sitting in the grass

jon spent friendless years without any sun
friendless because he was hated for it
the sky would cloud up every time
he stepped outside the door
he could only appreciate it
from the window
what could he say?
this developed into
a reputation

to deal with the guilt
one day he went out
and sat down in the rain

he became a determined yogi

it poured and poured but finally
for the first time ever
the sun came out
and shone bright down on him
like through church windows

he wasn’t happy with this
the sun, however, was always happy
satisfied enough not to reply
-why have you hidden from me my whole life?
-out of all the people?
-what have I done?
-what is wrong with me?
-why me?

for hours he sat like this
in the dried up grass
eyes wide open
starring into the sun

until his sight became blurry

until it again became clear
and more clear
clearer still
until sight was repaired and reached
immortal perfection

jon was not a delinquent after all
in fact he had the sun
coming out of his eye sockets
whenever he wanted

he could put the rain out by moving
the clouds just with his thoughts
at night he could go outside
and light everything up
and life would have justice

he sat out there one evening
in the dry grass
the sun said to him
-what the hell is wrong?
-where did everyone go?
-I can’t see a thing.

Thursday night notes

I don’t know
what this is
the nature of
my depression
but it comes often
and I
just have
to deal with
it by
staying alive
preparing myself
for another day
getting up
in the morning
getting something
to eat
sitting quiet
writing and
thinking of loved ones
of my friends
how I’m going to
try to use my head today
and not
act out of anger
sometimes the bastards
get away with so much
but it will boomerang
the smaller pleasures
in life are:
a drink of water
writing fragmented sentences
talking to friends
sleeping the whole
night through with the
cat on the pillow
without asthma attacks
and that’s all I’ll
say for now

what’s on right this second

I will
pretend to
a channel
channel 3
of static
or the
channel guide
and preview
and forecast
what’s ahead
for you
the channel
will appear in
such as
green silver
maybe orange
and report some
local news like
the current
high school dance

mrs. johnson by the way
down the street
forgot to bring in her
trash can from the curb
the boy who mows her lawn
close by and who
does good deeds
caught sight of this
and slid it up the drive for her
passing by he noticed
the latch on her window
was broken thinking he
should fix it for her
later during the week
he snuck in that way
he was able to get the radio out of there
she would always be asleep
to poor old Rosie O’Donnell
every few days he would come back
and she never knew
later he got the TV out
which was great to him
which got boring after awhile
a year down the road
they locked him up for arson
on napkins to himself he’d write
“I should’ve stuck with
mowing lawns and robbing houses.”

reminder: this is December

carnival music tonight, perfect for going to sleep to, reading the newspaper to, for waking up in the morning and sipping orange juice to. my cat was sick today; threw up by the front door and my wife woke me up for it – it was not exactly a discovery of carnival music. she says I have all the symptoms of walking pneumonia, and the fact that I know how to spell it is also another sign. maybe. I don’t know what to write about. I’m reading Garrison’s best seller right now. I’m not the kind of person to read a best seller, but this just sort of happens to fall into place. it is December of course and I’m enjoying a slow and mostly calm mood, accepting most styles of music, even say, salsa music. Mike Patton is a master of diverse styles. Casey isn’t a fan of Christmas, the trees, lights, or any of it, and I understand. still I have a soft spot for it, and like the whole feel of it, the ideals of it. I’m horrible buying presents for people, and I hate the feeling when the holidays are all over and the year by February sinks down back into that same mindset for the city folk here. they want me to be a part of it, to describe in a concise paragraph what I have to offer to the company at large. and that, that is how you land a job, not whether or not you liked the lamp post and how it made you feel as you passed by. nevermind me, I love how the ceiling raises up right there, give me the damn job. so you go and sit down in a chair for hours and do some work. the river is close by though, and you’re thinking to yourself how living a long life just may somehow triumph over the small things that are bothering you now.

in the novel a kid comes over and tells all the adults there what he thinks they should do, all the time mumbling and never locking down on any solid point whatsoever. for the life of me I couldn’t figure out why they didn’t stop him from embarrassing himself. “he’s so arrogant,” they thought. and they were bored to tears, like the kind of boredom that sweeps over me in the barbershop with the Sports Illustrated magazines on the rack, and I’m staring at the floor waiting for the woman to call me up and she can ask me how I am, and reminds me to keep my head straight. when the kid gets home he sits down and writes them a short letter. “I’m sorry for not really taking the time to get into it with you everything I was thinking about. maybe next time this will be interesting.” I need one of those white restaurant napkins to put in my mouth and choke on.

my mind
I try to flow off
different associations
it’s a sunday mind
my wife and I . . .
which rhymes
we enjoy a temporarily
expanded cable line up
and today once I
crawled out of sleep
listening to the radio
I turned it on
I watched most of
‘beautiful girls’
which was pretty damn good
Uma Thurman’s role was awesome
my favorite scene was when this guy
convinced her to have some alone time
in a cabin and further tried to connive sex
with her by associating it with warmth and
other comfortable things –
she said how she was going back to her home town
and associated that with hope, a warm drink, good music,
and so on
in a friendly way she wound up leaving and
keeping dignity and good faith in herself

it is getting colder
jobs repeat themselves
at least around here
predict the same tired
in those who
are supposed to be adults
alter what is natural
nothing . . .
they have such happy
thoughtless lives
no ramifications

with extra cable
got to see
thank the Lord!
movies that scared
the crap out of me
as a kid
moral of the story:

I’ll change the subject
subjected to
low personality
bad personality
mock chicken
mock beef
you can eat it
and sleep at night
at least a few hours
without lungs acting up

not secure with my looks
will not become an actor
maybe a producer
maybe a writer
for now, more notes
years and years of goddamn notes
what the hell actually
gets produced?
maybe I don’t care enough
about people any more
to bother even sharing it with them
around here you’re made to think
everything you do
should be able to earn you that
extra buck and push you forward
because after all everything is suffering
everything is under the weight of a decline
who the hell has time for what comes out of the pen any more?
I cross the bridge anyway, sometimes writing while walking
I’ve done it! I’ve taken pictures of the park on the other side
the rats that my wife calls squirrels
out of denial
and I write on and on every day
every damn day whether it be a paragraph or six pages
reading also Dostoevsky, Garrison Keillor, various books on writing,
on overpopulation, the environment, et cetera.

night time writing’s obstacle is the incoming tiredness.

what happens in this life is a novel but you have to know how to write it, which I think sometimes I don’t. I don’t know how to write it like a best seller, however that’s defined. I only know how to write it like I would know how to write it, which is how? from sentence to sentence, a rookie, I admit it. journals, public journals, the audience strangers, and a few friends. wake up and do your push ups. read your good book. head out the door and keep your head up. buy a new umbrella. keep losing them.