beat

“It’s the beat generation, it’s béat, it’s the beat to keep, it’s the beat of the heart, it’s being beat and down in the world and like oldtime lowdown and like in ancient civilizations the slave boatmen rowing galleys to a beat and servants spinning pottery to a beat… He has a face that looks like everybody you’ve ever known and seen on the street in your generation, a sweet face --- hard to describe --- sad eyes, cruel lips, expectant gleam, swaying to the beat, tall, majestical --- waiting in front of the drug store… ”



STAND UP TO A GIANT and too drunk to know, to remember, to realize, ah well any of the damage that it would evoke, the giant, that giant, the one slam, bam, cheek burned, turned red, bruised ugly, still a badge of honor, smile, at least in my book, and my face, my charm, disarm, never looked better, cameras galore, ah! what self-important clamor, glamour, I’m just the asshole that looks down on the rest, distress, digress, only because I think I’m just so wise, atheistic calm, this is my charm, smile on my face, looking down, just because I’m sacrosanct and irreverent, flexed jaw, shaking my head, simply, slightly, you really can’t match me, my special brand of sanctimony, and I, so cavalierly, walk around proudly, knowingly, intelligently, the idealistic dreamer, stupid, moronic utopia believer, but only in the ways that profit me, the ways that mesmerize me, all the selfishness of blasphemy, ah me, oh please, this is the magnanimity of my individual fate. I see everything, even the things I pretend not to see, the burden of a seer with not much to see, makes reverie, an all-important prophesy, but I never cared about such insanities, I’m more about realities, but notionless, painlessness, the nameless nothingness of real life tends to bore me sensationally, and nobody adores me, like a Shiloh I want more, the world to revolve around me, haha, so Shiloh-esk in my wants, and the rest, they don’t care for more, I don’t know why and I won’t pretend to buy into all of the useless, pretentious shit that is cast out and cast off to the world around me, society, they are useless virtue ethicists who just want role models to emulate, let’s castrate all the followers, they don’t have any powers of intellect, no phronesis, the thing that meets this and maybe signifies frontal lobe capacity.



SAME STORY EVERY NIGHT, ah! night after night, wake up at 3 something, is this what we play for, pray for, animals prey for actual things, we just ruminate and frustrate, we know nothing, want everything, stupid playthings, tiny little simple things, and all this noise is still ringing, my ears deafening, it’s 3 am, and tossing and turning, is it anything, or nothing, all the fears manifested, the things I don’t want pestering me, festering within me, all the criticisms of another day, after me, saying to me, this is your destiny, I don’t care about prophesy, hardly care about veracity, tenuous hold on reality, are they really after me, for the things I said in blasphemy, while I was drunk and they were prodding me, for a quote they could publish, ah sensational me, is this what’s left for me, empty vacancy, I hate non-negotiability, free me, devastate me, placate me, I’m up for anything, this all bores me, and now I’m repeating things, night after night brings, the same old destinies, it’s 3 AM again, nothing is different, I’m still obsessing over yesterday, another day, the dawn doesn’t inspire me, not like it used to, I’m used up, another sucker after money, just so I can function, have the simple things I want, rise above the stupid little debt I made when I was twenty-two, nubile, youth, not thinking about the future, this future, all the things I would have to pay for, the bore, what a chore, I’m still after the everything while they suck all the production out of me, every cent, it’s indecent, but I’m not supposed to complain, embrace shame, just because I signed my life away at twenty-two, such abuse, how are we supposed to use, any of this to grow, mature, endure all the stupid little silly things that we have to, I’m not sure, but I think I want to fuck the system, inspire them, embrace the realm, the nowhere kid that I’ve become, until we are among them, or fuck them, either way, I’m complacent, indifferent, insignificant, isn’t this the nowhereness that we all inspired, the riot, only glamorous when they cover us, only glorified when people don’t fuck us.



MY FRIENDS SAY ALL SORTS OF THINGS, some about me, critical, anti-revolutionary, I mean anti-revelatory things, things I already know and sort of already have admitted to myself, one way or another, but oh well, things like ah hmm, well Lux is only dating that guy and fucking that guy and being with that guy because he’s hot, or cute, or whatever, not clever, she doesn’t dig him, not like she should, she just digs shallow, unimportant things, like looks and money, really just looks, and I guess that’s right, correct, on point, at least sort of kind of, because I would get with a hot guy but I wouldn’t get with an ugly guy with lots of money, but I’m also really just uninterested and unimpressed with the rest, at least so far as it seems to be absent in its entirety, a nonexistent threshold of hypocritical, fiendish, antisocial society, but of course at the same time, me such a ridiculous contradiction, do so want it all, at some point, the hotness and the personality, the ambition and the prosperity, the money, ah the whole fucking package, oh fine I admit it, and I don’t want anything less, a compromise, no thanks, all these boys, ah geeze, c’mon, there is always something wrong, they’re not that hot or not that smart or bad conversationalists, or bad in bed, or afraid of the dark, yeah that happened once, and also I am so completely disillusioned and unimportant, irrelevant and disconcerted, disconnected, malcontent, all the lines of the spectrum, and I don’t give a fuck about anything at all, and I’m also paranoid as hell, yeah really fucking paranoid, stack-all-your-furniture-up-against-the-door-in-the-height-of-night paranoid, really worried about the wrong kind of people coming after me at the right kind of time, making success, unrest, ah me, I detest this feeling of being so unnerved, perturbed, disturbed, and it doesn’t help that in the middle of the night, the right sort of paranoid thought descends, a trend, and I can’t think of anything else but the thought, the certainty, that we are all going to die, that we were all born to die, to become this gray sort of ash, we will be nothing more than the Earth, dirt, I can’t assert how terribly awful that realization makes me feel, especially in the middle of the night, vulnerable night, panic, heart racing, type of middle of the night revelations, and then the realization comes, I’m gonna die someday I just know it, I’m working right now toward my grave, as we all are, and my life means nothing, it won’t make a sound, no history to save it, I’m never going to make it, and even if history could save it, it wouldn’t even matter in the long run, the big scheme of things, because I’ll be gone and everyone I ever knew will be gone too, ah the mad disasters of chaos forced upon us, I hate it and yet only getting high can lessen the blow of it all, such a ridiculous disconcertment, we are fretting the same kind of stuff they did in the forties and fifties, it never ends, and even the realization of truth, my soft tan skin will one day decompose, fill the dirt, and be nothing more than compost, it can’t lesson a burden because how can I possibly thrive or even survive with that knowledge on the forefront of my mind, making me know it, the kind of stuff that makes me gasp at fucking 3 AM? And now, despite my raving, conniving, diving into inner psyche for reasoning, trying to believe in something, once again finding nothing, I’m still trying to have the good life, take advantage of everything, the absence of nothing, is writing a something, I hardly know how to respond in kind. To be honest, and I think I should, I imagine writing to be a nothing, but that’s a different thing, or is it a better thing, a thing i want, or think would be cool, too cruel, I don’t know, whatever, nevermind, it’s just a rip-off of Nirvana anyway.




I’M SUCH AN ASSHOLE, mostly in the way that I cannot relate to any other person, no matter how hot he is, and I have no interest in engaging in the things he wants to, the things he finds important, no real interest in finding a guy for the long-term, the short term is long enough, and it never mattered much to me if he was nice, I’ve been hung-up on hassles for so long, hotness matters more than niceness, attraction, chemical, seminal, electric attraction, can’t say enough for, what matters most, hotness. And really there is no point writing this down, starved in waking hours, tormented in sleeping hours, struggling to do things at once, survive and make it, and I’m only surviving and only barely, and all the things I do to survive the days haunt me at night, and I run so fast and so hard I start thinking, like Kerouac, is death really the ultimate reward, a time to rest, relax, no longer struggle for meaningless accolades? Is it unanswerable, like so many other questions and ponders, wondering things that don’t matter, that never mattered …