Posted

It wasn’t a good week last week.
I had an escort and 3 binges at strip clubs in NJ.
I don’t like escorts and I don’t like strip clubs.
I don’t like drinking to get drunk.
I thought I was somewhat mentally ready for this,
but I guess not. This is super depressing. I can’t
believe I turned out to become like this. Depression
isn’t an excuse for such bad behavior, but what it’s
not like I’m happy with myself. I thought I was stronger
than this. I know I don’t need like that much sex.
Like maybe a little to survive, if that, but no way like this.
This is a psych-trip that has spiraled downward. It’s not
easy to admit a weakness, beyond the surface level. If
I am lusting for sex and shit, I need to become more
determined to seek the righteous path. I can’t go down
like this. I admit I was really scared, b/c I thought that
this is it, time has run out, I won’t get back on the right track.
And in a way, it’s true, time has run out, and I am not doing
well. How many setbacks can a person take? With this
type of disease, the shame and embarrassment are actually
compounding the chances of relapse. I need to become
revitalized and transcend this BS. Time is like an enemy
when the recovery starts. The start is very hard, and makes
one feel the impossibility of the task. As the days pass, the
worst is over, the emotions come back under control. The fear
and anxiety abate, and it’s time to be vigilant. So how come
it happens? b/c I forget; like a hurricane’s inertia. Warnings
of impeding doom will not help, but only a strong desire for
righteousness will suffice. In the moment urge and compulsion
are strong, so quick and overwhelming, like a big wave that
crashes over me. Only a superior desire for good things, like
Hawaiian song, can shield my spirit. The outlook is not good
and weakness sets in and that physical weakness causes
mental weakness. I guess just don’t give up the fight.

why does goodness, being good, not appeal so much? i need
detail? what’s good? good is good, but what’s good? not
moving the lawn, not cooking, not washing, or cleaning, not
meditating, not this or that. not painting. what’s good?! i can’t
find this strand! i need that i believe. how can I fight the urge to
just cave in and disappear forever into the darkness? it must be
like a computer program thread or something, the simplicity of just
sitting and drinking in a dark place and looking at girls dancing
must be numbing my pain away. of course it is! how can i find a
mind that wants to destroy this habit? how can i be so dumb to
think that there is love there? lust is there. what is that? it’s
pleasure no? pleasure-pain, yin-yang. how much longer?
don’t be scared. why not? i am. i know, i know it’s destroying me.

One thing, I never think about all the bad times at the clubs right
before I’m ready to go, just about the chance to be really
satisfied. This is perverted right? Anyway, that tells me my
intelligence is being hijacked by my hormones. It happens every
time. This tells me I’m in over my head too.

Author

Posted

Success can be liberating or it can be penetrating.
By this I mean put one in shackles.
Like for instance, another painting done could be either.
Another reality would be success right?
How can I transfer all my things from one to another?
And where is the time? I lost the car? Painting is absurd.
Painting in suburbia. I watch this movie, “Labor Day” on TV.
I can’t imagine how all there is and all I do. How it’s doing?
Going to Florida? Gone to Mayur’s. This space; more with less.
Beyond all that, I don’t know the state of mind is more confusing
than…like how can I feel a moment of reasonable peace now?
Where did it come from and why?

If only the real wasn’t so oppressive. I don’t know if this is coming
from luck or what, but it seems too late to convince myself.
Things just have this heavy quality. Donald Judd is smart
like that, doesn’t try to outwit this fact, but uses that too his advantage.
Of course we want light to be interesting! I don’t know why other ppl
think Judd’s work is good, but for me it reminds me of painting. If not for
that, I’m not too sure what I would find so appealing. If not to think of
the object from the painter’s vantage. Too find beauty is a cube or something,
not really sure if that’s so interesting to me.

Author

Posted

A victory without a defeat is like sport
but in life what is pain cannot be accomplished
however saddening this occurs
i go nowhere in my dreary mess head
only four-and-one-half percent alcohol
got me passed a day then another day
now i can’t find any purpose
restarts false van on bedford ave
how it happened i became so far
out of reach
now my teeth and my knee
but if all else fails just sink back
into the sand where i came from
———————————————————————
not a time for the right word
and i guess that this crime has been
word has sinned like that
no matter! superfluous role calling
benefits the finger joints. Jeans.
Oh the moon, why all the meds favor u?
sun is weaker since cannot melt the flesh
watching the Elder Brueghel skull’s
birthday cap death flashing lights like
a digital clock glowing red ember…
pie chart rags enough to choke
gun hiding under lamp shade
leather won’t melt but i can’t breathe
i can’t breathe. that’s not him but
society doing work. for the promises
of tomorrow i oblige your wish. i must.

Author

Posted

Blue like a lie
Honest red line
can’t
cuz i’m stuck in this vegetarian body
that wants to live not unlike other
death bodies
watch the black hockey player
stealing baguettes where the TV joke is
still focus enoughed to pick my brain
the pus recedes at this very moment!
but let’s not be vular, bulgar tonite
are going outstide
reading in a suit without a tie
from a paper that waves
occasionally coughs his covid skyline
you get the point. stream-of-heroes
of that, and every dumb idea thereafter
here after, beyond scared
enough change to tell a lie
i see laughter i see pizza reflections
i see a lot and it hurts my ears

Author

Posted

Each life makes its own immitation of immortality. -Stephen King

So hard to write, my thoughts are so confused.
Madness. Hatred. Lust I guess. My thoughts
they sprawl like concrete in America. Heavy
and fast. I was going to say what would I
do if it wasn’t for money? Art-wise that is.
How this culture of doom. Won’t let me be.
The town, the neighborhood. Not my home.
Never could be. The people here. Build
your houses. Say “Hey you doin’?” Talk like
that. And loud b/c they can’t hear themselves
anymore (It’s a loud place). Never enough
respect for this crew. I have been repeating
these ideas for over a decade. Any person
with any intelligence would have left a habitat
like this already, unless you are an animal
trapped in a zoo. It seems I exaggerate, but
that depends on the time of day. The hour or
minute. It is a nightmare. Girls. They are
vicious creatures. Maybe this place more so.
Maybe they have too much testosterone in
their macaroni. The children of these places
should be culled. The teenage boom is. Proud
little dipshits. Parents made the batter. I repeat
too often. Better to keep this post on top. It’s a
vicious cycle. Intolerance tested? I can continue
into some of my conspiracy, more like an evolution
of the Greater NYC Area. This always makes me
sad, divide and conquer. That leaves what? Just
black, maybe Prussian blue. Eggplant red. Channel
surf like I am immortal.

Author