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living rain

a collection of post-punk writing (1982)



1.

sweat on a cold page
an individual within the community
struggling within himself
economic policy for the next recession
but no mandate from the people
only irrationality - in both directions
but everyone has gone south for the winter



2.

flames;
silver flames...
and a flower
floating in water
surrounded by glass.
walls
without seams
and empty wine glasses
in the distance.
dirty brown liquid.
ice.
white granules locked inside paper
glass ovals swallow the light
redirect it
and send it out again.



3.

everyone thinks it matters
they don't realize
they're not all there is
have you ever wondered
what the world would be like
if you weren't here?
would it matter?
what if...
what if none of us were here?
(would it matter)
would the sky miss us?

we're here all right
at least i think this is real
at least i can touch my own hand
and feel it.

so have fun
tomorrow is already here;
and there are more where it came from
whether anyone sees them
or not



4.

a girl, high on a cloud
a fire cloud
i don't want to knock her down
she'll fall
fall forever
into darkness

up there
the things she doesn't know
can't reach her
can't hurt her

below my hill
all around it
millions of people
tiny heads bobbing
like waves in the ocean
a sea of humanity
they are everywhere
packed tightly together
all around
as far as i can see
except on my hill
they can't come near
they can't get in
i've built a high fence... to keep them out
(my future is already here)
can't miss



5.

in my basement
screeching
voices
images
patterns
except the words
black on a white page
more simple than the world
united
what a day
dada
somebody in asia
is eating lunch right now



6.

clouds move like great gnarled fingers
reaching
slowly encircling the earth
ready to crush it in their grasp
living clouds
the breeze from their passing
blows yellow leaves
man can only shiver
as he watches
powerless
paralyzed

rain falls ---
like tears
cold rain
eternal rain
living rain
wash away old sins
all-day rain
cleanse my soul
change is carried on the wind
but this rain has fallen before
in other places

trees without leaves
seasons in transition
birds huddle together
hide from the wind and rain
weeping willow blows
like the long hair of a woman
sighs

the wet trees remind me
of elderly people
walking in the rain
some in groups
some alone
none talking
silence

cold rain
eternal rain

and in the city
wet glossy blackness
soft red and green lines
the reflections of streetlights
gusting winds
distant thunder
blowing leaves
(i can see)

cold rain
eternal rain
sweep the earth clean



7.

pens in the ceiling; escape from responsibility! (or we try)
weeds. fly high. walk and talk.

love, after all, requires more than a few minutes. sometimes eternity.
whatever that is. in the fog, it's kind of hard to tell.
blue skies can kill; and reflections reveal much, when they crawl below.
what they say doesn't matter, but it used to.
smoke makes no difference, despite what inspires these words, or who;
you'll never know anyway, unless you get lucky.
this whole thing is more pornographic than you might imagine.
utterly and completely, but not really.
large buildings are about to fall; they crumble like society.
how can we do this?
but i'm ahead of myself; just for a moment, not for long.

have you got the guts... to expose your mind?
strip it; strip it naked. i dare you.
bells don't matter either; smooth curves do, at least sometimes.
hey! i knew someone like that! she was gone before i met her.
exclamation points are stupid; they reveal false emotion,
and pretend to drink coffee; the caffeine is addictive,
and nerves can lead to great things

i believe, whether you do or not. i can see through the smoke;
the obscuring smoke.
i'll never stop writing, even after i'm dead.
do you believe what's happening? you should (too).
except, of course, when questions arise, or when everything turns silver.

i haven't bought my christmas presents yet.
i don't really hate christmas (now i'm sure).
i hate snow but that's not christmas.
there used to be another line here.
you wouldn't believe where all this came from, but a (blank) can tell all.
black and white hides grey; and behind everything...
eyes...
eyes are the essence. the entry to the mind.
to my mind.
to your mind.
to their minds.

gloria might be my dog's idol, if she had any; of course, the egyptians have taken care of that. they saw, and anticipated,
even before the pyramids
we, like the dinosaurs, are too late.
shadows are my telescopes; they tell me about the future, the present
the past; because they exist only inside my mind.
bright lights are only hope; is there some?
hardhats protect, for now; then beautiful dances happen, while birds watch.
blackbirds.
sometimes it takes a can opener to release emotions from another plane;
where were you when that happened? in angola, or inside?
right now, blondes are having problems; serious problems.
they touch the rest; all else.

don't follow your feet, you're imagining them.
your voice is not real. nothing is real.
thought rises above all, voices disappear.
would you like to die? everyone else would, you're the last.
new ones take their places, in brand new colors.

locked inside, forever... forever...
high fences, electric shadows, rational shadows.
noise creates more noise.
like the fish i hate, expose your flesh; there's much more where it came from.
it will only hurt for a moment
or a million years.
it might stop for a little while, but someday it will start again.
druids never die.
watch out for rocks, the rapids are dangerous,
and phone calls from the desert are expensive.
flashing lights blind reality;
imaginary grey-haired men are not far away.
i can't see them yet, but i see other things;
things i never noticed until now.

i hate repetition, repetition, repetition...
meet my pet snake. he died years ago; he never needed a name.

wait! there's still more! i'm not done yet!
i'm just beginning.
because i'm the water
i'm the trees
i'm the sky
i'm the wind
i'm...
and so are you.
there's a big difference between this part and what came before;
because today is different than last night, and i feel better now.
i'm not the same as i was then, and i'll change again tomorrow;
no one can stop me.
don't try.

it's funny how you can meet people on the street
without ever talking to them
just by looking
they could all be our friends

we are the people
not the only people









Copyright 2008, all other rights reserved
November 2, 2008