I might be drunk tonight, or stoned....
We were soft and insane, looking for a way out of this madness.I was walking down the beach, seagulls shouting when i came too close, wind under their wings, they floated over my head, landing far away from civilization. Dinosaurs waiting for the next impact, whiping out all consciousness, and the reason for being alive. I will never meet you, precious child, we prepared death for you, driving cars, turning your world into a hell without logic. Do you remember summer in june, like your grandparents told you? We are the most selfish generation this world has ever known, and our grandchildren will spit on our graves. Meanwhile sing and dance, fight and murder, dead will be our blessing and we leave a curse for future generations. I might be drunk tonight, or stoned, but this I know: we knew and we didn't care.
They gave me some anti-depressives. Since i was a danger to myself and the rest of society, it somehow made sense. For 40 years i never needed them, but then i got the bright idea to go and work in an animalshelter, and after 6 months I broke down. You take six kittens, sedate them with chloroform and then kill them with an overdose, in a metal box, like they used to do with the jews. You have a fine dog, a real heartbreaker, full of life, trusting you as you are the leader of his pack. But he doesn't look that special, he's just a black mongrol with no sex appeal. Day after day, visitors to our shelter pass him by. I try to explain to people, please take this dog, he will be a soulmate forever. But he's just not a fashionable dog, and they go for a neurotic Jack Russell, or an impressive Rottweiler. And this lovely black mongrol stays in the shelter for 2, 3 , 4 months, until there is no more room to spare, and we have to put down the oldest residents. So my heart becomes a brick. I get him out of his cage, i'm playing with him, using all the trust he has in me, and we go to the vet. I hold him in my arms, while the vet gives him a deadly injection. Still I'm taking to him in a soothing voice, as nothing has hapened. I hold him close to my chest, petting him, giving all the love i have left in my body. Until he starts to swagger, then i lay him on his side, put my mouth against his ears, still talking softly, trying to give him love till the end. But then he shudders and dies. No matter how many times we do this thing, the vet and I feel like shit, surpressing our tears, trying to be "proffessional". But each time we die a little, and our "joy de vivre" takes a hit. Building up a close relationship, in order to kill an animal without trouble is still giving me nightmares. But somebody has to do it. This uncaring world don't give a shite... Maybe I'm too sensitive for this kind of work, but i know, that at least his last moments were filled with love...
Only thing is, i developed a hate for humanity, after another useless death of an animal, i just want to beat up some uncaring, selfish piece of human shit. This world is about power and prestige, and i wish i could put a bomb underneath those assholes.
Without art and a talent for expressing myself, i guess i would have been a murderer.
Only one direction and nothing else besides
I'm walking down a well used path, death before me, birth behind. There is no need to fight, nor to surrender, there is only one direction and nothing else besides.
But it's those moments. Always those moments. I filled them in desperation. I filled them with sex, i filled them with politics, with violence, with drugs, with art, i work in a shelter, protecting animals from an uncaring world, i used to be a hells angels prospect, i go and visit elderly people to alleviate their loneliness, i was an extreme-right militant, fighting police and communists, i am an old hippy turned punk when nobody knew who the sex pistols were, i got beaten up on drunken weekends and on a good day i would kick some ass myself. I write poetry and i hate poets, i publish my work on the web and i'm amazed people like it, i was kicked out of school when i was 17 and went back to art academy's for six full years when i was 29, i write words down and i'm amazed at what I'm saying, I would love a world at peace, but i get angry and agressive when i see injustice, i have a wife and girlfriends and one friend, and dogs, the only creatures who understand that i'm mad and who don't give a shite because i love them more than i love myself. And always those moments, as Richard Ashcroft put it "I'm a million different people from one day to the next..."
And djeezz, some people admire me and my work, I wish i could do the same for just one second.
This path, descending to it's final destination, and all i left behind was chaos and a vague promise of something more.
Drunk and high on pills
Drunk and high on pills, a subscribtion to another dimension.
Let's face it, I don't get many new ideas. When I close my eyes i see darkness and nothing much besides. Days in hospitals and with neurologists, trying to find a way back home. Hours searching for a shadow of myself. Minutes of doubt, seconds from suicide.
Madness is not a choice, it's a dog clutching your leg, screwing a prostitute on the loose. Eternity is around the corner, your gaze insuficient, your imagination sterile, incapable of gazing into the future.
But life is breathing, one gasp after another. Meanwhile trying to make sense of the moment in between. "I'm not here, this isn't happening..."
I wish I died a thousand years ago, I wish this moment never happened, I wish tomorrow could forgive us. Drunk and high on pills, and a sleep that will never end.