Sunday, February 24, 2008


Hey! Hide your children and send all the grandmothers off to bingo because I feel an ocean of syllables welling up like a sea level volcanic shaft spewing molten lava into sheets of hissing steam! I've got things to say and people to kiss! Banks to rob and constellations to name! I've got some god damned discoveries to make and I am going to take you with me. AND I WILL NOT SPARE ANYONE'S FEELINGS!

I've got synapses tearing themselves apart burning to spill off my tongue and roar from my pen! I've got a bus locker full of ciphers and codes I am going to pass to you and secrets beneath the floorboards of every farmhouse in the tristate area that I am going to reveal in a Oh My GOD! What A Cliffhanger! No Fucking Way Are They Going To Commercials Now! sort of way.

I want to say things that will make birds circle back around in surprise and then burst into accompanying song to fill in all the gaps when i take a breath. i want to eat great mouthfuls of wolves and grind polar bears between my jaws. I'm going to beat Batman at chess and call Superman a dick . . . because he is . . . really.

I want to kiss you hard on the mouth, our bodies crushed to one another as we trigger the detonators and leap from the thirtieth floor, our smiles flash in the sun as we fall and disappear WITHOUT A TRACE!

I want my picture to be in history books up there with Sirhan Sirhan and John Wilkes Boothe, but when children read the small text next to my name they will find that my target of assassination was boredom and apathy, and that I was the most successful assassin ever! 2 for-fucking 0!

But I don't want to just do things that end in the creation of galaxies and the collapse of supernovas. I want to do quiet things like sip coffee while I watch you read the morning paper, your lips moving along with the words you are breathing. I want to be responsible for the narrowing to a pinpoint of existence that happens when i lie in bed my face buried in the nape of your neck and knowing that all the pens and all the inkwells in the world would not be enough to write a more perfect moment. I want to hold hands and . . . not . . . say . . . a . . . word!

I want to write all this down for you in a book made entirely of CAPITAL, CAPITAL letters.

Labels: , , , , , , , , ,


Post a Comment

<< Home