It’s not that I have to. Rather want to. Believe piano as instrument of Sundays. Naughty. Angelic. Serious & quite light. The piano for me is mystery. An abandoned isle, hope. Something so large so profound. Confusing. Daunting & yes, overwhelming. I’ve always wanted a lover who could play the piano. Sit upon a stool & gaze. Befuddled. I guess that’s why they’re dreams. They exist in our quiet. Our true lonely. Our/that inward. A piano guts me as did my heart surgeon. After my surgery I couldn’t/wouldn’t come of my delirium. Everything was white light & so so slow moving. I couldn’t comprehend if I was dead or living. I truly didn’t care. So beautiful & their voices. The morphine drip straddling two worlds. Content with both. Either or.
A few tributes to John Lennon today & yesterday. How he came into how he left our/this world. A true artist. Magician. Strange how someone so far away, so distant, can & did take such a place with me. I know he struggled/worked/loved every day he was alive. Hero.
Reading a wonderful bio of Allen Ginsberg. Bill Morgan, author, begins chatting of Allen as a hero & yes, without question, he was a hero & like John, could transcend & change so much of this rather petty, corrupt world. Both not just strong believers of, but practitioners of love.
Thinking this weekend of what I truly miss. Of everything, what would or do I want. Frankly it’s so simple. Just those few – family, friends – without question. I wrestle every day what is prison. What is it to me? Truly digging down deep. Looking thru my eyes & attempting thru others. Prison is simply the attempt of removing love. Removing the individual practice. The belief of. Guys just babble here. Words are spewed worse than the exorcist. Words are rocks against windows. Against the walls. Society. Everything. Words are puke here. Wasted. Stupid & full of self-pity. Bitterness. It gets very frustrating. So in sorting out I have to dig thru all this bile. Stupidity. Bravado. Just to find or attempt to find some truth. A truth. & it comes down to love. Being forgotten. Forgetting. A surrender not to hatred but to hope. To love. Here, prison is a lie. Perpetuated by our & by our I mean the inmates, giving up. Rolling over. An un dignified surrender. This is not a judgment. It’s my observation. My judgment frankly, only matters to me of me. I will not give up on love or hope. On the light that exists. Has & will continue to exist. I know you are out there & to some extent that’s good. Alright. But frankly I’m talking to myself. Not to hear myself talk, never. But it’s out of responsibility. Out of my purpose. My beliefs. I grew up with some “odd” truisms. “Never say never” to this day, the word/thought never freaks me out. The other one was “never put it down on paper ‘cause people can hold it against you”. It is feelings, thoughts, observations. But I don’t want to know what it is, though I do. It is the “now we shall judge your stupid thoughts, your sad comments”. Your truth. This blog is not to educate. Entertain you. It’s my “fuck you”. My failures. My sadness. My humanity. My humility. My weakness. My joy. My love. When I emerge from this cell I don’t blink. Everything & I mean everything, has potential for disaster. For humiliation. For stupidity. All of life is such as this. It’s a trade off. I understand so much now it’s scary. I straddle that line between sanity & insanity every moment. I think I straddle it. Truly it doesn’t & it’s never existed. I talk to men who have raped their own children. & they talk of what the weather might be or of the fuckin Packers. They talk as if I care they are alive. That they matter. & I study how their eyes register & their mouths move & their fingers settle. & my wandering gets the best, the worse of me. I wonder & add my 2¢. Walk away & pray.
Prison is a remarkable experiment. One that will never work as such. Too many variables. Control subjects? Prison is stone soup. A shell game. A never saying never. A very fucked up situation. I watch myself change my face. My chest. My belly. My heart. My mind. What shall I give up. Give away. Hide away. I watched 2 friends talking today. The angle of their arms. The cloth that wrapped. The floor tile. The walls. The lights. A great photo. Reminded me of an asylum. Nursing home. A warehouse. Wander from one moment to next. Voices rumble as traffic. Shuffling of cards echo foot steps. Banter. Occasionally announcement. One might judge. Boredom. And at first, second glance, yes. But no. Within those mechanisms is a dance. A subtle ballet. Movement without question. Painfully reactive. Pure survival. No one looks like they know what’s going on. Everyone rigid. Ready to explode. To laugh. To cry. The convict’s drama. Concerted.