Drinking Puddles

You are safe from harm on the grid.
-Pete Townshend (Psychoderilect)

I haven't written here for so long. But I suppose that that is because of the death of midterms and now Spring Break.

The Bill Viola exhibit... some of it was like being in my own head but outside of myself. It was all so unreal...

And that other thing-- stale smoke and lace sheets dividing the furrows of my mind, gently settling and clouding and pressing their swirling patterns into a massive headache. And I frighten myself with the weights which I play with... The pillars of my life lost into the intoxication of the neon street puddles. Those very acidic puddles that I long to drink-- the filth and urine and floating cigarette butts... the smell of city and reflection of glowing lamps and blinking bulbs and the underside of every New York boot.

That is how I kill myself with each breath. It is not for James Dean, these headaches, but to press myself into the grid and become one with the pain that remains without a cause. To find a cause, have a cause, be a cause... even if cause follows effect.

The lines of memory and thus-- reality-- can always be blurred if one wills it hard enough. But regardless-- the stakes are too high so the game ends here.

Fuck! I never should have started. I should have never started what I knew I couldn't finish! My ankles are wet but it will not be my knees... (Although I long to drown).

All I know is that my head will split. Only there will be no great birth of Athena, only blood and panic and sobbing and the dreadful discovery of all of my secrets when my splitting head brings me back to the hospital and forces them to the surface. God... NO! That WILL NOT HAPPEN!

I walked today to (26th) (66th) street and let the air revive the flesh on my face and neck and breast. I let the streaks of red and yellow against the blackened dusty sky absorb into the wet, quivering skin of my lungs. I walked and walked-- part of the grid, yes. But, for a moment, without a need for infinity.

"Mixed company," the man by the bathroom said...

I have to wake up early tomorrow to go to lunch with GoldenFinch and Jake and then back to the Whitney and then to Chinatown and then to see Mahler's Third Symphony... And it's 3:10 AM. Sometimes I wish...

(No! Don't finish that.)

Oh, all that stuff about love ISN'T love. And WASN'T love. It's (was) NEED. NEED NEED NEED NEED NEED NEED NEED NEED NEED NEED NEED NEED NEED NEED NEED NEED NEED NEED!!!!!!!!!!!!

That is all that drives me EVER.

There is nothing greater or deeper or more complex. Those feelings have faded because my NEEDS have changed as part of my infinite swinging. And if it really had been love, it wouldn't be so.

But, looking on the brighter side, there have been no real thoughts of death, even though Spring is coming (oh God, I am scared!). What will happen to me this Spring?

April is always the worse and in a few weeks, here she comes!

I can't say anything about it though, because they would only think it was more fabricated melodrama. <<Pace mio dio!>>

My fingers smell like this drama and I wonder if anyone else has noticed. Another 20-something down the shoot today.

Anyway, it was a whole year ago that we were in Puerto Rico-- this was the last night-- the night we stayed up all night on the beach. SO MUCH HAS CHANGED. SO MUCH HAS PASSED!

Well, I am getting a little sleepy and my stomach is crowded by smoke that can not warm.

I think I will go...

Bonne nuit

-H-