Account Of A Headache from “The youngest barfly yet.”

…Often the question is whether it’s you, the world, the noise around you- you dont know and you can’t ask and if you did, you wouldn’t want to know the answer anyhow… -am I cold or hot or over-caffeinated- is this the headache of the world? is it real and whats that smell? and where are all the people and sights you’re used to seeing- why is the whole entire land so quick and firing? -Is my cat meowing? In the dark–alone?  Or staring from the small portion of the window at the surrounding crazy world he jumps back from- my         head         aches     head          ache        my    head       ache

and all the constant voices of all the people and busses and psychotics

crazed by unreal noises and anger towards nothing and everything

and we’re always forced to change benches and faces and homes and ah-

the world so somber yet so loud.

all the rats, and what they have to say, and where they are going to say it

I just wasted $2.25, a shame. Can’t quite consume, gone, into the trash. Goodbye, you vox pop liqour tasting ethiopian…can’t tell if I’m tired or you made me that way, anxious anxiety scared of the busy streets and clinging to park benches, just as loud, but a little less cramped but I suppose you could call it adapting.

Walking the walk- talking a quick talk but all the movement and rush! I can not keep up.

non breath filled

subway rides

near wall street at 7pm / Hell. Horror.

and I’m about to step right into it!

Manhattans financial district and all the dressed up suits and well skirted women all excited for the end of a days work and plunging into the weekend- no matter the vice, or habit or lack thereof.

they all gather in the center- ready, ready for their two days. Catch thrills- take pills- walk about, oblivious and feasting… there are only so many lives to live and things to greet and they want them all, the pretty ones anyhow, never mind the undazzled youth or dying/ old/ aids and staring – remark the shine- captivate the cafeteria- reminisce EVERYTHING! But remember- do not look at anything for too long or stare hard into the direction of the eyes of another homo sapien- do not stare into his eyes. Taste the core. Find the adjective.

Don’t eat around the apple.

THE ALIENS

from The Last Night Of The Earth Poems

you may not believe it
but there are people
who go through life with
very little
friction of distress.
they dress well, sleep well.
they are contented with
their family
life.
they are undisturbed
and often feel
very good.
and when they die
it is an easy death, usually in their
sleep.

you may not believe
it
but such people do
exist.

but i am not one of
them.
oh no, I am not one of them,
I am not even near
to being
one of
them.
but they
are there

and I am
here.

-Charles Bukowski

Oh now where are you now

Bip bap boom biddily- well I supposed I would give it a shot, turn on the moon, put on some charlie parker and see what I could come up with- I’ve been sky-rocketted now by some horrible congestion, low on the weather report, you could say I’m falling apart but that’d sound all too sticky and lacking romance- now. wouldnt it?

Charlie Parker, charlie parker such life he instilled onto the beats, into our hearts I can hear the saxophone moaning with the quick sah-shay of the moment he played it in- and I’m in combat, always in combat with these stars, with my mind with every worldy thing surrounding, such gorgeous trees, trains, people with all their obstacles and busy movements constantly, constantly, getting on trains and running to all these places that are all in the end, the same. I wish I had a moment to stop you. I wish I had that small fraction of a second to calm you down and make you look at the tree- all its glory with that way the sun hits it right now in the middle of a dull afternoon slaving over just another paycheck and another toy to invest your success story into-

I am barely man. I am barely a twinkle twilight moment in the stars, the trees stand by me and I am, surrounding myself with gluttony. I am afraid I am not man. I am afraid I am not me. Not like Charlie Parker was he, or the moon is rock or the cat mrrows as the day passes, oh I am none of these things. I am fingers working busily in the night not thinking of their next move, I am moments blinking, unconcious and concious thought attacking one another always on this race track, packed with automobiles, constantly squabbling- always jumping exploding, getting angry, passing by one another rashing in between morphing congregating oh all these thoughts are enough to make a schyzophrenic man blind- I am I am I am I am I am man but I am not man in the general space and inquiry of how one man must be- I am I am I am I am woman but I’m not woman I’m human- just plain lost ol sad me in the space and time of space itself spaciously speculating how much air there is surrounding and none of it seems to jump into me or recessitate me as gosh I wish it would- this congestion, this depression, this louding bippidy bap boongee I am not all too set up for unless Iose my spirit for anguish and jump into just one moment of typing every sing thought that jumps into brain like flea on cat and mrow jangle sad depressions of a lost age and a recent past and oh, what can I say I’m still there

BUT LISTEN TO YOU LOUD POETS MOAN

in the dark

or wherever it is you hide, i can hear you doing what you do, utilizing finger points and wrist abilities and mind thought concious jingles of the ever working man and enslaved human by potential and neccessity.

 

YELL
HOWL
SCREAM

WHO

GIVES

A

 

 

Charlie Parker. Charlie Parker.