Saturday, November 23, 2013 Sun in Sagitarrius Moon in Leo last quart 11-25

Thank god the sign of the archer, the fire sign. When i went to i court on Thursday I ran a red light by the Fox, I don’t think it had a camera But there were no cars-it was a three stop there were so many fucking signs and lights and I was distracted- Im always distracted-everything is so cinematic and tied in with the drama, it wasn’t like Kafka’s the trial it was like the castle-where he gets farther and farther away-the night I read that book I was trapped in a nor’easter in Jersey City. My old lady was in the city. It spurred the inevitable psycho-drama drugs and cheap violence. Yeah, Kafka’s the Castle-it’s the one where the guy can’t get to the CASTLE. He can see the castle, he’s the around castle he hears all about the castle but he can’t get there. A Metaphor for everything on the 120 Loop.  I’m not the person you once knew, he’s dead he’s dead and gone. Speer was the intellect he was the avant garde, he said that ‘diaries are usually the accompaniment of a lived life. this one stands out in place of a life. august 1975. My writing mirrors that. But at the same time, there’s nothing so beautiful as yellow and orange and green trees sway in a grey dizzy afternoon, the first day of Sagittarius the archer a fire sign, a time of more hope that the days of the dead-

   to say nothing of holding you can prove you will find that thoughts through your mind being swayed by what result the coordinating part gathering together all these mass devoting the picture of your desire mechanics by which anyone will penetrate to the deepest offices of a great many photographs slogans bits found in the inner head of great picture of early leaders don’t wait the law of supply and demand is an awakened man merely an economic principle material manifestation of spiritual law such seeking men see the same principle operating affinities in macrocosm-america has long been the greatest of El Dorados the stage upon which the most numerous of self-found men ensured their release from the clutches of time what the shakers did was secret Marietta is stained and haunted in this suburb you’re not alive you’re a people obsessed with the occult-

    I scribbled as note on half page of yellow index card. I flipped it over and it was a long description of a dream. My favorite thing to do is to emulate DeQuincey and watch the sun set and the lights come on. Nietzsche said that the twilight was the crack between the worlds.

 

remember the prayers of the wicked availeth little.

From far away it resembled two demons stoking a fire energetically. The worst thing about

 boozing at the roadhouse is that sometimes you run into the guy that claims to be “Marietta’s only legitimate rock star, I dunno-some art fag noise asshole he throws money around and then he name drops people you’ve never heard of-he’s pathetic. He’s not even a minor figure.” You can blame it on the atmosphere. Strung out in the suburbs, how bourgeois. The 120 Loop is a way to recast failure as success. I find comfort in avant garde mysticism and the long chilly climate reminds me of my parasitical existence, the psychic tapeworms that I slip under my tongue everyday props me up-projects a movie showing me acting under heavy manners. I’m creatively bankrupt, morally spent & mentally exhausted. The New Aesthetic is about recording coded space. It’s about Judge Crater subpoenaing Verizon for all my text messages to his legal wife. Can you hear me now? There are certain epic poems that are just too long to be read casually; you need to dip in and dip out to get the glamor get the twin glimmer.

     A cute chick had an ouroborous on her delicate shoulder. I admired it and she thanked me for elucidating its proper name. “Thank you Sir.” And the last syllable shocked me into age. I was that much older than she was-I am no longer the cute hipster that’s going places in the underground avant garde community (reality breakdown!) I’m now just a fair warning, a forgettable causality that is not so much a footnote in the annals of American creativity. My childhood dreams have become mocking nightmares as I limp from one appointment to another. Like DeQuincey, my passion is watching the sun set and the lights come on in the quaint Southern village.

     Some Fridays there’s a football game around the corner and the neighborhood is ritualistically ablaze w/ honking horns, chattering teenagers brand new drivers and longtime parents clutching spiked thermoses and blue devil pennants. October of the railroad earth burns into her mouth, into her month, Scorpio is the wet sign of expensive death, this is where it all ends. Marietta is a 70’s version of 20 years in the future.  I’m comfortable in my knowledge that the czar is in heaven and Armageddon is far away. Throw it all in my face, I don’t care. Divers pages in my journals, tracking sound quiet, the freight train blows its horn at the end of each crossing. Four tugs on a chord, one for each element, the blue train has left the station and the red light was my mind. That last time in the driveway she called out “I love you.” Yeah yeah how can I keep it together? There’s always a moon over Marietta. I turned around and I went home. I remember telling her: all the times I told I love you, I really loved you. Maybe I imagined it during one of those long anonymous narcotic nods.

120 Loop again

The 120 Loop Part G summer of sam summer of 13, unlucky for some:

The 120 loop is a product of your society. Love is the beauty of death. My love for her takes the shape of a puddle on the floor. Texts to antagonize her? I figure that Judge Crater is reading everyone I send. Fuck him. We copped in the Target lot on Moreland, the guy was a busy little bee, he musta hit four cars before ours. Problem is, sometimes it’s cut w/ Fentanyl & y’feel like Michael Jackson, like Barry’s ex-wife, no sleep man, no sleep till Marietta, getting wasted w/ the vampires, before I came around M-Town was No town; pimp on me, I’ll make bail.  

     I watched her tie off on the Connector, she was babbling about the Splenda being some sort of poison while she searched for a vein in her foot. It was sorta hot. Sharing needles w/ prostitutes is just like Foucault, books to other books, words t’other words in an endless library. She shot the blood out the near the mirror and it streamed my windows.

     -What the fuck is that?

     She laughed manically. I looked at her face and shook my head while she skin popped me.

    “Why don’t we get wasted w/ the vampires?”

    -that’s my line.

      Death always went w/ the territory, big deal. Besides, in this society yr not all the way alive, you’re only undead. (like some cripple, there’s room for another misfit inside). Dash Snow, Sean Flynn, the pseudo avant garde is an intellectual Vietnam. To walk to the roadhouse I gotta pass through the segregated cemetery and I stared at the supermoon. I also whistled, I always whistle when I go past the graveyard. You got to burn to shine. You can’t hide what u intend, my love glows in the dark. It’s funny but when it’s getting close to dawn and hear the early morning “fuck you birds” I play the same lou reed songs I played in high school. The grooms still waiting at the altar. I play the same songs about high infidelity. I thought she was the love of my life; I figured we’d always be together in some fashion. Now that she’s gone I just wait for it all to end. The disappointment of positive thinking. I grabbed another lucky and watched the rain.

 

7/120

I woke up with the taste of metal in my mouth, back from the dead. Trailing the memories that once meant something, that once meant anything, panic in Morgantown, Carl found dead of an overdose in West Virginia. Royal Trux in the spectral dawn. I look at the web and I realize that this society lives in the reflection of a surreal fantasy. A counter environment that doesn’t cost anything but is also worthless. Looking for Judge Crater’s Wife: go chase the white whale Max. John Paul Sartre & Dash Snow in a speedboat baby, my appeal was denied. Why are you recording my phone calls?  The whole Dash Snow thing.

     The artist leaves a trail about how he learned his lesson. Dash Snow had a tattoo of the Pettibon cop with a gun in his mouth. “Make me cum faggot.” My favorite song and drawing.  I always walk Marietta Square, I think, I think to myself: this fucking city is RUN BY PIGS.

       Dash Snow wore the soundtrack. The painter told me that “Dash Snow could eat her dick. But wait, Dash Snow, HE’S DEAD.”

      That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. Dash Snow can EAT her dick. I’m coughing up a lung thinking about it, Dash Snow can eat my dick, but wait, he’s dead! She said She said. I know what Dash Snow’s like, he’s dead.

     Wow. That’s so fucking deep. The whole tortured strung out rich kid artist thing is Dead. It’s a cliché. Every city has that one guy that always goes “farther” than anybody else. “I need a $20 & a nickel bag of weed, yo.”

       At any given moment there’s a dozen people in every city trying to out degenerate each other. In contrast to the people who are really desperate and have to live like that because of infortune or merely bad choices. “We needed $ so we robbed a liquor store.” The rich kid can always pull back. It’s a mockery and it’s really pathetic. All these drug crazed hipsters always think they’re so smart but if they’re so smart, why is being a junky all they can come up with? That’s like their contribution to society. I’m gonna get fucked up. Sad really. Dash Snow is dead. Sean Flynn is dead. Joe Gould’s imaginary history of the world was never written. Walter Benjamin shot himself on the border. Pimp on me, I’ll make excuses.

Blooze in Baton Rouge

Blooze in Baton Rouge

Going to the liquor store at noon is dicey cos all the elderly people are out of their holes, driving like ferrets. The pockmarked counter guy is trying to sell me smokes and finally he wants to know if someone gives a better price. “I dunno, do the things have a price? I give you a card and you give me A Thing, is there some accountability to this transaction?” WHY ARE YOU TALKING TO ME??? I was making black and white source copies of these collages last night and the guy outside of Stinko’s wanted to see them and I said No and he asked are you A Blood? I ignored him as he called it out a second time. A Blood? (He spied my red kerchief, the one a rock star suggested, you need a prop she said.) Who am I talking to? Oh I called YOU. Are you still mad? Aw c’mon, y’got a real imagination Man.  I’ve been just reading & making collages. I’ve very little line editing I don’t wanna finish the 120 Loop, I really don’t; I like it. I’m planning the next book; the working title is “We talked about child abuse & Hitler’s SS.” I have a letter for you like half written in three places, the room is a mess, instead of cleaning I watched Kenneth Anger Movies for 3 numbing hours. I’m gonna try accomplish something today. Oh Jim Carrey is doing dumb and dummer in Marietta Square, I don’t know if he’s there today. Marietta is like Hollywood without the glamour. Hollywood Florida I guess.

16 oct 13

12th & Spruce Philadelphia

she lived in the red, I lived in the green.