freak show

what do you say to a man with no hands? that is, no fingers but two fleshy crustacean-like appendages that he used to hold his cigarette elegantly. eleven years old in the era of bad bubblegum one hit wonders. pitifully self-possessed & painfully self-conscious. before shrugged off black mass & clever retorts. all roads lead to dust & cardboard. it was one of those traveling carnival sideshows that used to hit town about the time school let out. my grandmother took me. she would be dead in a year from cancer. the two-headed snake & the book of job shook me up but they were no preparation for this wrecking ball of biblical fire & spit them out. i shuffled nervously into the tent, slipping my hands into my pockets & felt my nostrils flair involuntarily. time flattens out & different approaches are called for eventually. christ deserved a purple heart, a sleeve where he could wear it & a shoulder to cry on. i deserve transcendence. we all do. the next year i spent all my time at the carnival playing beat the rigged odds & won two cartons of tarytons.

death bed confession

if you drive far enough to where life gets smaller but the stories get bigger. you might find what appears to be a shallow grave out on an abandoned piece of farmland. filled to the brim with hastily scribbled forget-me-nots. torn tickets from long forgotten events. a pressed flower from the family bible. broken heirlooms, broken bottles, broken treaties, broken clocks & broken bones. you might come across singed around the edges documented evidence & brown brittle highlights from someone up to their chin in the language of loss. someone sworn to memory for seemingly no good reason. someone who's muted cries for attention & staggered stains seep from the ground. someone who's mother warned them to leave the monster in the box. told them how those black marks in heaven add up. how the cards don't lie. how the dead always get shoved to their side of the bed. the muddy details of every story come dragging their heavy feet through the kitchen. along the dotted line, that once there was an ascending arc in the story line. leaving scratch marks that are sure to draw judgment from the good church folk as well as the festive bottom dwellers. that will coax anger from the sunnier side of life. that seem to scream out-have you heard one single word i've said?

scarlet fever

one hundred five degrees & rising above the black veil between life & death to a world of porcelain glaze & gelatin consistency. where television squeezes out ghosts & schoolbooks are burned in effigy. a world of arrogant isolation & superimposed wholeness. running the gamut from lamentation to ecstasy in under ten seconds. too new to ever be taken for granted. too high to be mistaken for even a bird. it was like looking through a viewmaster times ten. i was exorcized of the ordinary at any early age by feverish hallucinations that kept the world at a quarantined distance. blessed me with an ambidextrous logic, a precocious insight into abstract thought that gives true freedom of expression. my frame of reference stretched wide open to surrealistic possibility that let me riff off not only the profound & absurd but also the hidden & unnoticed. let me test the limitations of rational thinking & correct punctuation. but it also gave me an exaggerated, hyper-sensitive response to even dull innocuous sounds & colors. at times an overwhelming counterpoint. little tolerance for lowest common denominators & banal cultural checkpoints or icons. part black elk, part john the revelator & part absent- minded trickster. all attempts to indoctrinate me into the ways of never-everland failed. my roots weren't all that deep but my antenna more than made up for the distance.

columbia drive

sometimes i wonder if i ever left that backyard. on my knees digging in the hillbilly dirt with plastic spoon for night- crawlers, bottle caps, .22 shells, & the lost scriptures of saint ishmael. dressed much as i am now-in white t-shirt, blue jeans & fifteen dollar tennis shoes. with a string tied to my wrist. a sparrow attached to other end. a feathered facsimile of a guardian angel circling overhead on the lookout from one end of gravel road to the other. watching for copperhead snakes, runaway automobiles, any potential black marks in heaven. koans in secretive manila envelopes are covered in wet leaves. any school of dead presidents & their sharp-tongued flunkies who scold birds simply for being birds. i stand on the river bank thinking those diamonds on the water aren't any more shiny, any more beautiful than the broken glass littering the empty lot across the street. i run through waist-high weeds as grasshoppers explode in front of me. the seven year cicada drone are like what i imagine an alien invasion would sound like. i get to an oak stump riddled with potshots & loaded questions that go against the grain. i sit wondering how to overcome altar boy guilt. how to turn the tables on ahab, abraham & other hierarchal protagonists. cut my way out of white whale belly with only a pen knife & an alias.

a trip to the end of the world

the sign says victoria motel but it may as well say the end of the line. a dog-eared gideon's bible is in the top drawer. i don't have to read it to know it's an accusation, to know that i'm guilty of everything. there's no clock to tell me if i'm rising or falling. when you're caught in an endless cycle of misbehavior. it's not really an issue. i jam the knob on the television in between stations to tune in some ambient white noise. the walls & bed sheets are stained with a consistency though-that makes it almost feel like home. i pull the curtains & strip down. turn around in the mirror, looking for a scar to validate my faith-show me that i've pulled through worse. but there's not a mark on me. no one knows i'm here but the phone rings. annoyed, i pick it up & spit out a dangerous proposition. then slam it down before they can answer. i'm still trying to bail myself out with hard-hitting confusion. i lay my license on the bed stand along with an apology. i kick back with a heavy sigh-at least the hard part is over.

incomprehensible truth is not paradox long term efforts are often ignored for the quick fix of instantly enlightened truth is not a guarantee we will receive the contents in this lifetime or any other diagnosis of human nature sometimes mistaken for incompatible with the rest of mankind infallible is jury-rigged greatness that can be toppled with one explosive shove imperfection does not separate us as a species any more than perfection would up the ante clarity is delusional thinking for those who know how to lay words out smooth mystery is essential to divine nature embrace blue expansive spread lance articulation spill apologies feverish dreams of wooden heads breaking words into smaller pieces than can be repaired without shipping out for spare horizons on gradual slopes escalate coins appearing from tin ears into a bounty of treasure in stride tenacious glassy-eyed hand puppet tempered in the fire of burning welts adrenaline off the charts without somewhere that will accept it as legal currency burnished break apprehended red-handed with imaginary patches of hyper-reality injected with gut-level quintessence rancorous choreography leverage proto-totems with human characteristics grafted to moments lacking in history promiscuous bone machine seeks absolution when definition hasn't even been established birthright is a biblical scare tactic desire & conquer flickering scar tissue sinking teeth into manna from heaven not a sin or an indiscretion for that matter quarrelsome logic blood brother trust for future considerations & incantations braiding a hundred years with lure of gifts chemically engineered forged diversions witnessing black ants doing blue lines released from restless hum in back paws compromised harmony enhanced keys wheedling dissonance ebony cahoots deflowered tattoos weighted machination rehearsal space precedent over cursed alibis several laments detuned stroll worshipping fire on river oils divided cells burst into early aria surrounded by improvisational takes on march experimentation slinging notes against sky creating effectual holy ghost bunkers day breaks baton in half then raps 7/4 on rusted brake drums from the bone yard inner vocabulary hydraulic hits to the piñata spilling all sense candy like child's marbles bubblegum machines distributing grave importance of depleted associations that adopt highly specialized at charitable requests constituting measures to insure periodic flippancy that cultivates transformative spatial discoveries lacking proper reaction time dangerous to spontaneous speech after decades for workhorse operating on less than half spreading the word deserves hazard's pay if there were any enumeration involved corresponding instruments out of tune with the cosmos but it's always been diverting commitments to tin-eared derivation ignored inclination to apologize profusely determined ambivalence with willful circumference partially-clad manually operated instinctual glare impressing faulty memory & short attention span grading the steep price for uniformed quota treadmill chessboard with no exception no shades of gray to operate within upper voltage looms legacy over batteries not included in this holiday romp atrophied process blots out inky skies inescapable clause unfiltered symbols prerecorded impressions of compounded taboo

from 'sad lullabies from planet appalachia'

return of the grievous angle not the previous angel. i sing the endless

possibility of sandstone knick-knacks grimly pacing mardi-gras in

flip-flops & fly for big joe turner. loosen that snare. stomp that bass

groove into followed footsteps. shine raw desire on the glare of

appliances. weather that subterranean television snow. watch for

bouquets of overthrown. beware helter swelter in a soggy shelter,

& purely for the sake of rhyme. it's a tip-off. i read it so it must have

a grain of truth. let's goof on reality if it has its own face not mine. my

tongue has become dislodged on a few of my favorite flings. i've named

all my chemicals after former beaus.  ten a day habit has an indecipherable

lock on eternity until i get up the courage to chomp slippery valve binding

& send spiraling crush of absolute confusion on the multitudes, which

i love on an individual basis but more than one are too difficult to deal

with. holy slight for our own good. all prayers answered but some don't

understand the meaning of no. friday evening is approaching. i watch

& feel for a  weary core of crows spearheading the point of no return.

i don't know how i came to this delusion. maybe it's better i don't

ask for answers. thrusting skeleton wire with flexible intent into the

glaze of paraphrase. i'm shedding absence forever. float the flux

fantastic while chirping in the general vicinity of tumultuous sighs.

risking high road ridicule is a realization riding a lark. i no longer take

myself so seriously, sometimes i leave myself behind. bundle brains

in dead relative's quilt. it may take comfort from such information. i'll

take it for granted either way. don't pin myself down either.

 

branches of twinkle kill the sound completely dark. makes it feel

colder than the thermometer reads, as well as tight shoes.  corners

of my mind have nothing more to add to your humorous aside. tracing

resemblance to total oblivion. look for the one you trust least. been

craving unaccustomed while  threatening twilight. each promise of

unfathomable is stray bones in a bucket which add up to nothing

special. adopting blown exploits to sign for spineless shrinkage. now

the spotlight is on infinity. a spunky fusion painting now & then

with white stain of correction on a black vinyl copy worth more than

resulting art work will ever garner. a huddled mass is raising a candle

to brighten the sun, so i raise a glass to sand & hydrogen bombed lost

in space case number scratched beyond redemption. pre- packaged

introductions come with an asterisk & a rare laugh track at voracious

frequency. thy shades have denied the strumming of the chord i quote

scripture in gnostic dyslexia. sifting through cramped venues while

dragging a donkey unmistaken for a question which was lurking thorns

in every rosebud. expecting mena suvari, it serves them right to suffer. 

my compassion is blinking. must be low on batteries. building yet

another image, which i will reconstruct in a week, a month-whatever

my tenderness dictates. one can never have too many personas in this

bum steer play. a mutual apprehension twelve-step program is missing

a step at the bottom, which is up to members, which is confusing to

those on the cusp.

 

 

an installation of birds of all feathers squat, squirm, but aren't

squeamish, though maybe they should be with humans nearby.

some hillbillies will shoot anything that moves. an orange vest

& cap with mufflers won't buy them more than a few seconds.

alert the whimsical darkness. caution misty mourning. i demand

it must be beyond my imagination. is that asking too much? i pray

that you may you never find part one.  an ugly universal bruise.

the numbers paint it as mere formality. tripping out on staged whimsy,

but shuddering on ambiguity, let alone trick photography.  myth

of different times they trot out for every 'accident.' seared with scars

of plenty. am i supposed to thank my lucky scars that i kept a low

profile instead of pasting a smile on every rugged cross i passed.

punishing the language for leaking the proof. driving stakes under my

feet. my margin for error isn't a  lover's moon, lover's swoon, or lover's

doom. jerking my entrails like putty while laying funeral flowers

under the cover of swapped earth. feeding multiplication fables to

the minimalist rumble of obligation. stumping the prophet with a

belly full of suicide. works half the time. if you can find me better

odds i'll share my winnings with you. in the meantime they're spitting

fire down my cotton mouth. yawning shards of broken bits & blackened

burn. accepting defeat in inhospitable suit but with a grin, & perfume

that screams raid. lithium owl lids ache gray love. spherical progression

equals circular logic. logic is another word for fractions. saluting illusion

with prosthetic arm while gathering whole numbers with the real thing.

gresham, oregon

i'd appreciate anyone who knew or went to school with
my late sister deborah spicer or my late brother scott spicer
to contact me at markox333@hotmail.com i'd like to
get more information on them. we share the same father.

mark hartenbach from "black notebook"

nothing is absolutely true, & if it were it could never be
conceived of, nor understood by the human mind.

***

infinity is the prosthetic limp toward the inevitability
of every man’s limitations.

***

everything is within us. everything stands outside of us.
most are reluctant, or afraid, or simply too indifferent to look.
it makes no difference where we look—we’ll always find
something we need, something to take us further, & something
to throw us completely off track.

***

touch the garment, but don’t let yourself be dragged along
behind it. learn when to let go.

***

politicians do little creative thinking. they give the people
want they want to hear & see. they possess the ability to
predict the flow of the collective consciousness, so that
they can say & do the right thing at all times, & hold on
to power. it’s nothing more than a sophisticated carney hustle.

***

evil speaks for itself. it doesn’t need us to do the talking.

***

democracy has become fascism by the numbers.

***

the more free we imagine ourselves to be, the more enslaved
we are. paradox is a powerful tool. it leaves minimum proof
it was ever there. it has its own natural camouflage.

***

death is a long, drawn out sigh of relief.

***

the world is full of two-bit machiavellis. those that were
deprived of even the most basic emotional & physical
needs are a completely different animal. an animal that
the social sciences pretend to understand. the fact that
their findings change, often drastically, every year, is
evidence of this.

***

obscurity wears many veils. for every veil that’s ripped
away, another replaces it on the other end. it’s chuang
tzu cramped in a dark corner. it will survive with the
dirt & cockroaches.

***

total destruction has to be the goal of every power
structure. the threat must be excessive & melodramatic
in order to achieve its full effect.

***

we sing when we have no other way to say it.

***

society is held together by symbolic relationships. actual
respect, compassion, charity & love aren’t necessary to
its inner workings. they’re often (to the social structure)
gestures that can threaten the hierarchy. this is why the
powers-that-be try to keep them all within a state sanctioned
framework. they can then take part of the credit for something
that they are in no way responsible for.

***

authentic anarchy is uncontained, unconditional love.

***

utopianism has to be founded on an unequal scale. in order
to reach one man’s vision of perfection, he must stifle,
even steal from another.

***

the more rational we become, the more inseparable become
good & evil.

***

violence springs from the ego left unchecked. violence
is the final manifestation of extreme narcissism. violence
is written out of history, replaced with an agreed upon
idealism.

***

harmony is nothing but nuts & bolts thrown down from
the mountain top.

***

the more frightened & desperate we are, the better our
chances of rising above what we’ve been molded into.
the more afraid & hopeless our situation, the more we’re
apt to resort to our animal nature & also our divine nature.
there’s no need for duality. any imposed duality of sacred
& profane is institutional. it has less to do with our basic
physical needs & our spirituality, & more to do with an
insidious means of control.

***

cynicism is an easy escape from responsibility to others.
it can also be one of the last lines of defense.

***

we draw up vows & promises to achieve an equilibrium
that we haven’t begun to understand.

***

spit in the ocean & call it altruism. piss in the river &
call it reconciliation. weigh the corpse down so it sinks to
the bottom of the lake & call it the law of averages. drain
every drop of water from the pond & call it divine proportion.

***

unanticipated exchanges are the closest we get to fair
value. absolute spontaneity lets the angels look the other
way.

***

disappointment is the obvious conclusion of selfishness.
most men’s needs can never be met. it’s a never-ending
stream of the latest manifestation of our divine right to
indulge ourselves.

***

insanity is often an absolute purity poisoned by
whatever has been deemed normal behavior at that
time. its definition is constantly devolving into a
tighter knot.

***

elimination of information in a tribe of hunters &
gatherers that horde their goods, even though they’ll
never use it all in their lifetime, & will perpetuate a class
of vulgar self-entitlement, is a dunce cap that radiates
like a halo.

***

destiny is obvious tendencies that have congealed into
a believable story.

***

the more indestructible we seem to become, & the safer
we seem to be from outside forces, the more our chances
increase of imploding into nuclear waste. entropy will have
its way eventually.

***

compulsion is synonymous with original sin. it’s
seen as a lack of control. however relinquishing
control is seen as a saintly act. it’s a semantic quandary
more than an ethical question.

***

equivalence is inaccessible to all but a few—therefore
canceling the definition. another example of paradox.
another mathematical mistake. another link in the choke-
chain of the bourgeoisie.

***

goodness is a pile of ashes from incinerated documents
that had no escape clause. evil is a rigged compromise
sealed with a handshake or a kiss.

***

morality is a clumsy balancing act with the audience
cheering us on while secretly hoping that we fall.

***

true guilt is courting the favors of the highest powers.
judgment is to damn one’s own opinion & overthrow
one’s own verdict. only the self-righteous are qualified to
wield the gavel. only the repentant can whittle the gavel down
to his own visionary icon. he can name it justice, or he
can call it mercy without a catch, with no small print, &
set it atop a revolving stage that everyone has access to.

***

reality is a faulty construction of the intellect—no
matter how flawless the argument may appear.

***

art doesn’t need to be understood to be validated. it
needs to be felt. what we feel should take precedent
over what we think—in art as well as love.

***

though many would argue the contrary—i believe the
more we prosper, the more we reveal about ourselves.
much that we reveal we’d prefer to keep locked away.

***

every contradiction is true. every truth contains contradictions.
nothing can begin to explain this conundrum except absurdity
& love.

***

value cannot be determined without complete input from all.

***

most understanding is circular & ultimately impressive, but
senseless. revelation is ridiculous & beautiful & a wild ride
that leaves us stunned.

***

art is the unnecessary formed into something indispensable
to the soul.

***

light is to darkness what a mirror is to an irreversible process.

***

consequences are that which we can’t buy our way out of.

***

a crucifix is a smoking gun, not a fashion accessory.

***

praise a man past his capabilities, then watch him crash into
his own reflection, collapse into total inefficiency.

***

vanity is a perfectly proportioned cage.

***

fate is the judgment of the self-possessed.

***

faith is what separates us from lower life forms. faith is
what separates us from others.

***

inclination is another word for refusing to stretch
ourselves past circumstances. circumstance is an
inferior imitation of the moment.

***

financial considerations have motivated mankind more
than anything except genetic proliferation. the root of both
being selfishness, either psychological or biological, but
we’re always trying to disguise it as essential to everyone
but ourselves.

***

sophistication is for those who have little else to offer.

***
theory is watching paperwork to see if it sprouts wings.

***

trying to penetrate another man’s logic to its core is futile,
even if we’ve walked beside him every step of the way.

***

the universe is a wounded animal that will eventually
be cornered, then it will come rushing back at us with a
fury that we can’t begin to imagine.

***

fear is a simulation so perfectly organized & displayed
that we can’t tell the rational from the irrational. our
physical reaction doesn’t tip us off because there’s no
difference in backlash or reverberation.

***

what we see as imagination can be nothing but predictable
patterns laid out to simulate disorder & haphazard effort.
imagination can develop into a concrete manifestation of a
vision that loses all its power in the process.

***

feedback is a sure way to transmit energy into a tragic
context where its power & individuality will dissipate
into just another clue at the scene of the crime, & be
absorbed like blood into the initial facts.

***

passion is an omen that’s difficult to pin down. in a
moment’s flash it can splinter off into something loving
& beautiful, or something brutal & ugly.

***

passion is a game of chance where we ignore the rules.
often we deny their existence.

***

we reason with ourselves in order to buy our impulses
more time.

***

we lay down limitations on the flimsiest of notions,
then insist it’s solid reasoning.

***

uniformity allows us to make ugly self-serving decisions
in the name of unity & equality.

***

one man’s work of art is another man’s undesirable effect.

***

conviction can be nothing but self-righteous provocation.

***

we are redeemed less by what we are than by what we
are not.

***

prayer is often a tower of babel made of matchsticks. a
public display of affectation. an apocalyptic request as
a second choice.

***

organized religion is a row of structural anomalies
advertising immaculate craftsmanship & a perfect
chance to topple others in good conscience.

***

paradox is a natural unfolding, an origami diamond
with something different inside each time it opens.
it clears the way for further development. it cleanses
the pallet to let new ideas roll off the tongue unpolluted
by certainty.

***

when the thread of intellective reasoning is broken—
that’s when we’re open to imaginative & metaphysical
speculation.

***

subjective retaliation, not objective self defense, is the
true nature of the beast.

***

a well-placed quote can be an effective disappearing act.

***

mass ritual is control without the need for enforcement.
individual ritual is reassurance in the form of mental &
physical structure.

***

consciousness on any level is a chain reaction that can
be completely independent of any individual senses or
intellective definitions.

***

consciousness is a cloud of smoke so thick we can’t see
our own hand. the subconscious is the hand.

***

we submit to a saturation process without any understanding
of the results. we no longer have to be persuaded—we
already believe.

***

madness (to give it a generalized definition) isn’t so
much a case of circuits shorting out, as it is a circuitry
so complicated that it can’t be effectively controlled
on any regular basis—either individually or in an
institutional setting.

***

one man’s poetics is another man’s obscenities. all
the theory in the world isn’t going to bridge the linguistic
disparities.

***

the more simplistic the pitch, the more suspicious we
need to be.

***

nationalistic & religious artifacts are icons that are
laid around the shrine to our inability to think for
ourselves. we worship at the altar of indifference
while gyrating & genuflecting in an over-the-top
manner so that nobody gets the wrong idea.

***

a single hair can’t be placed between life & death. yet
we’re constantly trying to pry them apart with pseudo-
theology that’s nothing but reheated materialism, &
with bricks & mortar, & six feet of freshly turned over
earth.

***

we accumulate preconceptions in order to transcend.
we insist that something or someone be there waiting
before we fall.

***

eliminating our animal nature to make room for the divine
nature, or vice versa, will only render both useless. a pile
of ashes we call heaven.

***

perching ourselves on the proverbial mountain top can
be a simple failure to grasp any visible or tangible cause.
an intellectual stagnation. a spiritual hedonism.

***

most refuse to acknowledge that chaos is divine proportion.
it has no chosen people. it has no preferences.

***

imposition of will is an evil metastasis that will eventually
destroy all parties.

***

an acceptance of fate is a direct denial of free will.
predestination is slapstick metaphysics—trying to untangle
the strings wrapped around us, & only making the
situation worse.

***

we think in elliptical shards. speak in clipped phrases.
but we insist that our literature be structured & linear.
yet we lose more in the process than we gain.

***

we are a shattered mirror, or else we’re intact kitsch.

***

any mystery must be dissected down to infinite theorems
that only dilute its beauty.

***

we mistake florescence for illumination. we resort to
clichés & overstate the obvious.

***

we take wild swings at presumptuous reflections &
foregone conclusions. we try to nail down the ethereal.
then we thrust our hands out & demand some sort of
compensation for our foolishness.

***

proof is a balled up fist chained to a wall. nevertheless
we puff out our chests & congratulate ourselves on
our accomplished futility.

***

sometimes self-destruction is our only way left
to exert our will, in an otherwise completely
ineffective life.

***

when the original impetus is lost or discarded, then we can
get to the crux of being where epiphanies spring from
bewilderment & confusion.

***

annihilation of the illusion of completeness is the first step
toward transcending preconception, erasing programmed
memory, liquidating contractual obligations agreed upon
under psychological duress/the gun.

***

the literal sense of the word is only a representation
of control.

***

much that we insist we need is a fusion of collective
status combined with our own conscious & subconscious
will to survive.

***

a silently agreed upon reality dictates the animal’s attempt
to communicate through any way but direct means.

***

narcissistic satisfaction results in convulsive shots of
genetic ad infinitum. a procreative code of perfect
replicas & executioners.

***

repetition is shackled indeterminacy. a safe bet with
supply & demand.

***

zero is raw material for computed future considerations,
as well as pure abstraction.

***

we hand our decision-making over to others & call it
representation of self-interest. but the moment we give
it away we become a demographic.

***

any display of collective emotion becomes an unchallenged
vanishing point.

***

we speak in symbolic terms to confuse the issue, & to
protect ourselves from any direct confrontation & possible
retribution.

***

indifference is a vain attempt to simulate denial.

***

the void is promiscuous.

***

public opinion is usually a forced consensus. a manipulation
of free will into the herd mentality.

***

an attempt at restoration of illumination is usually a poor
reproduction of whatever was pointing toward the light.

***

a swing in the mass consensus is a perfect opportunity
for an ideological exit.

***

equality for all is a semantic tar baby that can pull us
over the edge into inhuman behavior, or into mass graves
that we ourselves dug without questioning their purpose.

***

demand the right to explode in every possible direction,
even if you know that you’ll never need all the avenues.

***

liberation can be confused with degradation, asphyxiation
& elimination.

***

unexplained & often undeserved punishment for natural
behavior is the proverbial curse of cain. a human burden
that pays off in spades.

***

ethical principles are graded on a bell curve. which means
it can be difficult, if not impossible, to know where we
stand.

***

so-called normal behavior is repressed ambiguity.

***

a jury of our peers is often a pit of poisonous vipers.

***

the more redundant we are, the more we’re praised
for our thinking.

***

destiny is lined with trick questions.

***

each moment is a different deck of cards thrown into
the air—with a snapshot to commemorate that which
we can never reproduce.

***

imagination is infinite space that we let be compressed
into as small of a box as possible. it’s referred to as
clarity when it’s actually a drastic reduction of possibility.

***

no one will speak up for the mistreatment of the stray
dog for fear they’ll be bitten on both hands.

***

complete realization of oneself is to risk self-obliteration.

***

ecstasy is the pinnacle, as well as the death, of anticipation
& desire.

***

individuality is an aphrodisiac for those who can
look away from the television & other mass media.
otherwise it’s seen as an aberration, even a threat.

***

an unfettered mind is a verification of an ever-changing
sequence. neither the beginning nor the end can be
exploited.

***

the constant need for sensory stimulation is the perfect
trap for manipulative programming.

***

streaming entertainment & too much information stifles
original thought, & reduces the creative mind to inane
sound bites.

***

the perfect pair is a logistical improbability.

***

feigned submission is an effective means of control.

***

communication for the most part consists of ambiguous
or misplaced punctuation.

***

conversation is trying to find something colorful,
preferably loud & flashy, to hang on our quotation marks.

***

a solution is analytical compromise. an answer is
spontaneous combustion.

***

art is the last judgment pulled through infinity.

***

results have more to do with the point of no return than
a frame of reference where we can begin statistical riffing.

***

artificial intelligence can be applied to humans as easily
& accurately as technology.

***

despair is the polar opposite of indifference.

***

the immaculate conception is to deny jesus of his humanity,
his struggling, & to set his words on a pedestal beyond
mankind’s capabilities thus discouraging its striving. it
turns him into an indestructible, infallible comic book hero.

***

an epiphany is a surrealistic subtlety with at least a
possibility of communicating a higher truth.

***

futility is a lucid approach to that which is beyond any
intellective order.

***

we let ourselves fall into involuntary solitude, then
complain when we can’t even crawl a few feet away.

***

euphoria is a quick fix for longstanding suffering &
the relentless grind of chronology.

***

order is the malicious deconstruction of improvisation,
& a tampering with the holiness of spontaneity.

***

identity has been reduced to the lowest common denominator.

***

we mistake our expectations for god.

***

clever sarcasm & embittered cynicism are a good match
when we’re searching for justification for our weaknesses.

***

uncertainty generates truth & understanding far more
effectively, & with ultimately longer lasting results
than dogmatically jimmied irrefutable fact.

***

coincidence is physics at play.

***

mankind is connected through simultaneous panic.

***

art is running into ourselves over & over, & seldom
recognizing who we are.

***

wisdom is realizing when to shut up—before we
become trapped in circular logic.

***

philosophy is the last refuge of the totally confused.

prose poems/ mark hartenbach

1.
i looked long enough that i forgot to breathe. it no longer
matters if it was love or irretrievably beautiful. it was
undeniably human. it’s no longer important if it was
spurred by dopamine or expectations or literary aspirations.
i no longer remembered the physical blow. i never
understood completely why i continued to move toward
it so many times. i do recall why i walked away though.
i don’t remember how anger could rotate into other
emotional readings. the longing & the solitude began to
become larger than the sum of their parts, even though
they were more than a world away from one another.
i hear an empathetic reply. i hear repetitious apologies. i
find myself surprised yet again at my reaction. i still need
surprised, & i need something to help me forget in
the meantime.


2.
i paused for a moment before my laugh broke the distance.
i laid one on top of the other until they all toppled over. i
bridged the night with a mason jar of homemade wine &
& cribbed poetry. you said i was different. it was all in the
way you said it of course. i understood immediately &
accepted your judgment. she told me that you said i was
enigmatic. that was even better—if it was true. she must
have realized at some point that she was driving me right
into your arms. maybe it was subconscious to begin with.
maybe it was as calculated as her faked orgasms &
elaborate maybelline touches. i slide my hand under the
table so i could touch your leg. the room was crowded with
conversation, but i could hear your breathing quicken.
i wanted to sweep the table clean. i wanted to glide into
you right there. i wanted everyone to watch. you asked if
i’d like to stop over that evening. but i had to be home that
night. she would know immediately where time had went.
i didn’t want to go home. i never should have left.





i don’t care if it hurts/i want to have control
i want a perfect body/i want a perfect soul
- radiohead



3.
i wanted to drive fifteen hours to see you again, though
there was no guarantee you’d be there. i’d promised two
years ago that i would save my money so i could make the
trip. i meant it. but i was weak. i spent most of the money
in the land of nod. i wanted to drive all night to see you.
i had my duffle bag packed & hidden away. but i had a
two-toned problem under the hood. it was an adventure
every time i pulled out. four bald tires, a window that
wouldn’t go up & no reverse. i wanted to drive all night
& be there by the next afternoon. but i was living with
someone else & besides, i had no driver’s license. i knew
she’d report me missing immediately. i’d be pulled over
& cited. they’d tow my car away. i’d have to hitchhike
home with no excuse. i’d have to find a way to get the
car back. i’d have another heavy fine i couldn’t pay &
no more transportation for work when the cast on my arm
came off. i’d have a furious girlfriend waiting, threatening
to leave. i’d have to dodge her blows. of course i wouldn’t
blame her. i’d be guilty yet again. i wanted to drive all night,
fifteen hours straight through, to somewhere that no
longer existed.




4.
i ask her to try on the wedding dress. she’s understandably
hesitant. after all, i haven’t made anything that could
construed as i commitment. she might think i’m a freak.
& she might be right—but not tonight. she asks where
it came from. i say i’m not sure. she rolls her eyes &
throws it back in my face. she says she’s not wearing
someone else’s promise. i tell her it’s not like that—i
only wanted to see how it looked on you. i know you’d
look so beautiful. i can imagine, but i need more. she says
that i’m looking in the wrong place. then she screams—
i’m not playing any games tonight to satisfy you. i can
understand her angrer. i could have predicted her
response. but i had to ask anyway. she walks quickly
toward the door. i won’t try to stop her. i pick up the
dress & fold it carefully.



5.
i did recall a few nights earlier, but when you asked for
details i said i could only remember bits & pieces. i had
a selective memory. i didn’t want to give away too much.
i was standing on the front porch. it had a wooden swing
long enough for two people. you don’t see them much
anymore. you were on the other side of the doorway.
the screen door was propped against my shoulder. the
living room was dark & the porch light was out also.
the same vinyl played continuously. “i think we’re alone
now.” this was your way of asking me to stay. you would
have never asked me flat out. i said i really couldn’t stay.
you didn’t argue with me. you never argued with me. but
you looked away with tears in your eyes. i let the screen
door slam & walked away without looking back. i don’t
recall feeling anything at the time. it’s strange—because
i feel so much now.




love is a dog from hell-charles bukowski



6.
i asked you to walk downtown with me to a friend’s place
to party. you didn’t know any of them, & looking back i
wish i hadn’t either. but you knew the situation & you didn’t
partake. you didn’t want to sit in silence while i got
ripped. then you’d have to try to drag me back up the hill.
you told me that you wanted to spend the evening with me.
you & i alone. i wanted you, but there was no way you
wouldn’t eventually lose. when it came to getting high,
you would always be the second choice. i think you were
just beginning to realize this, or maybe you knew it all
along, but cared enough to stay. i was eighteen & the
hooks were in deep by then. i remember that upstairs
apartment where we’d meet. i was never sure who it
belonged to. i have conflicting memories that we had
little time because your parents might return, or it was
your sister’s apartment & all was cool. maybe i never
asked. i don’t recall your being overly concerned about it.
we would listen to the rolling stones greatest hits over &
over, while stretched across the couch. it was always on
the couch. you were still in school. a couple years younger
than i was. you were beautiful. you were quiet & seemingly
unaware of your beauty & the power you held. this pulled
me closer. i did most of the talking, though you would
whisper something to me after we’d kiss. how could i
forget what it was? but i do remember how it made me feel.
this is more important. i said i would go alone then. i
left you behind, standing in my garage that served as a
place to crash & burn. you didn’t say anything. you didn’t
come after me. when i came back you were gone. i never
saw you again.




7.
i remember all the leg room in the backseat of your father’s
black cadillac. you used to let me drive it, even though i was
cinched 99% of the time. i didn’t tell you i had no driver’s
license. i think you would have let me drive it anyway. i’d
tried to get a driver’s license but there a discrepancy between
my birth certificate & my social security card that i couldn’t
get straightened out. so i drove for years without one. i’d
already been cited twice for open container (but never dui),
running a red light, no tail lights & of course driving without
a valid license. i wanted to make it with you so badly that
night, as only a nineteen year old can want. you said you
did to. your eyes would glaze over when you did. we were
parked near a streetlight in front of your sister’s place where
we drank every night. you confessed you’d had an abortion
a few months before & you needed to be careful. i acted hurt.
i found this routine to be effective. i never tried being honest
with anyone until many years later. love & war right? i said i had
to leave. i don’t remember my excuse. it was probably a lie.
i was seeing someone else also. she got off at ten.



8.
i stare into an almost empty wine bottle. i see a woman’s
face next to mine. she’s crying & i have a smirk on my
face. or maybe it’s the other way around. i rotate the bottle
slowly. i’m looking for a different ending this time. i
might be better off finishing what’s left. i’m getting tired,
yet the faces are coming as fast as ever. of course, this
doesn’t insure that they’ll be there when i wake up. i
need to ask their names. i need to write these names down.
i need to remember their numbers. i may need to start
with my own. there is important information that’s been
pushed aside for facts that no longer pertain to my present
situation. i passed the memory part of my latest psychological
drill. at least the short term memory section. i line up the
bottle up with the others & try to concentrate. i find that
whatever i don’t accidentally knock over, will only fall down
on its own anyway.




there is always some madness in love-nietzsche



9.
i had a room in a boarding house in a college town no
bigger than a broom closest. but it was all i could afford.
i was coming off a teenage divorce & had to steal lunch
meat from the 7-11 & steaks from the walk in freezer
where i worked part-time. it had a single bed, dresser &
small metal box that served as a place to hang clothes.
there was just enough space to stand if you stood very
still. i shared the kitchen & two bathrooms with about
ten other guys. they were all students. but i wasn’t. they
were all older than me. i had no idea at the time that i was
spiraling out. you were a waitress where i worked. you
used to wrap joints in napkins & tape them to my time
card unless it was friday. i never worried they would be
discovered. you just laughed. i didn’t have a car. my ex-wife
had taken it along with everything else. you would sometimes
drive me home from afternoon shift. if it was warm i’d ride
a rickety three-speed bicycle that someone had given me.
i’d usually ride the university bus to work. i always
told the drivers that i left my wallet at home & they’d nod
their head to get on. we’d go up to my room & smoke
& talk into the morning with our backs against the wall,
& legs dangling over the side. you had almost as long as
legs as i did. you were so much fun to hang out with. but
i thought of you as another buddy. it didn’t seem possible
to me at that time that i could be so open with a girlfriend.
one night you turned & kissed me. you said you wanted
to stay the night. i whored around a lot then & never said no.
but that night i said i was sorry—there was someone else.
i can’t remember who it was.





give me absolute control/over every living soul
& lie beside me baby/that’s an order
-leonard cohen


10.
i couldn’t tell you who was playing that night. i don’t
remember much from that period—especially on weekends.
i was usually operating at diminished capacity, or mood
management as i liked to call it. it was warm & we walked
slowly up the grassy hillside, talking quietly, until we came
to a dark green bench at the top. you’d had a friend call me
& set us up. you never seemed shy so much as detached. i
can’t recall being with anyone that was so unemotional. we
were too close of a fit. we spent time together, but you
never showed enthusiasm for anything, including me.
maybe because i spoke with a biting sarcasm most of
the time. you would lie there passively & let me slide your
jeans & panties off without saying a word. you’d never look
at me the entire time. it went on like this until one night
on your basement rug. you said you had to have me now.
it caught me off guard. you lived there with your parents,
but they never came downstairs. earlier that evening we’d
sat with the volume off the tv. some old black & white film
that i’d made up all the dialogue for. i was trying to make
you laugh. you said it was irritating. you couldn’t hear the
music. it was neil young’s “after the goldrush.” i had hair
halfway down my back. you asked me not to get it cut.



the only abnormality is the incapacity to love-anais nin



11.
i wanted to warn you about the cobwebs & non sequiturs.
but it came out wrong. this led to confusion. you told me
that you’d leave me if i didn’t take my medications. you
threatened me with endless well-constructed arguments.
i became even further confused. but you said that you
hoped it would clarify your position. i pleaded love. i told
her—i did it for you baby. didn’t you believe me, or did
you purposely ignore me? i’m sure that i stressed this fact.
it may have come out in broken pieces. but i know you’re
sharp enough to put these fragments together if you wanted
to. they fell out of my mouth when i least expected them.
it may not have been eloquent or graceful, but there was
some poetry in there. i tried not to indulge myself, so that
i’d have more to give to you. but i knew i couldn’t mention
this. i knew that you would take my suffering personally.



12.
we took turns spelling out love on each other’s bare
backs with slow fingers that couldn’t lie. i remember all
those words. but i left them somewhere. maybe it happened
during the last indictment. maybe i left them high in the air
to be sliced by lifesaving blades. maybe they got mixed in
with the cynicism & broken hearts. maybe they were gone
long before all the drama began. i may have used them in
another story. if i did i apologize. i might have given them
to someone else that i felt needed them more than i did.
i find this difficult to imagine though. i remember falling
through the ice. i remember you putting your face against
the cold. i remember being pulled lifeless from my drink
by a beautiful stranger. i recall trading stories with her &
buying her a drink. it was the least i could do.

from "beauty is a rare thing"

scene forty-six

last night you called for the first time in months, but the
ringer was turned off because i went to bed early. last
night you realized what an ugly thing you’d done, &
you were ready to swallow your pride, & say you were
sorry for the pain you’d caused. last night you let the
phone ring a dozen times, then hung up & tried again.
last night i didn’t hear the phone ring at all. last night
you poured yourself another glass of wine to give
yourself the courage to admit you were in the wrong,
& that you didn’t expect me to forget, but hoped i could
forgive. last night you rehearsed what you wanted to
say to me in the mirror, though i wouldn’t see your face.
last night you called until one o’clock. last night you
called emotionally spent. last night i never picked up
the phone.




scene forty-seven

there is no whole of the moon, only the dome light
of an old pontiac. we were sitting on your couch
watching yet another boring film. you had on a short,
transparent night gown. i was as i came. it was spur
of the moment. there were many of these moments.
i would slice off an idea & be raring to go, but you
always said—can’t this wait? you surprised me this
time. you didn’t bother to get dressed. we walked
out to my car. the ground was still warm from the
sun. we were both a bit cinched. we had different
drugs of choice that i’ve found don’t go well together.
i tried to overcome this. but i wasn’t about to adopt
your lifestyle. as soon as we got in, you began giving
me directions. i just wanted to drive. i don’t remember
where we went or what we saw, only that you talked
the entire time. when we returned i parked under the
streetlight in front of your house. i pulled you toward
me & kissed you long. you said it must be a full moon
tonight. but the sky was empty.




scene forty-eight

it could have been perfect. it could have been
beautiful. it could have lasted longer than six
months. it could have tasted like homemade
cheesecake with fresh strawberries on top. it
could have gone down like smooth aged whiskey.
it could have been a pure, unhampered with nod.
it could have motivated me to clean up my act.
it could have removed the bitterness in both
out hearts. it could have made us forget awhile.
it could have reduced the weight of the world
to a few question marks. it could have made
a huge difference in our lives. it could have meant
something to each of us, something that the other
didn’t understand. it could have been a barely
averted crash filled with adrenaline & radios that
continued to play through all the confusion. it could
have been soulful without the usual required suffering
we believe is needed to qualify love.




scene forty-nine

when you walk in the room i have to catch my breath,
& i can sense others doing the same. when you walk
in the room i subconsciously press my palm against
my chest, as if my heart might explode. when you walk
in the room i see no one but you. when you walk in the
room my emotions & biology are heightened, & begin
a frenzied dance, & i feel absolutely consumed. i feel i
couldn’t take any more. but i do. when you walk in the
room i lick my lips subconsciously, & feel my pulse
charging ahead, though i’m sitting shock still. when you
walk in the room my head slips into a purple velvet spin,
while my cell structure falls into an uninhibited groove,
& i swear i see sparks flickering & snapping & stinging me,
& the heat becomes so intense i burn with want. so you
finger what appear to be ashes, & i jerk & spasm & lose
myself so completely that i have to ask you later who
i used to be.