by Tomorrow's Man
November 2000
Wednesday, 1 November 2000
Brain yes therein it is mine but why feels too big to be brain to be therein squeeze in pain thing brain feels too big to be mine can't fathom so much brain thought think this therein is mine this brain is big too big to be mine these thoughts too wide squeezing out from therein here comes my brain I like to share
Thursday, 2 November 2000
The heady fever...this illness. A swimming in the head, the brain swollen past its cell. Vision sharp and flashing, planes overhead disjoined against the clouds, moving like elevators. The horizon a floating eye, Godzilla peering down my burning throat. The city is in flames. The city is molten. Head, feet, heart, hot swollen swollen swollen. My guts trying to leave me. I wish they would.
Friday, 3 November 2000
Yes, here I am, in this little shell. The air is thick, heavy. Damp. There are things floating in it, microscopic, but they've reproduced so quickly that they have formed flavor in my lungs. It is not a pleasant flavor. It is the taste of a sick sea. Low tide, where the animals have all died. This ubiquitous miasma is so overwhelming, nothing else has flavor, not even a mouthful of salt. My hair is twisted and greasy, my skin sallow. I am being assimilated by these millions of tiny creatures. Why is it that the only creatures alive in this shell are me and death?
Saturday, 4 November 2000
It's in the stillness, that you get your senses; when sound levels out to a low hum, and you can taste the vibe of electricity in the 2 AM air; the stillness of the atmosphere, the warmth of the air a gentle shroud, in and of night; these are the moments when you can swear that the stars glitter, when you feel you can prick free your warm blood on their sharpness...
Sunday, 5 November 2000
One of those days, you know, those, when you tell someone something you know you know, and some two-dimensional cocksure Neanderthal in a nicer shirt upstages you with a sneer, only to be proven wrong ten minutes later. And then what do you do? Nothing - because it never matter that you were right in the first place.
Time to go home, put on my puffy Red Sox slippers, crack a Bud Light and toast the guy in the nicer shirt; he doesn't deserve to be toasted by anything better, and I don't deserve to drink anything better, for feeling this petty.
Monday, 6 November 2000
The scent of her skin, underneath a gentle layer of rosewater.......just the thought makes my heart so so so heavy....
Tuesday, 7 November 2000
Galaxies begin from nothing and swirl into existence at the edges of her irises. Sparks of light, fire and energy from nothing, begin from nowhere and coruscate into the deep dark blue of her outer rings. Star and sparkle, her deep blue fades in a startle into the brightest cerulean that surrounds her pupil. Galaxies become the world, the atmosphere, she is something I could breathe. I look into the sky and see her watching me, from the galaxy that forms at the outer everything of her eyes.
Wednesday, 8 November 2000
Her eyes, immaculate. Where have I heard that before? Im not sure maybe I saw it, saw it, dancing like angels above her nose. Have you seen them? The angels. The angels of her eyes. They send prayers to God, and He weeps. They preen their wings, and universes beget universes. The galaxies spinning like glitter from her eyes. I fixate on eyes. Yes. Ive been asked about it it is, indeed, my favorite part of a woman. Okay. Second favorite part.
Thursday, 9 November 2000
Have you ever met someone, another human, who makes you tingle at first sight? A person who opens your nostrils with olfactory thirst, a need to smell their skin, take in their scent - from their perfume or cologne through all the layers of warm moisture and perspiration to their most subtle, complex pheromone? A person whose smile makes you lick your lips, makes you want to run your tongue tip across the slick surface of their teeth? A person who makes you want to rest your head in the hollow of their neck and shoulder, a person who, to you, possesses this unique, intense haven? Have you ever met this person? Could you speak to them? Did you dream of them?
Did it hurt?
The more it hurts, the more wonderful you are.
Friday, 10 November 2000
In a vampire, time is sweet. It actually runs through its veins as sugar, death to humans, but to them, sweet. We drink from them, sweet. We feed on their death, and it is sweet. We scour our souls with their fire, and damn our only selves to their hell, and it is sweet sweet sweet, seductive. To a vampire, time is nothing. But -- our blood? To them, to the vampires, our blood is the sweetest thing in creation.
Saturday, 11 November 2000
I can't write. can't read, I can't breathe, I can't get these colonies out of my lungs. I can't think. I can't pee without a river of fire flowing from me, I can't think. I can't swirl, I can't taste what is sweet. I can't taste you. I can't smell. I can't breathe. I can't smoke, I can't fume, I can't smolder. I can't find just about anything. I can't think. I can't rewrite my regrets, I can't experience honey or sticky and I can't melt sugar with my dry, white tongue. I can't breathe. I can't find my way out of this, and I can't find a reason to find my way out of this. I can't relate, to him, or to you, or to me. I can't remember just about anything. I can't sweat, I cant' stay dry, I can't drink I can't keep anything down, just about anything. I can feel all of this. I can feel all of this. But I can't write it down.
Sunday, 12 November 2000
See cat play. Cat play with light. Cat like catnip cats and like salty food and broccoli even spelled right. Broccoli kill cancer, but not cats but makes them fart, bad nasty. Broccoli as good as cauliflower and even better cos its green. Cats not usually green. My cat, he green once, but it was St. Patrick's day, and we were being green, being festive. He liked being green but didn't like so much being wet. Wet cat. Cat, he didn't like that, not a bit. But he likes broccoli. He likes to lick off the butter sauce, then he play with the tree. Cat, he love to play. See cat play? Cat - he love to play.
Monday, 13 November 2000
I'm looking for a woman....sure, sure, pretty smile, sense of humor, starlight eyes, sweet hunger in her belly, fingers trained in the classical dances, the precociousness of a kitten, the intelligence of NASA, and a heart the beats with a rhythm of lust and passion and fire for life that throbs the moon in and out of its orbit with her hot-blooded gravity...I'm looking for a woman I can play Puzzle with~
Tuesday, 14 November 2000
In love with me. In love with you. That is the greatest feeling, isn't it? Someone says, "[Your Name Here]...I'm in love with you." The first time you hear it. The person sitting or standing or laying next to you, holding your hand. Their heart skip-tripping in their chest. Their breath shaking their voice into a higher register, scattery with nervous modulation. Then they say, "[Your Name Here], I...I love you." Your hand goes moist, your heart goes skip-trippy, your breath joins theirs in a humid slipstream. You draw close to the commingle, that final moment before the touch. The kiss...oh, then the kiss. The greatest kiss of your life.
Wednesday, 15 November 2000
Why does guilt have a head? Oh, yes, to rear. Eh, enough of that.
I have figured out that I am a magical creature. But - concerning love. Some creatures can use magic (humans); some creatures are magical (dragons). Alas, much to my lonely-hearted chagrin, I fear this is my fate, the same as that of the dragon. I am a creature of love. It is my skin, my energy, my aura. I know love, and love knows me, better than each bit of oxygen knows the next that makes up your every breath. Dragons can not use magic. Dragons can not channel magic into a sceptre or a deck of Tarot, a cauldron or a crystal ball. They can, however, breathe fire, and shed scales of copper and gold. Those around me feel love like a blanket on the tundra, like a breath beneath the sea. I must accept this...but the lonely-heart is stubborn. Until it accepts our fate, my heart and I, like the dragons, must be resigned to the same tragic truth,* and slumber here fitfully.
*- There are no more princesses.
Thursday, 16 November 2000
I had to step out of the car, into the night, into an envelope of stillness (air and light could be pushed in the stasis), no sound, no animals, no cars, no motion, no life but for me, a perfect moment at 3 in the morning on the edge of the world where the fishermen dream, I felt enwombed, I wept with the joy of it all, my tears as loud as the voices of those all dreaming around me.
Friday, 17 November 2000
She's got rings like Saturn's hula, swirling in eyes that crink to smiles in the sunlight and here we go particles flying into her, we slip through her corona, float delicately through her inner juices, and project onto the depth of her, "Good morning...how was your weekend?"
Saturday, 18 November 2000
"Make a whole new religion...a falling star that you cannot live without..." So what if I want to fall? So what if she's a new world, undiscovered by my stultified, anxious wanderlust? So what if I see her as a land of seed and sunshine, golden and dappled in oxygen green? So what if she will be a new religion? I don't have an old one. So what if I love this way blindly, eyes closed, bright smile open, bowed to her? This is ... love? This is, and that is all it needs to be.
"Bow down to me..." Said the redhead...
Sunday, 19 November 2000
Finally, they are back. After flailing across thousands of miles, covering the cross of this country and its greatest waters, looking to stars, heavens, hells and dreams, I have landed - and finally, the butterflies have returned.
Monday, 20 November 2000
Sunrise glittering drops through her red hair, molten and golden and dappling my skin, too early for this to be anything but a dream, of the sunrise glittering honey on her skin, I taste, so sweet, this dream, this dream, I wait for the sunset to see the sunrise again...
Tuesday, 21 November 2000
I smelled the Earth, and it filled me. I went to the beach. I rubbed the sand into glass, the glass into mirrors, and showed you reality - the ocean is endless and so are we. I leaped to the moon and devoured its cheese. I returned to earth and massaged the kinks out of the neck of the San Andreas; Holy Wood should be okay for a decade or so. I danced home and cooked an omelette for Aphrodite - three cheese (American, Romano, and some I saved from my visit to the moon), with cilantro and ginger. While she ate, I kissed the octopus riding her back. It returned the kiss wrapped in all the secrets of an alien sea. Then, and then...I kissed Aphrodite.
Wednesday, 22 November 2000
I never thought I would be a gun owner. It always felt like more than violence, it felt like a magnet for the big, mortal V. Whatıs the pull? Not enough sex? Noprobably the wrong kinds of it. I do believe that if we were all 100% sexually satisfied, there would be no dissention in the world, at all. We would be copulating on other planets, because interplanetary travel would have been achieved by 1932, assuming weıve been 100% sexually satisfied. Or would it be the other way around, a planet with us extinct, because we were too busy reveling in afterglow to get up and build shelters, or hunt and gather? It is truly pathetic that I have the time to sit here and write this.
Thursday, 23 November 2000
Climbing plastic steps and feeling the give, reaching for the pillow that spins like a doorknob, falling to the cloud that pretends the resilience of a couch, watching the funny men in their funny hats with their funny acolytes chanting in the cold, eyes watering as a sibling approaches, sweets for the sweet, salt for the sinners, the buttons come undone, the seams itch and tickle, you can feel the revolt in your gut, the belly crying out for body politic, and you shush it with just one more bite of that delicious chocolate pudding pie.
Happy Thanksgiving.
Friday, 24 November 2000
If I asked nicely, would you hold me forever?
I ask this only of you...and if you live with the sunrise, you know exactly whom you are...
Saturday, 25 November 2000
These days when I'm talking to myself and clawing my sheets in despair as I wish for the One who I can hold each night, the one who will keep me warm, make love to me, hold me when I cry and carry me away from it all with her mind, body, and passion, these days I accept that I am talking to these walls, these walls that can not hear me over their barking, these walls so sore and stiff and waiting for nothing to come but a final, great collapse.
Sunday, 26 November 2000
I paint my mirrors black every day.
Monday, 27 November 2000
Rolled over in a dream, slipped with a swish into the pink room, felt the heat, smelled the salt, imagined me her beverage and her sneaking sips in my sleep and awoke tingling...
Tuesday, 28 November 2000
Plastic brain and pain in the foreground a hot burner in the middle of the head full of shots pain bullets and tequila hammers nailing this swirl to the wall killing it off I'm trying but sometimes the suns go out and we will never know when that happens except for the moment it begins to hurt it begins it hurts it begins to hurt and hurt is all that is left.
Wednesday, 29 November 2000
Hatred swells hatreds swell hatredıs swell, perfectly natural to hate moreso even than love the one in a million counter-suit, hateıs always there for you, liberal and promiscuous, ready to ash out at whomever deserves it or does not. Who gives a damn about Hell when hatred can keep you warm at night, when hatred can keep you going, when hatred can keep you alive right up until the moment you are fucking dead.
Thursday, 30 November 2000
The Best Beer: Plant in graveyards. The rich soil is an incredible wealth of nutrients for barley, hops, and grains of paradise. Oh, man, now thatıs a brew!!