The Pleasures of the Damned
sure, she said.
leave your pan ties on,
he said.
what is it? she asked.
I just want to watch the movie,
he answered.
look, she said, I could go out on
the street, there are a hundred men
out there who’d be delighted to have
me.
all right, he said, go ahead out there.
I’ll stay home and read the National
Enquirer.
you son of a bitch, she said, I am
trying to build a meaningful
relationship.
you can’t build it with a hammer,
he said.
are we going to the movies or not?
she asked.
all right, he said, let’s
go…
at the corner of Western and
Franklin he put on the blinker
to make his left turn
and a man in the on-coming lane
speeded up
as if to cut him off.
brakes grabbed. there wasn’t a
crash but there almost was one.
he cursed at the man in the other
car. the man cursed back. the
man had another person in the car with
him. it was his wife.
they were going to the movies
too.
drying out
we buy the scandal sheets at the supermarket
get into bed and eat pretzels and read as outside
the church bells ring and the dogs bark
we turn on the tv and watch very bad movies
then she goes down and brings up ice cream
and we eat the ice cream and she says,
“tomorrow night is trash night.”
then the cat jumps up on the bed
drops its tongue out and stands there
glistening cross-eyed
the phone rings and it is her mother and she
talks to her mother
she hands me the phone
I tell her mother that it’s too bad it’s freezing
back there
it’s about 85 here and,
yes, I’m feeling well and
I hope you’re feeling well too
I hand the phone back
she talks some more
then hangs up
“mother is a very brave woman,” she tells me
I tell her that I’m sure her mother is
the cat is still standing there glistening
cross-eyed
I push it down onto the covers
“well,” she says, “we’ve gone two nights without
drinking.”
“good,” I say, “but tomorrow night I’m going to
do it.”
“ah, come on,” she says
“you don’t have to drink,” I tell her, “just because
I do.”
“like hell,” she says
she flips the remote control switch until she comes to a
Japanese monster movie
“I think we’ve seen this one,” I say
“you didn’t see it with me,” she says, “who did you
see it with?”
“you were laying with me, right here, when we saw it,”
I tell her
“I don’t think I remember this one,” she says
“you just keep watching,” I tell her
we keep watching
I’m not so sure anymore
but it’s a peaceful night as we watch this big thing
kick the shit out of half of Tokyo.
scene from 1940:
“I knew you were a bad-ass,” he said.
“you sat in the back of Art class and
you never said anything.
then I saw you in that brutal fight
with the guy with the dirty yellow
hair.
I like guys like you, you’re rare, you’re
raw, you make your own rules!”
“get your fucking face out of mine!”
I told him.
“you see?” he said. “you see?”
he disgusted me.
I turned and walked off.
he had outwitted me:
praise was the only thing I couldn’t
handle.
the area of pause
you have to have it or the walls will close
in.
you have to give everything up, throw it
away, everything away.
you have to look at what you look at
or think what you think
or do what you do
or
don’t do
without considering personal
advantage
without accepting guidance.
people are worn away with
striving,
they hide in common
habits.
their concerns are herd
concerns.
few have the ability to stare
at an old shoe for
ten minutes
or to think of odd things
like who invented the
doorknob?
they become unalive
because they are unable to
pause
undo themselves
unkink
unsee
unlearn
roll clear.
listen to their untrue
laughter, then
walk
away.
I know you
you with long hair, legs crossed high, sitting at the end of
the bar, you like a butcher knife against my throat
as the nightingale sings elsewhere while laughter
mingles with the roach’s hiss.
I know you as
the piano player in the restaurant who plays badly,
his mouth a tiny cesspool and his eyes little wet rolls of
toilet paper.
you rode behind me on my bicycle as I pumped toward Venice as
a boy, I knew you were there, even in that brisk wind I smelled
your
breath.
I knew you in the love bed as you whispered lies of passion while
your
nails dug me into you.
I saw you adored by crowds in Spain while pigtail boys with
swords
colored the sun for your glory.
I saw you complete the circle of friend, enemy, celebrity and
stranger as the fox ran through the sun carrying its heart in its
mouth.
those madmen I fought in the back alleys of bars were
you.
you, yes, heard Plato’s last words.
not too many mornings ago I found my old cat in the yard,
dry tongue stuck out awry as if it had never belonged, eyes tangled,
eyelids soft yet, I lifted her, daylight shining upon my
fingers and her fur, my ignorant existence roaring against the
hedges and the flowers.
I know you, you wait while the fountains gush and the scales
weigh,
you tiresome daughter-of-a-bitch, come on in, the door is
open.
relentless as the tarantula
they’re not going to let you
sit at a front table
at some cafe in Europe
in the mid-afternoon sun.
if you do, somebody’s going to
drive by and
spray your guts with a
submachine gun.
they’re not going to let you
feel good
for very long
anywhere.
the forces aren’t going to
let you sit around
fucking off and
relaxing.
you’ve got to do it
their way.
/> the unhappy, the bitter and
the vengeful
need their
fix—which is
you or somebody
anybody
in agony, or
better yet
dead, dropped into some
hole.
as long as there are
human beings about
there is never going to be
any peace
for any individual
upon this earth (or
anywhere else
they might
escape to).
all you can do
is maybe grab
ten lucky minutes
here
or maybe an hour
there.
something
is working toward you
right now, and
I mean you
and nobody but
you.
the replacements
Jack London drinking his life away while
writing of strange and heroic men.
Eugene O’Neill drinking himself oblivious
while writing his dark and poetic
works.
now our moderns
lecture at universities
in tie and suit,
the little boys soberly studious,
the little girls with glazed eyes
looking
up,
the lawns so green, the books so dull,
the life so dying of
thirst.
to lean back into it
like in a chair the color of the sun
as you listen to lazy piano music
and the aircraft overhead are not
at war.
where the last drink is as good as
the first
and you realized that the promises
you made yourself were
kept.
that’s plenty.
that last: about the promises:
what’s not so good is that the few
friends you had are
dead and they seem
irreplaceable.
as for women, you didn’t know enough
early enough
and you knew enough
too late.
and if more self-analysis is allowed: it’s
nice that you turned out well-
honed,
that you arrived late
and remained generally
capable.
outside of that, not much to say
except you can leave without
regret.
until then, a bit more amusement,
a bit more endurance,
leaning back
into it.
like the dog who got across
the busy street:
not all of it was good
luck.
eating my senior citizen’s dinner at the Sizzler
between 2 and 5 p.m. any day and any time on Sunday and
Wednesday, it’s 20% off for
us old dogs approaching the sunset.
it’s strange to be old and not feel
old
but I glance in the mirror
see some silver hair
concede that I’d look misplaced at a
rock concert.
I eat alone.
the other oldies are in groups,
a man and a woman
a woman and a woman
three old women
another man and a
woman.
it’s 4:30 p.m. on a
Tuesday
and just 5 or 6 blocks north is
the cemetery
on a long sloping green hill,
a very modern place with
the markers
flat on the ground,
it’s much more pleasant for
passing traffic.
a young waitress
moves among us
filling our cups
again with lovely
poisonous caffeine.
we thank her and
chew on,
some with our own
teeth.
we wouldn’t lose much in a
nuclear explosion.
one good old boy talks
on and on
about what
he’s not too
sure.
well, I finish my meal,
leave a tip.
I have the last table by the
exit door.
as I’m about to leave
I’m blocked by an old girl
in a walker
followed by another old girl
whose back is bent
like a bow.
their faces, their arms
their hands are like
parchment
as if they had already been
embalmed
but they leave quietly.
as I made ready to leave
again
I am blocked
this time by a huge
wheelchair
the back tilted low
it’s almost like a bed,
a very expensive
mechanism,
an awesome and glorious
receptacle
the chrome glitters
and the thick tires are
air-inflated
and the lady in the chair and
the lady pushing it
look alike,
sisters no doubt,
one’s lucky
gets to ride,
and they go by
again very white.
and then
I rise
make it to the door
into stunning sunlight
make it to the car
get in
roar the engine into
life
rip it into reverse
with a quick back turn of squealing
tires
I slam to a bouncing halt
rip the wheel right
feed the gas
go from first to second
spin into a gap of
traffic
am quickly into
3rd
4th
I am up to
50 mph in a flash
moving through
them.
who can turn the stream
of destiny?
I light a cigarette
punch on the radio
and a young girl
sings,
“put it where it hurts,
daddy, make me love
you…”
it’s strange
it’s strange when famous people die
whether they have fought the good fight or
the bad one.
it’s strange when famous people die
whether we like them or not
they are like old buildings old streets
things and places that we are used to
which we accept simply because they’re
there.
it’s strange when famous people die
it’s like the death of a father or
a pet cat or dog.
and it’s strange when famous people are killed
or when they kill themselves.
the trouble with the famous is that they must
be replaced and they can never quite be
replaced, and that gives us this unique
sadness.
it’s strange when famous people die
the sidewalks look different and our
children look different and our bedmates
and our curtains and our automobiles.
it’s strange when famous people die:
we become troubled.
The Beast
Beowulf may have killed Grendel and
Grendel’s mother
but he
couldn’t ki
ll this
one:
it moves around with broken back and
eyes of spittle
has cancer
sweeps with a broom
smiles and kills
germs germans gladiolas
it sits in the bathtub
with a piece of soap and
reads the newspaper about the
Bomb and Vietnam and the freeways
and it smiles and then
gets out naked
doesn’t use a towel
goes outside
and rapes young girls
kills them and
throws them aside like
steakbone
it walks into a bedroom and watches
lovers fuck
it stops the clock at
1:30 a.m.
it turns a man into a rock while he
reads a book
the beast
spoils candy
causes mournful songs to be
created
makes birds stop
flying