zensolo’s e-mailed chronicles posted by morituri.

Archive for May, 1999

hebdo.amStrand: difference a day makes

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Wednesday th 26, 05.1999 (17h14) mittwoch: midweek midmorning heats up into midday, sinks into th midafternoon

of midlife… is this song over? what’s left, then?
th winds blow hot but gust cold
as fast approaching first of June
brews midyear tropical storms in th midatlantic…
prozac season is here again…
th braces have come off & my receding gums reinforce th feeling of being fourteen going on sixty-five: years of

negligent dental hygiene have taken their toll in creeping periodontal disease…
Friday th 28, 05.1999 (11h56) hey, love of my life! is yr beauty finally up from its slumbers & on th march of

* because paradoxically & ironically enough, yr prince here has nodded out in th face of his frightfully fading

charms… our places have been switched, our gender roles reversed while we blinked furiously, struggling to

focus our attention & seeking to recognise an ally of our desires among th shadows dancing in th twilight…

oh, are you a tareyton smoker? wd you rather get yr eyes blackened for staking yr claim to one constricted

lungful of pleasure than be wholeheartedly thrilld @ th renewed opportunity to breathlessly peel off layers of

proudly hardened cultural callus from our wary pink innocence? listen, here, now, listen: every fiber of my

being calls to you-asleep or awake, frequency vibrating out & up to a blinding, deafening ring beyond cosmic

fusion or down to a single flat cycle wave beneath th threshold of sensory perception-stripping down to my

sunset silk thong in th crowded dakar dance club only to surface into some hungry daybreak hole in a frozen

nantucket pond of my dreams every tinymitochondrion hums its energy furnace w/out a moment’s rest-fueling each

& every living & dying cell in this curving body to its perfect dissolution-every dancing helix, every bonding

burning biochemical enabler hones th spiritual electron stream of desire home to yr name all you need


Written by morituri

May 28th, 1999 at 8:42 pm

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hebdo.amStrand:verLassen verLangen…

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Friday th 21, 05.1999 in a way, I’ve gotten my wish- what passion I can’t channel thru action or burn as fuel

for th higher flame of aspiration, I bleed out- but th flow & release don’t seem to be so much about how desire

works itself out thru a particular physiology of life processes- as women’s menses could, arguably, if not from

a totally unconventional perspective, be seen as doing- but about losing my grip in th struggle, th very

process & effort of holding back, seeking to harness & channel desire itself-desire like a swirling hot wind of

stubborn, enduring youthfulness that keeps me ever hungry & parched w/ thirst…
I bleed, I bleed for no direction/home…for endless suspicious bargaining, jockeying for position in seeking

to allay anxiety & assure security & comfort…I bleed for th pressure of worldly circumstance- for sheer

seasonal heat, for th single glass of dense red wine, th spice of life, th potstill spirits- for fear of

flying, displacement & abandonment…an aimless point/like a rolling stone… desire finds no home in my body,

no avenue out…settles into my gut, circling into itself, & seeps out, mingled in sweat, urine, feces… th

doctors are baffled by these symptoms- there is no cause for alarm, they insist:
I am in th best of health…it is merely an unnerving embarrassment-noticing, as I stand up, th spot of blood

on th finely upholstered chair I’ve bn sitting in, in th lobby of th investment banker’s office…
lavv, d=(8{>

Written by morituri

May 22nd, 1999 at 10:34 am

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hebdo.amStrand: hot again

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Friday th 14, 05.1999 (19h29)
too early in th year, th weather has turned sultry.
hot air blows out of th south in desultory gusts. rafa valle’s horses are whinnying (neighing?) in th gloaming

& th oily full tide slaps against th seawall… th latest-last straw just added to my tinderbox of frustration

& sweltering anger: compuserve ‘unexpectedly quit due to a type 2 error’- precisely when I clickd to save my

earlier writing draft…
it’s been a week. mother’s day I spent on th phone to apple, in not-too-fruitful troubleshooting. my cute

little rented imac started crashing on startup a week ago yesterday, if memory(!) serves me right- would not

budge beyond th smiling mac, would not so much as begin to breathe a glance @ th ol’ system.
tony’s mac, th reseller I rented this priceless jewel from, neglected to include th system software cd’s in th

package, so I had to borrow my friend maria’s disks-she owns this baby’s exact lime-colored twin…
so after all th disk first aid repair, update drivers blah blah bullshit in dialogue w/ yr hardworking apple

tech drones, we get to restoring system software… and then again, later in th day, after some lunch @ uncle

oscar & marian’s, reinstalling a second time- a full clean install this time, after trouble continued… &

trouble, indeed, continues: th rest of th week has been a mess of continual desktop rebuilding after endless

compuserve & netscape crashes, broken connections & interrupted downloads…
I rented this machine to take a break from my troubled powerbk 5300, still running system 7.6, hoping to catch

up on some work while checking th new improved mac os 8.51 out… as alanis sings, ‘isn’t it ironic?’ this is

th new apple, th new mac?
* so I continue to take deep breaths & consider taking a chance on learning to deal w/ th alternate quirks &

troubles of th wintel world…

meanwhile, th plans & projects I call my life are up in th air & on hold… I’m exhausted, all my wishing will

not make any one dream real & th marketing savvy & negotiating hooks necessary to enlist th moneymen’s energies

& allegiance seem to elude me… will I make it to europe this year? will I visit w/ my brother peter in

weimar & enjoy any of its offerings as european cultural capital @ millenium’s end? will I walk th pilgrimage

route to santiago de compostela? will I decide I’m ready & can afford th ny film academy’s six-week intensive

film production workshop in paris?
to quote th anna karina character in goddard’s ‘pierrot le fou’,
‘qu’est-ce que je vais faire?…je ne sais pas quoi faire…! qu’est-ce que
je vais faire?…je ne
sais pas quoi faire…! qu’est ce je vais faire?…’
(a suivre…)
l’amour, toujours- d=(8{>

Written by morituri

May 15th, 1999 at 9:45 am

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hebdo.amStrand/daily accretion

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Wednesday th 05, 05.1999 (21h44) maybe this is a crucial, integral, essential part of th process, a good sign

of being on th right path, a positive first or second or third step along th way, but it certainly is

bewildering, confusing & oftentimes frustrating…is it something new? maybe it’s merely a personality quirk,

one particular level of conditioning & illusory rationalisation…there doesn’t seem to be one focus, one

significant object that draws th attention of my desire- seeming to promise fulfillment where others may

not…it’s as if I’ve lost th faculty of discrimination- all objects that excite my desire promise partial

satisfactions, perishable… possibilities multiply into meaningless infinity…
Thursday th 06, 05.1999 (11h54) as 1983 became th dire year 1984 & my thirtieth birthday approached, th

landscape & weather of my heart took form around me on old silver beach in cape cod…it was colder than usual

that winter, from what everybody said-ponds & cranberry bogs froze because of subzero temperatures for days on

end…but then there was a dramatic, prolonged midwinter thaw, fog showing in thick cones of light from th

old-fashioned road lamps & condensing to drip from th wires looping loosely down between posts…
Sunday th 09, 05.1999 (20h03) what a pain in th ass…restore & reinstall & clean install for mother’s day

&&&fquin keyboard…later… (23h20) doglynx…catwolf or

wolfcat…felupus…wolfeline…felis-canis-lupus…cat-wolfdog…coyote/coyotrick…gatepack… bat swooping

down @ me on th run to cibuco tonight…testing & leading me…th converse to gerard manley hopkins’ ‘morning’s

minion’, th ‘windhover’…dogs along th darkening twilit road…green fireflies back out in force on my

return…I’m daring mself to go just a little further in th dark along th driftwood & seaweed strewn shore

towards th cibuco rivermouth every other run or so…
(wed.th 12th- having a hard time finding time, making time again…making
appointments, meetings, dance & yoga
& ch’i k’ung/qi gong classes…too much in th world & not of it?)

Written by morituri

May 12th, 1999 at 8:13 am

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hebdo.amStrand/th beat goes on&on&on

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Tuesday th 04, 05.1999 (20h44) nuts. love is gone, love is over & done with: nothing in this world for me but

endlessly replaying loss, over & over & over again… for th last three days, compuserve mail software has

kept me from posting this poem originally addressd to christalía back in ‘84…let´s see if copying it here &

back finally sends it out…
(gender line, period. -nyc, 1984)
imagine a seal on yr tissues: every harm in having yr fill
stagnates in a red tide that sloshes th heart about its cage.
imagine th body an indistinct womb, toenail to thyroid to chin-
a disarticulating cradle glued thick w/ anxiety.
imagine no release when inspiration has not taken flesh, no mourning fits prepared by measured bleeding-no

issue, no avenue but thought, no exit or shelter but empty sky:
th only route out of th gut that sloughs its burdens
to mark its weight is th awkward pleasure
of our daily crap, trembling down th gut to keep from tearing th skin (th sight of a man’s blood is a different

form of assurance)
imagine th sameness of days without return as tears well up
only to lose their way, falling back down th throat-
dark drops lost in darkness again while th calendar trumpets
a new day, a new month, a different year…
imagine I grew up away from life-
arc of my father’s cock in th wind outside th seasons-
th spark of womb in th cell denied its code.
imagine I live like this- losing offspring every day
I drink, eat & sleep my heartburn into ashes
learning to nurse another ghost & vomit blood for evidence.

(love always to c.o.v…d=(8{>)
my nightmares become real: for my last performance(art)piece back in ‘92, I
casually & succintly predicted ‘pistol pete navaja’ rosselló wd not only be
elected governor later that year, but still be in power in ‘98…I saw a
couple of young fed-nerd types taking seawater samples up by th public
beach, puerto nuevo, as I returnd from my run- this was an image I had for
that same piece, but I cdn’t stage it- my idea was actually that regular
summer-vacationing vegabajeños wd have their own kits issued out to them to
regularly check contaminant levels in critically polluted waters…we may
not be too far off…I’ve just started getting stuff from surfrider
foundation’s representative in p.r., ricky de soto- glad to be on their
list & become more active & pro-active on environment- & especially water
quality & conservation issues…
pa’lante! d=(8{>

Written by morituri

May 4th, 1999 at 6:26 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

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