Buoy the population of the soul
Toward their destination before they drown
~ Robert Pinsky
March 2024
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Saturday, 25. January 2003


The conversation stops, it's must be doubt travelling up your gullet, it must be hard to breathe I know for I have been trying to breathe since ages, since the time of Genesis. Do you know what love is? And do I even know? Is love shaking our booties in some late night dance club, our minds sinking in alcohol like two Titanics or the cloth falling from our bodies as we fight with our potent animals to move towards that point when everything tunnels to a single point of explosion, orgasam they call it, inaccuracies in the terminology, this sam has less to do with organs and more to do with the motion of Time, we can't move back or forth, we are pinned down by this fury which is building in our bodies, but is this all love is? I am shameless to ask such questions, but hell I want to finally know, know what is reality and what are the shadows? Let's throw out fuzzy theory over the wall I won't take probablities anymore. Life is too short to take bets on, let your yes mean yes and no a no and not yes-no or no-yes. If you don't have confidence in me, then I won't have confidence in you, faith is a piggybank in which you need to drop your quarters too, not often but once in a while, walking in this valley is never easy, the Red sea is almost waiting to breach the dykes, don't you hear the roar? You are scared of tomorrow, shit I am scared more, even more. So what do you want to do babe? Sit and quake in your shoes? Or hit the road and run like hell? The highways glisten like swords in the winter sun, it hasn't snowed here yet and I wish it doesn't this year for then the contrast would be too much to bear, red blood, invisble now but covering all these tall buildings spilt from all my wounds, I who travel in this land of semi dead and semi alive, that red blood will make all the white snow turn into ruby crystal, I don't know too many things and I am not certain of anything anymore anymuch. Has persistence become an old fashioned thing? Or is it because there is so much choice, we are the nation that demands choice, in our clothes in our cars what we eat in the condoms for the dicks and in the pussies for the dicks. I think I don't get it but then it might not be that difficult, all I had to do once was push my bones and let sweat annoint me and there was a hoe dancing around in circles and I knew exactly what she wanted. What did I have to do, take her to the backseat, spread her out and fuck her? Is this the glory and is this the fun I hear so much about? When has life become science fiction? Am I Captian Sporck who has lost his spark? No I don't think so, even though I have dug graves in my mind put people into coffins and shovelled dirt over them, there is almost no space left inside the graveyard now, the dead now have to be fried in a oven, easier now much easier,I got myself a Phd in slash and burn, that shit in Vietnam, naplam or was it Agent Orange, is just child's play, remember that girl naked running down the field fire burning on her back? We did it, I opened the nozzle and said let me fry some flesh let me barbecue, I am damn hungry. And when I was shipped back home, I heard screams woke up in a sweat and found tears running down my cheeks. I realised I can be human too sometimes as I can still cry. Maybe my scars are just invisible, maybe I wear my scars now in my DNA, this sequence of ATGGGs show how much we fucked and how much we fucked up. So don't shut up now, so speak, the conversation is all yours, you own the floor!

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