zensolo’s e-mailed chronicles posted by morituri.


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domingo 17…

ah. home? in th dark…demo repertoire? ‘i shall be released’, ‘bob dylan’s dream’?- couple elvis costello tunes- ‘red shoes’? um- th name of sting’s vampire tune? ‘moon over bourbon street’! -’moonlight in vermont’? ‘everything happens to me’…lush life?? ‘a cottage for sale’…male torchers, remember?…folk jazz??

0233h-viernes 15…

uf. no run since sunday, verges to jafre…no workout at all since monday. dehydrating tuesday travel. coulda, mighta, shoulda run yesterday…began move today, too much talk & hangin out…valencia last week of th month? or first days of september, then come back to pack up & go to arles…??

domingo 10- 1334h- ampurdan haiku, jafre haiku-

anxious passenger

pacing in unmoored wait

testing for fullness…

su paso carga

la menguante de huellas:

cigarra muda

…whoa…dream with shanti & josie? shanti doing a performance or showing at a gallery? andy?? (was that shanti & josie i saw once- old san juan?) why so very blank?? much less alcohol than last couple of nights- candida die-off?? anticipating return to town, having to pack, gotta get cash…? you lose th morning, you lose th day, man- damndamndamn- 1424h…not enough coffee, too much coffee…walk? run? dhea? ginseng? food?

friday/samstag 8/9- 0107h…

balls balls home balls home

as i pee my shadow

miracle moonset after midnight

…excuse me, i draw th line between spiritual & religious right here, left there

solitary puzzles…wow. a pattern mistakes drunker’n'ever, older ‘n’ever…

further i remember fiction is th key?

waning moonshadow

weaving between dry ditches

sets into daybreak

(para una que otra gina…)

soy comunista de los buenos-

los pocos, los soberbios entregados:

por hacer patrimonio y propiedad comunitaria

compraba libros que me robaste, cabrona:

Neruda Huidobro Guillen (Jorge el espanyol y Nicolas el cubano)

Pales Matos Mandelstam Hernandez Rilke Celaya…

y ahora sin saber que queda, nada permanece…

domingo 3- 0421h…

dear mr.fantasy/play us a tune…it’s over… be as a dead man & do what you will? what will? how close to dead? how like dead? …insubstantial, inconsequential, indifferent, absent, void, decomposing, disintegrating…sounds like me!

sabadoDos…1818h…a rastazen first step?

:growing in consciousness, came to realize & admit i & i be powerless over other people’s expectations of me- all their attitudes, beliefs, feelings & priorities; powerless over my own vulnerabilites- all the internalised conditionings of my contingent self, which at one & th same time urge me towards compulsive control yet make my so-called life unmanageable…

viernes 1º de agosto- 1314h:

am i being paranoid? is it something i said- something i did? could you spell out what’s going on? why th sudden stop in yr conversation when i walk up? why no hello at all? …on a larger scale, why all th friendly invitations that never pan out, no goodbye & y’re gone…? certainly seems like it’s all talk, only talk…tall talk…just get used to it, get over it? (she sleeps in a chair/in her sad America…she waits in the air…)

domingo 20- 1835h…

i was stuck in deeper ways, was i ? roberto breathing his last mientras yo sudaba frio, con un bloque de mierda pegao a las tripas…no se como dejar de pensar y pensar, con la insoslayable, automatica consecuencia de que el pensar y los pensamientos generados por toda esa actividad disfrazada o invisible me distancien, separen y hasta aislen…pienso en bolanyo- se fue roberto, se acabo roberto para que siga y continue bolanyo, se recoge, esconde, rompe quema y dispersa el entranyable roberto con la consecuencia de que bolanyo aumenta, crece, concentra sin dejar de abundar en reparticion- es bolanyo el texto que tejio roberto desde su traicionero y a la vez heroico higado, como una perversa tarantula de centelleante ironia y fina conversacion, de vagabundeo y proyecto y esquema y actividad compulsiva…que mucha chorrada nos permitimos decir sobre los recien muertos mas brillantes…para mi, el amigo que nunca fue, el amigo de mi amigo…

lunes 14, bastille dawn- 0112h-

la luna de valencia is full to burst & so gorgeous tonight. sweltering hotel room as bad as th worst of nyc in august…gotta shower down, i’m all sweatstuck together in th worst way…

domingo 13- 0113h-

stupid machines? garbage round & round? aw, party girls whooping it up on th sidewalk outside my hotel are not my young top-model dream whores come to life- they just dress that way- they’re just drawn that way…’put that thing away!’ …it’s put away, darling love of my life- it’s put away for good, it would seem…she sleeps in a chair/in her sad america… 2015h- hardly room on th floor for my abs routine. unless i put th table & chair on th bed? …vroom boom room to move…edge of claustrophobia…
i hear train station chimes, signaling all aboard…

any point- what’s th point- ‘a point in every direction is th same as no point at all’

…didn’t email alex… coulda mighta shoulda stuck around, if only to further irritate th stuck-up fat little tetona slut-princess…go back?? maybe she even works there! another drink, another free online hour…? ok, got a sexy-resentful t-shirt for my solitary aging self: STILL THE BEST FUCK YOU NEVER HAD!

domingo/lunes 6/7…city fire gone ashen mute…blocked sinkhole channels?

sabado 5- de julio…foquin mierda. hadn’t saved yesterday’s stuff- se fue con los foquin blackouts…

Written by morituri

September 8th, 2003 at 5:19 pm

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