Letter as Art

we are under water.
not like under water
with all that scuba gear and oxygen tanks
underwater free
no help, none needed

but we can breathe.
no problem
and we can see clearly
we can talk

so that’s the setting.

now let me tell you a common story

it’s a story of details
so don’t fall asleep.

look around where you are.
put yourself back in the room
where you are reading this.

what color are the walls/
are there any cobwebs?
are there bricks,
what does the air feel like in the room
does it smell like cigarettes/

moth balls/

are there any other people
in this room?

are you in a room
if not begin by looking around and continue
if so, continue with me.

what day of the week is it
what has been the predominate thought that has been with you the whole day
is there one
and if not, why
and also if not,
were there several thoughts
or some thematic fiber
that linked your experiences during the day,
both internally and externally?
can you pinpoint this fiber and what it means?
can you explain the dominant thought that has carried you through the day/

take a minute
I will always be here

today I had a hard time talking to people
I felt like there was nothing to say
all elbows and noses
and strange body postures

where will you be in two hours
in two days
two weeks, two years, etc.

where were you two hours ago
two days ago
two weeks, two years

if this is boring you read something else.

you know where you are in physical terms

where is your mind?
is it here with me, underwater
or is it thinking about getting up and making popcorn
or making your bed
or myriad other things

do you have an itch?

are you task oriented/
are you a team player
do you dream of monsters with eight arms under you bed
signing “bubbly gum bubbly gum jelly bean  cake. jelly bean jelly bean bubbly gum steak”

why did you leave your last job
have you ever been fired
what was your relationship with your last boss
are you a self starter

do you look forward to the morning
or look forward to the night
do you revel in twilight
cower in the shadows

half full?
check or credit
car or truck
male or female
rock or country
city or county

are you a patriot
are you annoyed by parrots.


what time is it
which month
how old are you
how old do you wish to be
or wish you were

when was the last time you went to a party
when was the last time you cried
when was the last time you saw the genitalia of a lover

have you watched television today

eaten bread

consumed any drugs
alcohol caffeine and nico-teen included

have you ever played in organized sports
ever held season tickets
been to the opera
watched a big screen tv

ever read moby dick

ever done the moon walk

skipped school
beat someone up
been beaten up

been to the zoo
been to jail

been in bed for more than a day
made love for more than an hour
lost something irreplaceable

smashed a plate on purpose

gotten a wedgie or tittie twister

vomited at the dinner table

forgotten your best story
the best one
the one you could and did tell over and over again
to yourself and your friends

the one that made you look foolish
and heroic at the same time
naked and noble and without tea
or money for the train

sorry about that incessant questioning
its a poor habit of mine

but back underwater
I have a world of time
time not as currency
time as a broken switch
flicked off and on and off and on again
by a blind man who doesn’t know
the difference between light and dark
just likes to tantalize himself that way.

so here goes.


I am in my bedroom.
in front of me is a wall of paneling,
there are words that inspire me and places where thing have been
that have fallen down because of the vicious combination of gravity and humidity. there are photographs of myself and my sister in a photobooth in portland. in front of me, occupying my hand is a keypad, and in front of my vision is a screen, I look at it as these words materialize from wordless zen of soul to symbols a thru z. There are no cobwebs.
There are bricks. they are painted either navaho white or the even popular off white. they are a foot long and lay staggered on top of each other like so:

_   _
_  _
_  _
_  _

there is carpet. it is colorless like once-tan.
the air is dank and stick, Arizona on the first day of August
it smells like cigarettes, not licorice.
it does not smell like moth balls.

there are no other living people in this room.

it is Tues night/ wed morning
there has been only the theme of ‘keep moving’
staying ahead of the ball.
I do not know why one thought didn’t rule my day.

the fiber, keep moving
refers to the tapdance of real adult life,
which at this point I am only emulating.

I took a minute to ponder this.

(no response to next paragraph as it is a narrative)

in two hours I will be asleep, sleep gypsy  permit.
in two weeks I will be asleep, “ “ “ “ “ “
In two years I will be king of Spain.

two hours ago I was working the door at rhythm room,
watching Los Straightjackets play
a band that plays surf rock and dresses up like mexican wrestlers, masks and all.
two days ago was sunday.
I went for a beer at rhythm room
then went to the hidden house
and went to the neighborhood titty bar for 10 minutes.

two years ago I was In Oregon
please see the reader digest version of a life thus far,
page 43 paragraph 12

my mind is in this.
in these words.
on this paper.

it is with me underwater
I do have an itch and am worried about getting enough sleep.

I am not task oriented. not a team player.
I have dreamt of monsters with eight arms,
but not in a while.

I quit. but every job previous I was fired.
I have only been fired, with exception to the last job
my last real job?????
I am sort of a self starter about things such as these.

I do not look forward to the morning.
I do look forward to the night
(as joan baez sang in don’t look back: here comes the night whooooooo!)

I do not revel in twilight
I have cowered in the shadows

half something.
which ever I am driving for free
I am a patriot of the canon if literature.
I am annoyed by parrots
unless the speak in spanish or ask me for crack.

it is 3:15 am.
is the first day of August, see above
the year of nineteen hundred and ninety six, the year of slum lords.
I am 25. I wish to be ageless. Wish I was 19 or 20. or wise.
I went to a party on saturday night. it was alright.
I cannot remember. 6 months ago?
3 weeks back.


no bread.

three beers, smokes, mountain dew

yes. yes. yes.

yes. yes. yes.

yes. yes. yes.
yes. yes.
yes. yes. get back to me, pondering.


yes and yes.

not to my knowledge.


sorry about that incessant answering of mine.
it’s a compulsion.
I must fill in the blanks

but back underwater


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