(no subject)
easter with evan's family -- and i mean WHOLE family, like doing the rounds n' shit -- starting in 45 minutes. i haven't recognized easter since probably junior high.
this is going to be interesting.
more when i get back.
oh but PS, i "finished" the vienna poem:
Viennese Tourism in the Off Season
Vienna if secrets were to slice you open, the guts of you might
stain those white walls, the park where children play by day, throwing
tennis balls in the cold cloudless morning, polished streets flooded with
red tide. Even the silkiest coats reveal an animal when skinned.
Streets at 9pm are as empty as a threat as electric
as a premonition. A step off a bus into new country Austria, no place
yet to sleep but looking, sneakers silent on thawing sidewalks, eyes
wide but not knowing how to look, not understanding what to see-
buildings High Gothic forever goose-stepping out of line of tanks, history
gone missing, eggy moon haloed glowing through thin clouds.
I'm festering, scattered and undetermined -- full bladder filling the space
where my spirit of adventure normally sits. U-Bahn station, West Vienna,
bathroom free and open, harmless and normal and behind a door of infinity.
Inside, the wrists of the city are slit and eternal.
Blood on the walls dripping dripping sprayed a mist
blood on tiles wadded soggy paper crusted bloated bloated
in the sink yellow sticky something needles wrappers
in the toilet blood syringes blood a future blood disease
on the mirror smeared hope smeared past blood blood-
Door opens, universe halted, eyes span room and new reality, I walk in exploded
this is life somewhere, this is everyday people for someone and maybe
I just missed a murder, maybe the body was just dragged off, maybe there is
an old friend convulsing on harsh Viennese sidewalk somewhere, hiding
from the neon, tucked away behind the subway station, U-Bahn,
maybe it’s hard for people to be ok ok in a world so pockmarked with history.
Streets outside glowing hot pink and green, soft
neon, deep sea florescents pooling through thick night air.
Inside somehow darker. Inside walls collapsing with heavy fate rupturing
pipes and weeping through lead paint.
The door tin dented like kicked like fought like locked in
my blank stare back at myself, pants down, squatting don’t sit don’t even look!
Needles by my feet needles piercing pupils staring staring can’t stop looking
I am an apparition of myself. I am my ghost staring back, the piss stain, the historic
truth found- If there was a murder it could be me and could happen as easily
as a clock chiming, as 10pm hitting, as a bladder giving way. My blank stare
back at myself and I am not longer what I once saw.
Vienna what have you done to yourself?
Vienna where are your girls?
Is your washroom breeding Bolsheviks or viruses, heroines or heroin addicts?
Blood sticking to sneakers seeping in through rubber sticking spots
red red black red damp crusting fresh old--
Veins impaled with hidden truths of culture, fate behind closed
doors, the unlocked public bathrooms and maybe it was only
a secret to me. A thing the travel agencies choose to leave
out, like the inflated cost of soda, the slaughter of the underclass.
Even the silkiest animals dye their fur coats red when slit.
Outside the prostitutes shiver under early March street lights,
cars drive by and no one honks, not even whistles,
high heels click like calling a horse, click like
not running away, click like light switches turning on
in subway station bathrooms, thousands of hidden realities in this dark Spring.
this is going to be interesting.
more when i get back.
oh but PS, i "finished" the vienna poem:
Viennese Tourism in the Off Season
Vienna if secrets were to slice you open, the guts of you might
stain those white walls, the park where children play by day, throwing
tennis balls in the cold cloudless morning, polished streets flooded with
red tide. Even the silkiest coats reveal an animal when skinned.
Streets at 9pm are as empty as a threat as electric
as a premonition. A step off a bus into new country Austria, no place
yet to sleep but looking, sneakers silent on thawing sidewalks, eyes
wide but not knowing how to look, not understanding what to see-
buildings High Gothic forever goose-stepping out of line of tanks, history
gone missing, eggy moon haloed glowing through thin clouds.
I'm festering, scattered and undetermined -- full bladder filling the space
where my spirit of adventure normally sits. U-Bahn station, West Vienna,
bathroom free and open, harmless and normal and behind a door of infinity.
Inside, the wrists of the city are slit and eternal.
Blood on the walls dripping dripping sprayed a mist
blood on tiles wadded soggy paper crusted bloated bloated
in the sink yellow sticky something needles wrappers
in the toilet blood syringes blood a future blood disease
on the mirror smeared hope smeared past blood blood-
Door opens, universe halted, eyes span room and new reality, I walk in exploded
this is life somewhere, this is everyday people for someone and maybe
I just missed a murder, maybe the body was just dragged off, maybe there is
an old friend convulsing on harsh Viennese sidewalk somewhere, hiding
from the neon, tucked away behind the subway station, U-Bahn,
maybe it’s hard for people to be ok ok in a world so pockmarked with history.
Streets outside glowing hot pink and green, soft
neon, deep sea florescents pooling through thick night air.
Inside somehow darker. Inside walls collapsing with heavy fate rupturing
pipes and weeping through lead paint.
The door tin dented like kicked like fought like locked in
my blank stare back at myself, pants down, squatting don’t sit don’t even look!
Needles by my feet needles piercing pupils staring staring can’t stop looking
I am an apparition of myself. I am my ghost staring back, the piss stain, the historic
truth found- If there was a murder it could be me and could happen as easily
as a clock chiming, as 10pm hitting, as a bladder giving way. My blank stare
back at myself and I am not longer what I once saw.
Vienna what have you done to yourself?
Vienna where are your girls?
Is your washroom breeding Bolsheviks or viruses, heroines or heroin addicts?
Blood sticking to sneakers seeping in through rubber sticking spots
red red black red damp crusting fresh old--
Veins impaled with hidden truths of culture, fate behind closed
doors, the unlocked public bathrooms and maybe it was only
a secret to me. A thing the travel agencies choose to leave
out, like the inflated cost of soda, the slaughter of the underclass.
Even the silkiest animals dye their fur coats red when slit.
Outside the prostitutes shiver under early March street lights,
cars drive by and no one honks, not even whistles,
high heels click like calling a horse, click like
not running away, click like light switches turning on
in subway station bathrooms, thousands of hidden realities in this dark Spring.