10 Days

Ten days have passed.

With You Without You

I think about where you are but my mind doesn't understand. It's like a computer freezing. My ability to have thought literally ceases to function.

I can feel the suppleness between nothingness and eternity and know they are the same.

I can get to the threshold but I can't go forward. I'm not afraid anymore. I'm just now beginning to see.

What I once thought was not possible I now believe is attainable.

I know you are waiting for me.

I have felt where you live and I want to be there with you.

It's all I've ever wanted.

Ritual Instincts

I miss the ritual. I miss everything that goes with it. One of my friends told me recently that it's good to mix things up, take a different root,reverse order. It helps to put off senility. I'm not sure if that's possible in my case.

Last week I sitting here reading and a thought passed through my mind. I rose off my couch, walked toward the back of my apartment, toward the bathroom and as I got there I didn't know why I was there.. I stood there trying to remember what I walked back there for, what I went back there to do. I couldn't remember. I stood there and had a blank thought, a space, a void in my mind. That's not the first time that's happened either. How much if any of this is attributed to past behavior?

Everytime I stuck a needle in my arm there was this hypnotic fascination that was as big a part of getting off as getting high was. It was the whole ritual of being a junkie. When you get off it's important to make sure you hit a vein and not skin pop so when you tap the point in you pull back the plunger gently. If successful there's a lovely red swirl that comes into your works. Every single time. The blood comes in slowly and suddenly it does a loop, it flips, circles back on itself. I swear watching the blood and water mix was as sexy as any other way to get yourself off.

All I could think about was stopping and for 7 years I couldn't. I'm not sure why I can actually think back on those days with a curiosity, a longing when all it did was make my life miserable. There was a particular pleasure to being so sick, so dope sick. I can't describe it exactly but when you are walking with your dope in your hand the withdrawal seems to go into a different dimension because you know in a minute it's all over. Feeling so fucking horrible and instantly feeling fine. This I remember with a reservation that maybe one day I may find myself in the game again. I really miss the ritual. I miss being dope sick and looking. How fucked up is that?

A Greater Thing

When the morning sun comes through my window I think of you.
It's so peaceful and still that for a brief moment it's reassuring.
I want to believe what I feel is real but the possibility of you is difficult.
I wish I could love you and not second guess myself.
I don't know why it's so hard for me.

Things I Know

When it rains like it did today the city has an unfriendly feel to it. A feel as if the task at hand might require a little more effort. There's a building on 2nd Street and Avenue B that's being rebuilt. It's been gutted and just stands there looking lifeless and inhospitable. One building in transition among many already complete and full of tenants.

In the 70's and 80's the entire neighborhood was like this building. There were more abandoned buildings and vacant lots than buildings with tenants. The few buildings with people were locked down like a post apocalyptic urban outpost. Most of the tenants were hard working poor people, squatters and the disaffected youth like me who came from anywhere in America, desperate to escape the misery of their youth.

The neighborhood was so bad and crime ridden, the landlords abandoned their proprieties and left them to rot and burn. It was as if an army invaded from the East River and headed west, destroying everything in its path. The neighborhood was lost.. piles of bricks, garbage, rats, an absolute disgrace but if you were a kid with no money it was something you didn't think about, something that wasn't considered. When we are young we are invincible. All the filth, crime and desolation gave it a romantic feel, a vibe, an undeniable pleasure to living there.. anything was better than my fathers house, even this place.

The streets themselves were controlled by the junkies and criminals.. Well organized and dangerous, the criminals had a clever system of commerce set up along with their own surveillance to watch for police and to sound a warning so everyone could scatter if they approached. Thinking back now it's hard to believe this was really happening 10, 20 50 people in a line on the street in broad daylight to buy your days dope. You had to have your money in your hand, not folded and they wouldn't take singles. To expidite they had guards policing the lines with baseball bats maintaining order and making sure things moved along fast. One guy holding and passing the dope, another taking the money and the thugs keeping everything moving and making sure all the junkies behave. Move the line as quickly as possible, take the money and go, fast.. If you didn't cop, if they shut down the spot than to bad. Look for the next spot. Business was good and the they owned the neighborhood. Law enforcement abandoned the neighborhood back then. Everyone living here knew it.

The drug dealing empire was like any other commercial enterprise. There was a lot of money to be made and the people who ran these operations were smart and they were businessman. They were fully aware of what they were doing, the risks, the danger and the unbelievable profits. Ironically the area where the actual dealing was done was relatively safe. A lot was at stake for them and they acted accordingly. They didn't want undue attention or trouble and they especially didn't want the police around so when you made it to the spot to cop that area was well protected. . It was when you left the area that your life was most at risk. Being white in that neighborhood was a problem because everyone knew you were there to buy drugs making you an easy target. What are you going to do? Go to the police? The criminals knew this and took full advantage. This was their job, their place in nature, find and weed out the weak. . A Darwinian exercise in modern life. Survival of the fittest. If the criminal doesn't get you the dope surely will. Just the living cesspool of society. Either way you lose. If the stick up kids get you they steal your dope, give you a beating and maybe kill you, unlikely but it has happened. If the cops grab you you spend the weekend in the bullpen puking and shitting yourself awaiting arraignment and praying for a desk appearance ticket and not to be sent to Rikers Island to await trial and experience misery you never dreamed possible. If you manage to avoid both those outcomes you hit your shot, get straight and repeat the whole process the next day. This is your life. This. You are a complete nothing, as valuable as the dog excrement you're lying next to in the gutter. For as surreal as this is you can't stop the cycle. Life is interesting..

When I walked past this building this morning it wasn't so much seeing it that brought back all the memories. It was the smell. An old tenement building has this distinct smell to it. I don't know if it's the rotting sheet rock or the old wood beams but it's there. The rain and the water falling from the sky onto and into this building awakens something. Maybe it the dead spirits, the ghosts crying out to anyone who will listen. Those that have been sentenced to reside there to remind us survivors what was once here, what this whole neighborhood was like. How simple it would be to deceive myself and forget all the madness. Maybe this buildings final days gave others perspective. Soon a new building will stand here but I'll remember the old days. I hope I do. It would be pretty easy to return to my old ways.

Grasha Eternal

She sleeps, she dreams, she flies so high.

Off you go my lovely to see the one you love, off you go, another adventure far away.

Say hello to the sun and the sea for me.

Let the beautiful souls I know I am well. .

Remember the salt as it caresses your lips, the sand between your toes and the happiness in your eyes when you see his heart smile for you..

Remember the market and the heat and the smell of the air and him clutching your hand tight.

Remember these moments that become your memories which will live forever and ever to be reborn again and again and again and again like the moon rising in the sky as she flies so high.

I am the sun, I am the moon, I am you and you are me and we are everything in this moment of unknown tomorrows.

Eastern Europe

There's been times when I thought I was in love with you, times when I wondered if you loved me. I know you don't ....... It makes it easier for me to love you .

When we spoke today I wasn't sure what to say. I never know what to say to you. I've heard this story before but it's different this time because it's you. I know what you've done in the past so I know how bad it's going to be.

When you told me he asked you if you wanted to go I knew then you're done. You said no this time but you won't the next.

I wonder what it will be like watching you lose yourself. . You think you have it under control but you don't. You're not as smart as you may think .

It's sad you can't let people love you. I wonder if I'll be able to watch you do this. I wonder if I'll be able to detach and look at you with cold indifference. Farewell my friend. I wish it were someone else.

Winter Watchtower

From my roof I can see the Empire State building. Anyone who lives in my building can go up there but most don't. It's the secret pleasure of living here. I stand high above my street and look down and watch as people walk by below, on there way somewhere, unaware that they are being observed.

There is no solitude here. No peace. Always there is an eye watching, an ear listening and this is what we agree to when we live in the city. I never think I am being watched. When I leave my place I already have a destination in mind and I set off on my journey not thinking of much else other than getting there. Every corner I turn on to, each street I walk across someone glances at me maybe for a second or possibly there eye is following forever until I disappear from view.. I wonder if they imagine in their mind who I am or what I might be. How many strangers could have been friends or lovers but the possibility of uncertainty interferes with chance.

When I look down from my roof at you I try to imagine what your life may be. I try to see us together if even for a second because in my imagination we are perfect friends. You are so far below, unaware of my thoughtful gaze that I can make you whomever I want you to be. So many people with so many stories living so many different lives. How many of us have done wondrous things but choose to live in obscurity. How many lives have come and gone and with them a treasure of human experience disappears forever to be known by no one. We can't all be politicians and generals but who's to say their lives are more magnificent than the common man. History tells us nothing but I know better..

Rainy Day Dream Away

The remnants of the hurricane are passing over as I write. It's raining like crazy. Streams of water directed toward sewers by concrete curbs, carrying a nights worth of trash left by young girls who moved here to wear party dresses and meet boys who are not very interesting.

New York is like a vampire. During the day people in my neighborhood go about their business and at night swarms of creatures descend, looking for some mischief . By midnight the population triples. The mating ritual has begun . Get dressed up, get drunk, get laid and have a day of regrets when waking you realize the man you went home with is a loser. Alcohol. A mans best friend.

I prefer the neighborhood the way it was, sleazy, over run by junkies and crack addicts. At least there was a soul to the place. A vibe. At least you knew exactly where you stood. Now it's another extension of the over marketed, over branded, over consume America that years of Conservative policy created. Exploit everything as much as possible, squeeze every cent out of it and toss it in the trash.

Now that the economy collapsed maybe the illusion of what this New York is will follow. One can hope.

The Pretty Girl I Saw Last Night

I want to write your name because it's lovely. When I saw you last night you looked so fragile, at any moment you may fall apart. You're so beautiful that I couldn't help but notice all the men had their eyes fixed on you. I tried to imagine what they were thinking, what they would say if any had the nerve to approach you.

No one did.

When she told me about you naturally I was intrigued. In my time things were different but the end result inevitably is the same. There's still a part of me that would like to be in that bar every night and not care about anything . Why does it seem so appealing still after all this time? Funny how there is still this darkness inside me.