Hell Is A Place Of Loneliness
"For it is just that a man not look for his pleasure
In the forest of blood of the following morning
The sky has coastlines where life can be avoided
and some bodies must not repeat themselves at sunrise"
-F.G. Lorca, ( by way of Jack Spicer's After Lorca )
This is Jack Spicer, who spoke about poetic inspiration coming from the outside, the poet being like an antenna, or like the radio in Cocteau's Orpheus film, him sitting at his typewriter for hours for a single line to come through, no revisions ... ( The House That Jack Built )
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"Graftings create certain difficulties. The result is almost always fragile monsters: two rival heads that gnaw on each other and draw all the blood from a half-body; eagles with the beaks of doves, that destroy themselves each time they attack; doves with the beaks of eagles, that stab one another when they kiss; paralytic butterflies. Incest is common law. There is nothing they like more than unions within the same family. There is nothing they like more than unions within the same family. But it is baseless superstition to attribute to this circumstance the poverty of the results.
carried away with the enthusiasm of these experiments, I cut a trench in one from top to bottom, I take the eyes of another, I chop off legs, add arms, beaks, horns. I gather crowds which I regiment into schools, barracks, wards, convents. I flatter instincts, I cut and recut tendencies and wings. I make the round sharp, the smooth shiny, I soften bones, and ossify viscera. I dam up natural inclinations. And thus I create graceful beings with a little life"
-- Octavio Paz, Eagle or Sun?
This reminding me of my aborted project to write a bestiary, and my time spent researching them at the NY Research Library, as Fashion Week was unrolling just outside, in Bryant Park ... also, reading Gaston Bachelard's critical look at Les Chants de Maldoror, which has an entire chapter devoted to the some 200 animals / animal scenes which comprise the book, and expounding on his concept of cruelty: animals that do not kill, but rend, and tear, the eagle that inserts it's head into the body of the dragon in midair ... the interesting and, to me, inadequate hypothesis that Lautreamont wrote this book as a rebellion against the castrating influence of his teachers in boarding school ...
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( Detox ) dream where i was at Venice Beach, California, and a group of small, elegantly dressed kids led me, drunk, into a youtube-inspired attempted beating then, afterwards, I find myself in an interview with them, where they say they decided to do it because they hated my friend ( "he's friends with that Matt Cannon, from South Carolina, what a loser" ); then the surprise guest comes into the studio : Chloe Sevigny, who, after I make the comment that it's absurd that these guys are doing what they're doing ( "you are some pretty, pretty boys", she says, almost fawningly ), and answers some questions about what she feels to of merit in the genre, she looks at me angrily, mumbles something, then gets up, "OKay", grabs her purse, then heads to the door, after which I follow her, saying, "but I loved you"; and she, turning, "and how long did you love me?" tears welling up in her eyes, "years", I said, lowering her head, then following her as she steps out of the ( TV studio? ) into the sunlight and palm trees ...
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So one of the decisive factors in my leaving for the West coast is that the doorman at the Market Hotel in Brooklyn, who owns the Silent Barn, told me last time I went there that I'd mangled his hand by tackling him down their grand stairway, while being kicked out for feeling up one of the girls in Telepathe. He said it cost him $300 to have his bone set, and that he has no insurance. I gave him my contact info, which he checked against my Driver's license, so's I'm afraid he might take me to small claim's court. I'd like to help the guy out, but that would liquify my assets, and someone told him he was kind of asking for it. As for me, I don't remember. In any case, if I stay in NY much longer, I'm going to be stuck where I'm at: so, despite my fears of indigence elsewhere, in that direction must I go ...
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My last email to my father went like this: "suck my dick in hell. Love, Cris". I've written him numerous lengthy, coruscating emails basically telling him: fuck you for what you did to me, where you put me. But to no effect. I'm hoping this one will have the desired effect. That, and I know he'd appreciate the incest theme. According to Jack Spicer, hell is "the lack of anything but the eternal to look at / The expansiveness of salt / The lack of any bed but one's / music to sleep in".
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I've always identified with gays because of my sensitivity - strangevisitor's youtube of a Morrissey interview ( just scroll through his entries and you'll find it ) how I can't detox myself in my room where I live for a couple of days without them coming by to check on me, make sure that I'm not going insane -- they start rumors that I'm crying, which of course isn't true, I couldn't be happier not having to deal with the general population, and especially not the ghoul-like supporting staff that seem to enjoy nothing nore than to see someone like me fall into pain, to suffer ( I've said this before: The thing they say that hurts me the most, and that I think consoles their medicocity and self-importance the most is that I am weak, which, if you look at the details of my life, is hardly the case. Anyway, I don't get my two days alone here, much less Morrissey's 3 mos... Remember the pain caused after a rumor started in Maine that I'd done my 3 mos. in the County locked in my cell, afraid to come out -- which, of course, would've had me starve to death; in fact, I was happy to have a single cell, to which I was moved after my previous, bankrobbing cellmate threw a wailing fit after some of my spit-wad matter fell on him from my top bunk... indeed, the 3 mos. I did in there was one of the most hermetic experiences of my life - a 300 pg. "cartoon" of a novel, and some 250 pgs. a day of reading ... I exercised in the common area, did "road work" with friends on the top tier, and beat hell out of a guy who daily messed with me -- the difficulty of living such a public, open-air life, now that I've become increasingly introverted - a life that I once enjoyed, but now, in my increasingly pained mental state, having to leave my coccoon ...