I read this a few weeks ago it was at the bottom of an e-mail:
les crocodiles vivent prendant 300 ans, les roses vivent 3 jours. Et pourtant on offre des roses.
Nous sommes le dernier jour de l’année 2007.
J’ai dormi ce matin.
Je suis seule.
un luxe.
Un jour au concert de patti smith on m’a parlé de gg allen. je parle de lui parce ses parents l’avait nommé Jesus. His brothers couldn’t pronounce his name so he became GG. Some people just volonteer themselves for utter putrefaction. He, Jesus, screams on a microphone. some sort of press conference I imagine, he is very angry. people are belittling his martyrdom. He is very angry. he takes a beer bottle and thrashes it against his head throws the bottle at the audience. I watch in horror. there is something fascinating to watch someone self destruct. At one point, a woman asks him bravely why won’t he just kill himself sooner than the date he announced?
he dares her to come to the microphone to ask her question.
questions are very potent.
she does.
he grabs her by the hair.
throws her against the wall.
I am petrifed in front of my small screen.
the doorbell rings.
my friend is at the door she is holding a bouquet.
happy belated birthday...
we are the 31 st...
we are the last day of the year.
my birthday feels like it was ages ago.
jesus too was a capricorn.
he stole the show for all us capricorns.
for my birthday my girlfriend had me make my own cake. she threw herself on the ground to catch my attention.
I ran up in my wooden clogs,
éberluée.
the lights were out.
she was lying on her side in her “chute” posture.
looking very professional.
her churned painful expression turned into a blossom smile.
-souffle tes chandelles- fais un voeux-
The candles were dripping on my sloppy crème caramel.
the rasperries were red, very red.
No more breath.
no more wishes.
the little girl is thrashing around her ribcage.
she wants she wants, so much of everything and she doesn’t know what she wants, she wants it all and it never seems to come along as she wants.
she doesn’t even know what she needs.
she is the little girl and her body is on the decline.
she tries to reach out. there is so much pressure.
she wants to tell someone.
she wants to cry wolf.
but she holds back.
she is always holding back.
my girlfriend complains a couple of days later.
"my left rib feels loose."
he tells me the tale of their christmas eve: she santa in her curlers is the only one with snowshoes, her “dogs are crawling in the snow behind her.
I am elated. images like these carry me,
nothing stuns me more than what passes between people unsaid.
there is so much.
she asked me why guns?
I respond:
J’ai déjas vu des gens avec des questions dans les mains.
i was recently refused for a poetry submission. they gave me a few tips. first I must write something that people can relate to. in other words be accessible. I must not use formulas that are formulated. I must make sure I rime somewhere with someone.
I have always known my weakness in mathematics would hinder me all my life.
so it is the 31 of december 2007.
I want to make an inventory.
All my clothes lies in a pile.
I made the inventory of my clothes.
my shiny red wonderwoman star boots, are saying better tame me now!
I want to hide.
he told me his new years resolution was to paint.
he shrugged and admitted it was a weird resolution.
so many invisible strings holding me back.
I need so much solitude, even my own reflection in the mirror is a crowd.
