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Monthly Archives: March 2002

Usually untucked
(and never folded or put away)
I sit threadbare, all loose ends
a man not made from something less,
but decomposed and frayed
from something greater
demoralized and amoral
amoralized and demoral
sitting drinking losing
like the unrecovered pieces
of some great collection.
Jewish gold in Swiss banks
shooting gladly,
nothing but blanks
as they roll, damned German tanks
I’m falling apart
I’m falling into the wrong hands
I’m falling forever falling
life outside is calling
but I am crawling
over my own corpse to get to the
scraps and swatches and fragments
of what’s left.
What haven’t they taken?
I’m falling or crawling or something
in between, living downhill
trying to piece together what I mean
trying to patch together words
to hide the slashes on my wrists.

Don’t leave me here
trapped with my own devices
Don’t give up hope
and walk away like you should
Please stay at least a little,
I need someone to share the blame.

Everyday’s the same:wake up
do some stuff
try to not fuck upgo to sleep. go to sleep
go to sleep I can, but the
waking up is hard, dunno why.
Sure, there are the excuses
(I’m a master)
Sure, there are the reasons
(I’m at their mercy)
But there’s something
sliding between them
that is why, actually why
and I can’t find it, I
can’t pin it down, I can’t
help it, I can’t fight
it, but there I go
making excuses again.
But it’s real and it’s here,
and everyday I put a
death grip on it,
rip myself awake,
smoke my coffee, and
drink my smoke floats
away and my grip
loosens until
it’s lost diffused,
clouded under dreams
banished to sleep forever.
This is my reality
This is my morning
This is fucking my GPA
“This is my future at
stake” I snore, and
I just talk in my sleep
“Duane,” I say,
“loosen up, you must
need it.” but I don’t.
No one should, this is
cruel and demoralizing,
every morning it bites again,
but every night I have to
set myself back up for it.
And so it goes
and so I go
drifting, nodding, sliding
back under the black
velvet curtain of
that beautiful oblivion.

right now I’m dealing with

-the heaviness of the beauty of my northward travels. there’s gonna be many the limp wristed and effete demi-rant on this subject.
-the fact that intellectualism is bunk because it’s all about a product, and the point is to give people the least product for the most payoff (be it grades or money or whatever), so as to make the value of your ideas higher.
-my own forgetfulness, I had forgotten until a few minutes ago that I’m guest listed to see American Steel tonight.
-the fact that my really great friend Shay just showed uo in LA today, thus giving me triple competition for my time tonight: Him, American Steel, and class.
-the commodification of intellect (a subject I mentioned a minute ago) has got me thinking a lot, as well…
-some various feelings of general unease and longing for the state of washington.
-how sometimes the silly partisanship of Wash. DC can be really entertaining.
-longing for “things” I want
-wishing it was simpler
-denying and escaping things I don’t want
-the importance of the individual in education and how some places honor it fully, and how others wish to quash it.
-how I wound up at a place that wants to quash it.
-why it took me so long to get mad about this
-finally, my seeming addiction to triple vanilla lattes, and how bobo that makes me.

midterm crit tomorrow. fun will be had by all. If you consider getting crushed and torn apart and emotionally damaged while in the altered state of having not slept fun.

yep. buy the ticket take the ride. $34,000 a year ticket.

St. Petersburg, and more specifically Winter Palace Square, has become a scourge upon my life. This project is taking entirely too long, and cutting into my studio time… five in the morning, and guess what, I’m still here… again… but hey, I’m enjoying myself, getting a lot done, and there have been perplexing developments, but they may hold some promise at some point. 1955 miles. long way, and I don’t know what to do. or what I should say. or how I should feel. oh, but I just sit and muse, back to the hard labor.

love you, kids.