I wanted to use that line from Jack’s golden eternity
Was [REDACTED] my Jack? Yes, when I was only theoretically
Beat, the psychological beatness of being in one’s 20s,
afraid of what people might think.
That’s more impoverishing than the shit I went thru after.
I have Romanticized these poor folks who know not how to love.
Dead / addicted mothers are usually the culprit
in the conscious stories of this lifetime
That line from Jack, tho
(I hate abbreviating “tho” like I hate “yr” bc
it always puts me in mind of [REDACTED]
and they chickened out and let their parents’
bullshit ruin them)
(why do I hate that? I fear it for myself)
(I’m sorry [REDACTED]
your Instagram posts made me feel bad (in my Beat 20s)):
The inner work ha ha ha ha ha ha
I like crap poetry
Jake sings from the kitchen he makes chicken soup we are sick
it is raining
steadily
I am a bowl, [REDACTED] says last night, in a charming chopped haircut,
winter sunlight vaulting in, join me,
you just have to become hollowed
Hallowing, harrowing. Last night our rich friend who acts poor
probably rewatched “Double Indemnity”
So look, I can use coffee to write things other than to-do lists
Honey-dew
The book where Jack lives is in the WC
I’m sort of locked into my desk here thanks to this weird Danish stool
It’s a pain to get up and out of this thing
Jake and I think if we eat off the floor like Japanese and
sit in Danish stools we will have younger knees longer and live forever
like the rich people want to do
except we’ll do it naturally with stuff like turmeric and ginger
and therefore have permission to revel in spiritual superiority
as well as social
We’re such good people
gosh
such gosh darn good ones
*
I stood
and walked
and found:
What name shall we give it which hath no
name, the common eternal matter of the mind?
We had a housewarming
our friends and family came
[REDACTED] brought a very fine white wine from right near here
[REDACTED] brought two enamel pots and a large ceramic bowl
Two friends brought potted plants
one I don’t remember the name the other
the name is on the pot it says
Tillandsia capitata / hermosa
We have good friends from the old days
Jake has good family
It rains and rains
in thin clear and silver-tinged sheets against the black and white sky
birds still ramble amongst the spare evergreens in the courtyard
amongst, she said, lol
I uninstalled Instagram last night
look at me go (lol)
But wait Jack there is no name to give it
why are we getting our panties in a twist
Ooh. It doesn’t feel half bad, these twisted panties
I get it now
I see you Jack
Remember the scene (speaking of my poor rich friend)
where the Constable’s men destroy the wedding of Tzeitel and Motel
ripping up their rich gift of a real feather bed?
The feathers flying meekly meagerly and like shit for what they’re worth now
all dispersed (the metaphor! the tribes!) across the dirt yard
where they had just been dancing?
It’s the uselessness of violence that parallels
in my heartmind the uselessness of one who will not love,
is too poor for it, you know the kind of poor I mean,
the richer [REDACTED] becomes the meaner (I hope not)
but no one is coaching him in generosity (quite the opposite, of course)
Love must go both ways
That is the physical principle of the element
and if you can’t feel it you’re fucked
What name shall we give it which hath no
name, the common eternal matter of the mind?
Obviously you know what I think is the answer to Jack’s question
What’s totally crazy is that in the whole excerpt
of his “Scripture” that Ferlinghetti picked Jack doesn’t even use the word
did Christian empire destroy the ability of common thinking man to love?
Am I writing worse because I read Beats this morning on the toilet?
I thought it was a funny apt place for them
They wouldn’t mind, I thought
the way I have to assume the blackbirds
in the courtyard alighting on exposed branches
don’t mind this rain coming down
*
Beats wouldn’t mind
Birds don’t mind
Anyway where was I
not the mind
My Being Beat is a subject of a diary entry or therapy session
Birds are a wornout subject I don’t even know what kind it is
It’s a Eurasian Blackbird
(See how that doesn’t really do anything, knowing its name?)
I don’t want my name
it identifies me as an outsider
it gives away my nationality
we’re not a favored nation nowadays
I hate getting coiled in the story of coming in at a deficit
hate is passionate so I am attached
I am attached to hating the story of my own attachments
sticky I turn my nose up at it
if I knew how to let go without dying I’d have done it already
I die daily
falling asleep
letting sleep come to me
I love the rain
we never had it in my childhood
I tell a person at our party
And so it has remained a novelty
Rain means no fires, I explain to people not from my place
Rain is manna from heaven
Rain is blessing
Mother Sky is rich she makes us rich
there is no feeling poorly in the rain
despite our snivels and sore limbs
we are in warm rooms
Jake made chicken soup
far from that eternal common matter of the mind
the great spiritual masters also got colds
and had to feed them
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