on and into the sun, gold wet glitters on the shimmer, a ripple breaks, the dolphin charges...
Thursday, 28 September 2000
I can feel them coming, her eyes, cobalt. Moving to me, disembodied, universes glittering, her eyes, cobalt. You should see them sparkle. I wonder what happens when Kundalini climbs her spine...I have to know, I have to know...
Friday, 29 September 2000
It fell with the passing of this god, a hero, tears in his eyes as his hammer fell. Life left him, and he joined the stars, only to find beauty everywhere - but always out of reach. His hell was the torture of the every day - our inability to simply lay a kiss to beauty.
Saturday, 30 September 2000
This month is gone. Finally. The axes, the miles, the restless lonely nights trying to sleep in cooling drops of frustrated sticky, the place you loved, the day you wore a smile like your first baseball cap, adjusting it so it would be just right, the limping minutes that cried as they died crossing the line. This month is gone. But we're still here. Finally.