Sunday, February 10, 2008
Notes from the underground. Or: I Can't Stop Blogging You
Crack in the egg department.
I am very superstitious about frying eggs first thing in the morning.
That is exactly the first thing I did when I got my Dear John while living in Mexico.
Crack in the egg.Crack in the mirror. Crack in the marriage.
Hank Williams: "A false goodbye
A life is shattered"
Fragments of my own poetry:
He saw the teardrop on the rose
And again he saw the teardrop on a rose
And he knew he could never melt the teardrop
And he knew this was already the end.
So he kissed the face of the evening wife
As he had kissed it before, in all its varying forms
And again said hello to the precipice of silence
A precipice of silence
For his eleven years of loving...
L never said what she meant.
But the "goodbye forever" note hit me hard.
"You are crazed," said the woman across the breafast table.
Yeah, crazed. Crazy in Mexico.
Ivan in the garden. God come to collect.
What are you doing, Adam?
All this iconoclasm in this age, The Matrices, the DeVinci Codes, attacks on Christianity, attacks on Judaism.
And we stupidly let someone take our immortal soul, a damn precious thing to lose.
Mesopotamian wisdom thrown into the garbage heap.
We think we know so much.
Keep it in your pants, little pagan.
The garden of Eden is the marriage bed, that's the story, that's the whole story.
And the serpent is the other guy riffing your mistress...Things happen to us and it is only thirty years later we realize why.
And somewhere in there is Master Dante:
You feel bad after what you did, but after another glance at her gleaming limbs, you will want to do it again.
Fly away home.
The sheep's in the meadow
The cow's in the corn.
Running back home to kill somebody
Leaving your mistress in a a trail of heartbreak and intravenous tubes. You made her sick.
But God works in mysterious ways. Some would say, "The Bastard!"
You don't snap the string that easily. You left her high and dry and you have to reach back and rescue.
Floating in space in an airplane over Dallas-Fort Worth.
That old Danish muffin Kierkegaard knew something.
Maybe better than Dante.
Kramer vs. Kramer.
As comfortable with one woman as the other in moments of synchronicity.
Flying over the World Trade Centre on the edge of Manhattan, which is shaped like a giant aircraft carrier.
Not for nothing Starwars and the Empire striking back. Tie fighers and X planes that never scrambled.
People in power even stupider, more immoral than you.
Bad decision when you get home.
You should have gone to a hotel and not straight home.
At home you catch the wife.
What was good for the gander...
On the surface, everybody so well groomed and middleclass.
Seething adulteries underneath.
"Get over it," sing the Eagles.
How hard now to place one step afer the other.
And yet the highway is strewn with innocents.Distant cries of distant tragedies. And their tragedies are larger than yours--and they hadn't even done anything to deserve bad things happening to good people.
Fate doesn't seem to give a shit,and only rarely is it fucked
Seems one has tried to fuck fate. Stupid Hemingway, his mother's head on his father's shoulders. Tried to fuck fate.
And fate knew more wittingly than he.
And yet something keeps us alive.
This time a myserious hint.
I fry eggs.
Oh do I know L and her ways!
Girl, you really had me going.