from WRIGHT THE BOOK, FUCKER

chapter thirty-three

—

i feel the end is near, this tale is winding down; it could go on forever certainly it could i could just keep typing scribbling sketching poeming for the rest of my life, which i know i will, but no one wants to hear all that – no one has time and after all i’m just a guy with too much time on his hands a man a feeler a healer a player of instruments and my best is in this, in worlds of words of whirlwinds of spiteful emotional bursts and ecstatic beamings of the divine… my whole life is here for you to have, well, not the whole, but most.  i cannot begin to comprehend how to end this, this book, this beginning… i am spinning.  it has to end somehow, some way.

—

but how?

with a lesson?

a conclusion?

naw…

with more UNABATED UNFURLINGS of the self.

—

GJK

22MAR12

—

Advertisement

laugh-ku

—

i’m a space-man and

time-traveler too is me

this is literal

—

GJK

21MAR12

04:22 CDT

vernal equinox 2012

—

tonight moon is chagrined

but somewhere sun shines

as marley sings i smoke

in the driveway

tiny frogs trill

the swamps seethe

with insect life

awakened early this year

—

we are running short of time.

you there, silver poet of any continent,

i see your lunar explosions

i see mercury and mars above

but venus sits here with me

in the middle of north america

—

i sit here

now speaking to you,

silver poet of australia,

i am telling you

that i love the night

but my awareness has lightened,

it struggles less, and with this

new easing of burdens

i have discovered

my own fire

my own spark

to light the void

—

i am

the blazing golden sun

—

now i burst forth

with john butler trio tunes

vibrating my entire being

—

i am now sun and moon

north and south

east and west

—

i am evolving,

the seasons twist together,

we are entwined,

everyone

—

we are running short on time.

—

GJK

19MAR12

23:33 CDT

ablutions, this morning

—

her mouth was the ocean,

i was the board

with two feet firmly planted

on the surface.

—

the darting tongue was the wind

in my face; the gleam of eyes

was the crest

—

and then the falling

thru oblivion

—

awakening upon sunbleached sand.

—

 

GJK

19MAR12

 

for word-pressed people, everywhere

—

i sit,

palms up

meditating you

meditating me

meditating all

and none.

it is over, now,

this meditation becomes

action.  this means

thank you all for being you

and for reading;

it means the world of dreams

to me

to exist here with you

in this matrix

in this void

filled with feeling.

gratitude swells within me,

and humility.

i

thank

you

again.

until tomorrow,

gjk

from GJK’s upcoming effort, WRIGHT THE BOOK, F***ER

chapter eight

 

—

go into the spare room in your place

connect the power to the machine

connect the matrix to the machine

power it up and wait.  click the icon

labeled TYPEWRITER then walk away,

find yourself something, anything to drink.

roll a smoke.  sit back down at the machine

and tell me what’s on your mind, no matter

what it is, just type it.

write until it drives you crazy

go get a refill of whatever

smoke that smoke that you rolled

who knows how long ago.  smoke it as if

your life depends on it and get back

to the typer.  write more, write brilliantly,

write terribly, write until you hate it

completely.  make sure your work is saved

shut the shittin’ machine down

and forget that you even own

a computer.  don’t look at it again

until tomorrow, and tomorrow you will

pretend you have never written a thing

in your life, you will enter the room,

you will work your guts out

you will give yourself backaches

and soul-aches you never could have imagined

before this.  but you’ll keep doing it,

dogging along until you have a couple hundred

pages.  you’ll probably think it’s useless,

but it’s better than you could ever know.

you’re too close to it—

it’s your life and dreams on the page

so leave it to someone else for awhile.

a friend of yours will read it.

don’t you dare delete.  you wrote something

worth keeping, maybe even something worth

sharing with the world.  maybe even something

worth selling.  do all this and you will

be able to pretend that you are me, so

don’t do it.  your method, i’m sure,

is better than mine.

—

GJK

13MAR12

a brief and minor fantasy

—

just as i struck the match i saw him

headed my way.  here we go, i thought,

today is the day i’m going to have to

tell this prick off.

—

“what the heck are you doing?” demanded Mr. Red Truck

with exasperation on his breath.

—

“what does it look like i’m doing?”

—

“you’re rolling a doobie in the street!”

—

i couldn’t contain my laughter or my anger

so i just went off on his retired ass—

—

“what the fuck are you talking about, man?

 did you really just say DOOBIE?  shit man,

 i’m rolling a cigarette!  i thought old people

 like you understood frugality and common sense;

 don’t you remember a time when lots of people

 rolled their own smokes?  what the fuck, man…

 all i’m doin’ is checkin’ the mail and having

 a smoke to chill out, and here you are, in my

 face, gettin’ all weird and shit.  and what

 the HECK were you doing earlier today when you

 were creeping your truck past my driveway staring

 at my car?  huh?—”

—

“well what’re you doing out here now if you saw me

this morning?” he thundered, “don’t you ever sleep?”

—

“yes i sleep!  what’re you, the sleep police?  where

 do you get off keeping track of—”

—

“listen buddy, all a did was ask a simple question—”

—

“and i’m giving you a simple answer.  WHAT I DO IS NONE

 OF YOUR BUSINESS, alright, FRIEND-O?  and another thing—

 you think you see what’s going on over here, but you don’t.

 we are triplets, actually.  i’m Darryl, then there’s my

 brother Larry and my other brother Gary.”  and with that,

i walked away, praying to jesus, joseph, and mary and

also to charles and jack that the old coot got the Bob

Newhart reference.  i doubt it.

—

 

 

*          *          *

 

 

—

in need of respite from ignorance, i went to

my regular haunt, hoping that Laura would be

working instead of She Who Cannot Be Named.

one talk with one tool was enough for one day.

as i parked the car i saw that good fortune

was in store when i saw that familiar dirty-blonde

bob floating between the kitchen and the register.

i breezed in and seated myself, content to wait

until i was noticed.

—

“coffee today?”

friendly-faced Laura asked as she

crossed the room, but i was in

no condition for more excitement

—

so i said to her,

“no, how about water, no ice with lemon?”

—

and she shook her head and grinned,

“alright kiddo, just when i think i’ve got you

figured out you go and do something else.”

—

i laughed, “well, i am something else… just

a man who knows what he wants, and how to get it!”

—

she walked away with a spring in her step, knowing

her tip would be more than fair, and i reached in

my bag for a packet of ginseng and my notebooks and

pens and sighed, centering myself.

—

with a spastic flourish, i began.

—

 

 

 

GJK

12MAR12

the apple

—

i bit the apple, i did.

to the core seeds and all

i became the apple tree

and the serpent was within.

i gnashed my pulpy teeth

severed its head and absorbed

that subtle forked tongue

i sprouted fangs

spawned samurai limbs

slashed with my blade

and eviscerated

seven devils.

—

i bit the apple, i did.

i bit ten thousand apples

and ten million olives

now above the leaves

beyond the grasp of undead boughs

in the ether i exist

in pomegranate mist

in melodious coconut bliss

—

i exist

despite the apple

despite the myth

—

i am free

again i say

there is no sin

—

there is atrocity

and terror and crime

and even shame

—

but the root is different

—

there is no apple

there is no god

to offend.

—

 

 

 

GJK

9MAR12

see

—

there are always at least

three ways to look at things.

for instance, either THEY

have trouble noticing things

or I am skilled at stealth,

OR,

THEY and I don’t exist.

or, these here words themselves

are an illusion.

or a delusion.

see

it never

ends

—

there is no sin

—

GJK

23FEB12