misery

we could build a factory, and make misery
we'll create the cure, we made the disease
frustrated incorporated, frustrated fncorporated
- soul asylum

so, karl mueller is dead.
__________________


the low moan of his guitar
echoes in my head
we are but drifters
burdened by accrued guilt

frustrated
what do you see
tangible things lose their meaning
you don't care

misery loves you
run away
run till your empty
run till there's no turning back

stuck here

what's the matter toes? yes, that's close to a hundred steps up to the train station. steep, i know.

big, fat raindrops pound on my skull cap. there's no way this staring contest with the concrete flight of stairs' going to last another lungful of carbon monoxide drenched air.

stop the twitching. it'll be over soon.

so sorry toes- cramped there within the embrace of leather, the skin of an unfortunate cow. atleast your numb to the callous stares of strangers-clad in damp clothing. atleast you don't see how dark it is outside- the misery of the city magnified by the muffled sound of the downpour. atleast you are warm there. the little hair on my arms are standing on their ends.

but i am sorry too you are blind to the battle raging outside. so poignant the refraction of lamp lights and tail lights from the sharp sheet of rain. the gibbous moon gathers unto itself the heavy clouds. heaven is retching on this land. the gutters are giving up the dead. the secrets of this city pile up with the muck, the shame of wretched souls jaywalking, caught without umbrellas. and look at the faces of those people behind the wheel. cursing at the red light. but you know how resilient we are. third world romantics.

toes, we'll be home soon. aren't you glad i stowed those three-inch heels under my bed long ago?

how it is

what if you can do anything in this moment?" "this," she points to the walls of his room populated with post-its, "here, now, your life within these walls. what would you do?" he glances at her sideways. she knows what he's always wanted to do. silence. "i haven't been quiet like this for a long, long time," he says. she reaches out for his hands. they are soft in hers. familiar hands that weaved stories a long time ago in the hall of the college of arts and sciences. "you know, you can ask me anything." "i've always wondered what happened between us. but it's ok you don't have to answer that," he shifts to face her, "that's not why you are here."

"i always run away. i'm a creep-freak like that," she pauses and stares at one of the little yellow notes. "you have to be reminded to either swallow or chew your pills?" she laughs.

"ok, you find that amusing," he says smiling.

"but really, thank you for loving a creep-freak like me," she embraces him "and now i must go leave again."

"i know. i'll walk with you where you can get a ride," and he gives her a faint smile.

waiting in vain

hungry for every little thing that you say, i wait ignoring the fact it's getting late by the minute. surfing this website and that, glancing at the prompter at the lower left screen.

but it's another senseless forward from another idle person in the other cubicle.

you asked how i was. and i could only say i'm happy for the three-day weekend. that i'm still here. listening to the eraserheads. is it so hard to believe?

the thread of our conversation is fragile. i read two kids dodging certain words, particular meanings.

and i wait. thinking, there are ways to drown anticipation. but it's no different this time. i lose you in a badly transmitted signal.

if i were to beat the rain, i'd better be moving. an eight-minute walk to the train station. perhaps the sky can hold it that long.

but i must go. think of something else.

what2thinkwhat2dowhat2drink

waiter! your strongest beer. he leaves with a nod.the short, bald man at the corner table dances like an orangutan asking for a banana. his pot belly heavy on his bowed legs. i look at him in disgust.

the beer comes with a glass filled with ice. i drink from the bottle. the steinie feels heavy on my weakened wrist. robert moves aside the thin strap of my white cotton blouse. places a finger on the tattoo on my back. is this real? yeah. and i smile. in the nonchalant way i just discovered i know how.

i sit at the edge of the table. a leg dangles, the other foot firm on the concrete. a cigarette travels back and forth to the lips, to rest on one knee.

in the haze of smoke that rises too quickly and lingers too long over our heads, i see him. i don't wanna wait in vain for your love. i don't wanna wait in vain for your love. cause summer is here and i'm still waiting. winter is here and i have been waiting.

i need to pee. the guard looks at me, wondering perhaps how fast he'd be to catch me if my steps wobble and i fall. but i walk fine. i'm stronger than my beer.

in the cubicle, i thank the patron saint of the janitors. a fat roll of tissue cries out to me from the dispenser. rip me off, use me, discard me. look at me in disgust.

back on my perch on the table. a guy hands me a beer. thanks. and i look away as i take a hit. my eyes water from the smoke. i look with renewed disgust at sub-human at the corner doing another round of orangutan wants a banana number.