27 December 2013

Sepsis: A New Year's Poem

Pierpont, Ventura, CA

when you are in tune with the universe’s perfection there is no need for art
i was cured all right
by god i was cured
of the witless terror that comes with a detuned mind
i cured it by stopping, sitting still, listening and being attentive
accepting and embracing all that is

shrugging off the yesterdays and never dwelling on the tomorrows beyond fleeting and casual wonders

i slept very well
people started to talk to me

but something was not quiet (w)rite.
my notebooks were empty
my guitar gathered dust
and my paint brushes were crusty with dried paint.

it was all a little too passive
for this world.
there was not much room for zen in the world i saw on the news

i had to find a way out of the complacency

so i began abusing myself
gently at first
starting late at night
a few extra beers
then in the mornings
with lots more coffee
awakening the ego
exhuming the buried confusion
time travel

I raced in traffic
I asserted myself
I claimed
I claimed hard

and then I gave up water
no more water
coffee pop beer only

no showers
no serene dips in the river
certainly no surfing

a still glass of contained water
tasted putrid
a budding sepsis

the even-level had to be disturbed
for if I was to shit out my masterpiece
it would have to hurt a little
and not in a ‘we all suffer’ manner of speaking

a racking pain in over stretched arms

I studied legs walking down the streets
I watched pornography
I pushed the limits of acceptable desires
made my life sordid
so yours looked ideal

I began to think of my birth
and second hand smoke
teachers who had fucked me over
I began to kill them in interesting ways

girls who made fun of me
boys who beat me
the boss
the parents

I placed my self at the center of the universe
stationary, isolated, disconnected, unmoving, stoic and permanent

and then I felt the guilt
gut-wrenching guilt
sweating pellets of guilt
unfit for and undeserving of, any joy-guilt

the cosmic joke
all on Me
so I could write my way out of it