Monday, March 7, 2011

An American Diary: 10 Images in 10 Days

There's a spot on my back upper middle near the center near the center a spot near the center a spot the size of a quarter sharp ridges a circle of pain shape of heavy metal steel burning a hole in my back shape of an ashtray, shape of an army boot covered in mud fire scabbing up beneath skin little points of pain in the center of brain the center of positive thinking, burning hole where optimism stinks smells dries up dead skin getting revenge in my delirium to see sun come up in delirium to see sun in every glass. ropes tied around body yanking me from one end of street to the other, kicking me in the side, breaking ribs bruising body pulling slamming me every direction, twisting body straining bending pulling hanging begging pleading like a rubber band twisting in the wind from the sky on electrical cords from electric light bulbs, broken glass sharp cutting no sleeping eyes blurry, seeing dizzy dreaming doping drugging, writing in darkness: sleepless but not dreamless.

Hallucinations in the dark bed in my head behind my eyes in back of eyelids. In front of brain stalking every thought, stalking wild unthinkingness the soft spot on the forehead of my body straining against discomfort my chest tightening, squeezing, a groaning depression. a moaning impression like desert rocks, the rocks of ages: dry and hot cactus scabs on my fingers, cactus blisters on my toes, cactus boils after 20 days of the color white and yellow spinning a vicious circle spitting cactus juice in my face, blinding me throwing hot dusty gravel rocks, desert cactus spikes growing out of the center of my back, color orange spinning around the cactus that is my spine from bottom to top, from the seat of the snake to evil eye of blind mule eating spikes on cactus, eating it away, spitting pain between its teeth.

Day light and no pain in a field of water flowing a soft blue river on down to the bottom back to the top, wrapped around my legs the legs of a chair. that hard spot with a morphine drip unending defending aching reaching for nothingness. Noir shadows on down my body, down my stomach flattening empty and meaningless fasting like a zen monk. (A Buddha cat slept between my feet curled up with one eye open one ear twitching.) not even making hungry noises. empty plastic bags, a lost suitcase. a wallet tossed in the bay, a broken record, homeless shopping cart. a bookcase, gas tank, the back seat of a car, an empty bookshelf. a roll of film, a big bass drum, roll of quarters, broken fingernails, pieces of paper, empty bottles, a flat tire. dirty windows, bounced checks, broken promises, floating icebergs of pain, dripping melting tasteless wetness. I built a wall ten feet high painted black and blue with stripes to match the blinds on the noir wall. fever smoke from my skin, my dried skin empty envelopes, empty houses, empty glasses black roses black gloves white rice and a torn shirt. shining boots, a pocket watch, old shoes, an eye patch, a broken radio stuck on Christian squawk. an empty bar stool, cut lip and a black eye. empty ash trays empty stomach yellow teeth brown paper bag a t-shirt, a pair of jeans, underwear and dirty socks.

Noir shadows on my wall. fingerprints in mystic rising. smells like jazz downtown where I gotta tattoo. empty and forgotten: a box full of water, full of air and a cloud hangs over a waitress walking home from the diner, walking down the sidewalk after closing, the city hungry and thirsty bloated, dry throats scratchy knuckles from dawn to dusk, from cradle to grave, grasping for air. gasping for space. grasping for something that isn't there, that may never have been but now is, and before it wasn't, and may not be again.

my zen cat priest, black cat black zen cat, little zen monk cat guards my bed between my feet on a winding road, guards my night and dark bed rolled into a ball waiting for me to return to my body with the smell of consciousness, smell of sleep, wet mail, dried leaves, herbal tea and dead mice. the spot on my back smells like drugs, grinding gears from a city bus a train wreck. the sound of zen monks, mad dogs behind a hungry Buddha cat zen monk priestly cat sleeping.

Hotel Pain near the center straining under the load. under the hood. table and floor walls and ceiling painted yellowishly pale and white, sleeping empty fasting and meditating eyes closed folded touching fingertips together pressing against the empty behind reflection of car. shadows, bus shadows, noir windows, noir shadows on a window at an angle across walls behind lights like visions in the wind. I closed my eyes, touched my head, scratched myself and sleep with the sky. pain down my spine top to bottom. the color of spinning red and white crashing screaming jazz moaning jazz on an empty wet street. going down driving ancient Buddha speeding thru my body. electricity racing thru synapses' until I taste delicate precious crystals: the sound of dead undergrounds running through my veins.

the sound of a bus from down town. wait in line with bus ticket, sliding my feet on floor the ashtrays, soda machines. iron metal seats, newspapers candy wrappers. Ticket in hand passing it off to Driver from Hell bus driving away from Pain City a block away from the Bar of Pain corner of Pain Alley Boulevard of Pain. next to bus stop One-Way Pain. I get on bus the middle curl up in a ball in the back. pull jacket over me. close eyes and sleep. "goodbye" pain "goodbye" Buddha darkness. I speak mantras to stand up and walk sit eat, to sit on the toilet so I won’t die in a parking lot.

fog runs thru mind. sinks below the horizon drifts away vapor, a ghostly haunting entity. a creature surrounding me mystic disappearing invisible. the image becoming softer translucent transcendental transformational. A creature with me every day sleeps with me beats me, torture without end now was, and is, walking away letting go of me not hanging on. aura disappearing. creature letting go of me: body into nothingness. legs not so bad. I can move them, not too heavy, not too scared. pain is gone. feeling almost normal, listening really hard..... for what? I don't know.

I saw creature standing in the corner of the bedroom. standing behind door in the corner of wall where two walls come together. There's a door on hinges hanging. The creature reached from across the room. It's a room of mist. A figure in the shadows of room, in corner behind EXIT door. I can see it thru the mirror. there's a light in bathroom hitting mirror. I can see the reflection. I can see it thru the crack where door hangs. I can see creature mocking me in the dark behind door making faces at me with a stick. ramming me with a truck. slapping me with the back of its hand. long hairs growing on its wrist up its arm. around its elbow watching me cry, looking at my face, mouth tightening. watching me gasping for air. looking at me looking at it. watching it stretch out its arms. It can't touch me but its aura can reach me spin around and touch me. aura pulls back into itself pulling away stepping back the night. behind door running away the day like smoke.

DAY 10
creature banging his fist on my head. banging his knees on my spine. banging his arms on my head. his feet on my ribs. his elbows on my recovery. packing up mind in paper bag. blowing down door to my head. flooding my legs with cement and water. crushing bones. cutting away skin pasting it on walls. biting my neck sucking blood. shark eating flesh. shoulder blades against the bottom of my feet. scratching fingernails across center of yellow sun spinning red orange. smell of tar on a roof. taste of bitter on my tongue. sky sucks the universe. Collectors from Hotel Pain at 2am whispers in my ear to pass out at 2am to bang inside my cage. the only place I can sleep with iron rod hard enough and often, deep enough to stop me from going unconscious and just enough to stay awake.