Thursday, 26 February 2009

Reading Between the Lies

I am sitting here at 9:33pm where small lamp is my eyes,
I am falling behind with many things – writing, sleep, and people –
The deep depressing rooms lived with me since 1991, each death
Built in mechanically. What ghost does is what ghost sees.
I am being eaten alive by fleas.
A hair on the paper makes a shadow of me –
I am forcibly rubbing my skin for clarity: my arm, my neck,
Regret silences me because the horror of memories;
Because Christina screams out to me!
Because now I’m thinking of three people:
Man stalks another man
Man stalks woman...
Trapped now in these terrible impact talks,
I make impacts – they are dangerous paradise.
It turns to 9:54pm; the hot buzz of the halogen warms the room,
My feet are bare and veins appear in my hands from heat.
The werewolf is angry and says ‘why are you such a stranger?’
The banana is so laid back;
I am the city, I am all around,
Gotta see this city to the end,
Stuck in job till Doomsday – back in work on Monday –
Beard ten-feet long and mounting pressure of waiting still.
Dylan Moran and Basho, gotta see it,
Bout 2:30-ish, if that’s alright?
She’s busy all morning, free in the afternoon,
Comes down with glandular fever, and we’re all doomed.
“TV is shit! I wish I
Ws gettin pssed.”



I got the title from the last piece of notes I had so just threw it in as the title. I don't like it, it doesn't make sense as the title.
[This following one is the same poem with translations to some of the words. Languages used are French, Indonesian, Polish, Dutch, German, and Portuguese. It was just an experiment to see what the words would sound like:


I am sitting here at 9:33pm where small lamp is my oko,
I am falling de balakang with many things – writing, sleep, and people –
The dalam depressing kamar lived with me since 1991, each death
Built in mechanically. Ghost, co nie jest tym, co widzi duchy.
I am being eaten alive by fleas.
Un cheveux on the paper makes a shadow of me –
I am forcibly rubbing my skin for clarity: my arm, my neck,
Zal silences me because the horror of memories;
Because Christina screams out to me!
Because now I’m thinking of three people:
Mannen stalks annen mann
mann stalks kvinne...
Trapped now in these terrible impact talks,
I make impacts – they are gefahrliche paradise.
It turns to 9:54pm; the hot buzz of the halogen warms the room,
My feet are bare and veins appear in my hands from heat.
The werewolf is angry and says ‘why are you such a stranger?’
The banana is so laid back;
I am the city, I am calego,
Gotta see this city to the end,
Stuck in job till Doomsday – back in work on Monday –
Beard ten-feet long and mounting pressure of waiting still.
Dylan Moran and Basho, tenho que ve-lo,
Bout 2:30-ish, if that’s alright?
She’s busy all morgen, free in the afternoon,
Comes down with glandular fever, and we’re all doomed.
“TV is shit! I wish I
Ws gettin pssed.”

1 comment:

Luis Blasini said...

Yes, I very much enjoyed the first one. The imagery that you hurl out is shocking and amazing. Reads like Burrough's Cut Ups or prose of Rexroth but with more clarity and strength. Good job!