Although every
person shares a common ultimate destiny, each person must work out their own
life, script their own personal salvation, and wrestle with the fear and
trembling that is inherent when we consider our mortality. - Kierkegaard
December
1973
dear k,
1.
Please understand that I’m so sorry that I haven’t
written. I’ve been sooooo sexually busy ... traveling, and, if you must
know, I don’t (as they say) work no mo’....
So, that’s life—my life, which is another arresting
topic—be that as it may. Maybe I’ll explain later. If I can remember to
remember?
Gosh, why’s there so much to tell, or divulge?
Anyway, how are you, darling? Fine, and in love, I hope—or—whatever—?
2.
You must tell me how is everything downtown, you know,
around East 5th and the Bowery?
That’s my old neighborhood. Please say hello t’ everybody for me because
I can’t and won’t. You see, there is no point—
3.
I’ll be in “The City” very soon. Coming up from
beautiful Todos Santos. Please note that I’ll be there—back in The Wasted
City—for some time t’ come. So, please, if you hear of a cheap dwelling t’ share,
lemmie know, okay? I mean, it doesn’t
hafta be too-too much, just sumthin with a view / always a view / one needs a
view / doesn’t one, dearie-o?
A Cheap Room wid-a-View—ha—!
4.
Oh,
you must remember historic Baltimore when we were there? The broken lights? The flash cameras? The
filthy bars? Well, sorry t’ say, there is no mo’ Baltimore—is there? It’s
disappearing, like democracy. Puff, puff, puff ... Bye ... bye.
5.
And
Brooklyn is a bitch by the way,
6.
And TIME
for NYC is ME-7-1212 /CON ED is 679 –
6700 /
TRAVLER’S AID
is 679 – 0200 /
DIAL -A -PRAYER
(in case you’re interested) is 249 – 4200 /
AIR POLLUTION
is 566 – 5534 or 566 – 2730 /
Please
DIAL as Directed—
DIAL-A-POEM
by John Giorno has been disconnected
7.
Who is Rich-art
Kidd? Who’s Sidney South, who’s a friend of Chenin Blanc with the bleached blond
hair? Who is Jerry with the false
Fellini face? Who is Tommy with the tits?... And why did Rich-art shave his head? Was it ‘cause
he’s going bald? Oh, dear me, how very very
vain / how insane. And who’s Buddy-Buddy with the bubbles? Their gayness is
coming out of their eyes / they live their lives in a box like a weed, and they
curl their tongues by the side of the bed, growing older, colder and some think
pretty mean—
8.
And in the slanted dusty night there’s tiny Jasper
Street / a little blue house in a Baltimore
alley / a sweet side street like a forgotten dream / where the rooms reek of
the devils’ weed / suicide / murder, and lost sexual groans. In short, a place
for the masses.
9.
Yes, strangers burning with youthful lust, but who are
you and who am I is whispered by the swinging doors. I sit back / laid back now
/ and I try recalling things you’ve said, but, alas, nothing comes to mind. All
I see is a big bright friendly streak of yellow star shine—
10.
At this point, I must insert something of note: thru
you ... I began t’ understand something—an insight? —into the 3rd
sex / the solo sex / the same sex—But how?... How on earth did I influence you?...
How on earth did you influence me? Or was there really any influence at all?...
Perhaps we’re reading / writing too much into nothing…. Still, you know I
didn’t quite fit into the that Art Deco frame—
11.
What on earth did your mixed friends think? Did you or did they think I was real, when I
stood watching them dance and neck in front of 1930ish smoked mirrors,
snapshots of James Dean and Sal Mineo stuck in the top right-hand corner /
1950s style rockabilly playing in the background?...
12.
Oh, the dialogue, remember: someone saying: — Tell me
about it?...
13.
So ... you create an idea … an image … an idol … then
tell everybody about it / creating a masterpiece in your head (just your head)
but your message gets out … becomes real ... not only in your head, but in
everybody’s you explain your masterpiece to.… News travels: good / bad /
correct or incorrect … and this is where the fun / your fun / becomes dangerous
/ Your delusional masterpiece has now taken on the form of reality.… You
continue repeating your hopeful delusion / mixing the usual drugs / mixing the
same music / mixing the truth with the lies / And in the background little
Suzie mutters: — Gimmie a light, quickly adding: — Oh, wow there’s Candy. Doya
know her?
14.
You answer: —Um, does anyone?.. which is followed by
giddy laughter / laugher that sounds more sad than sincere / but that’s how the
game is played … sadly, and with drug-centered delusion. Oh, gee, the
delusional drugs were everywhere, weren’t they?
15.
As you know / most want and need to be a part of the
group … t’ be somebody / maybe even an important somebody / so you butter,
mutter and stutter:
— But I love the idea of my masterpiece … it’s
mine, little Suzie Sue saz, lighting a menthol: — Oh, you are so fucked-up,
girl.…
16.
Meanwhile subject to failure / and sick of being
lonely / we ride a high that is denial and never know the difference.…
17.
— Wow, somebody who really knows saz: — She’s got some
fucking nerve, honey …
— But he’s not enough to lose your mind over … and the
air is filled with narcotic smoke / drifting around all the unanswered
questions … and you blink taking a hit / the smoke cuts into your left brown
eye and a big tear cools the burn / you turn your head / muttering: — There’s
just something about him / I dunno …
18.
Ah / this question of balance, darling, is just old
philosophy … yours … mine … everyone’s.
Timothy Resau’s
writings have appeared internationally in Lothlorien Poetry, KGB Bar
Literary Journal, Paddler Press, Defuncted Journal, New
Note Poetry, New Pop Lit, Zin Daily, Discretionary
Love, Rye Whiskey Review, Fictional Cafe, Ephemeral
Elegies, Origami Poems Project “Z”, a Micro-Clapbook, Poetica,
e.ratio, Superpresent, Decadent Review, New Note Anthology 2022
& Academy of the Heart & Mind, among several others, &
Forthcoming in Front Porch Review. Find him at www.words-by-tim.com https://twitter.com/TimothyResau
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