R.G.
Porcelain Smooth (part I)
Dec 31, 2007
I've been five days in cessation.
I've spent that time methodically moving from one task to the next, avoiding any hesitation. That's where my thoughts betray me. I'd almost forgotten myself, but here I am. I sat on this concrete bench only to think a moment, to wonder what I might do next. That was enough. My indecision has bowed my vision, bending it to an old familiar. Plate glass windows spy onto the street in the sun's reflection. I've often given way to the liberation of early indulgence, freeing myself from the bondage of a rational mind. Night comes heavy though; the grayness slowly encompasses everything. A welcome asylum, but the absence of light can be an unbearable solitude. Then I have to keep myself in the company of my affliction. Today, however, I turned my face to the sun's sympathetic touch. I spoke to people as I almost never do; confident, aware of each interaction. Leaving the chemist, I thought of her.
The young girl at the register -
I said, "Oh, can I get this as well?" "No," she answered quickly. I was charmed and spoke with my newly found presence of mind, "Now, don't tease the Yank." She smiled and we offered each other a few more exchanges. Her accent sang the melody of my longing. Difference is sometimes all that one can ask for. I've never seen so many colors. Flocks of red and green lorikeets swarm on the grass. Cockatoos perch high in the trees, white flecks of virtue that expand their yellow felicity. I'm taken with the purple blossoms that bow in my honor, and then humbly rise again. I’m sure they don't know me, but they will. The season must change, and colors begin to fade. Then the flies come. They buzz at the corners of my eyes and cracked mouth, seeking moisture. I had to stop running because of those incessant intrusions. But that wasn't always so.
Sleep eluded me that morning.
With dawn about to break night's domineering reign, I put on my running shoes and headed toward the river. The morning mist was thick and clung to every part of me; beads of moisture collected in my beard. An ominous celestial body filled the sky at my back, its cool orange glow refracting through millions of tiny water particles. The familiar path seemed slightly foreign to me. Bathed in orange-red surrealism, pools of breath hung in low-lying pockets, accented with the sun's halo. The huge, dead eucalyptus, devoid of its usual sulfur crested occupants, reached a ghostly shadow across the pasture of fog. Its immensity threatened the cattle cowering under that oppressive hand. Still, I felt invited; my body and my very thoughts wrapped in a blanket of absolution. It broke beyond the boundaries of comprehension and left me lost in its omnipotence.
I don't wish to yield to any inclination.
My fingers slide along the pebbled edge. Fragments that make the whole, each particle joined in arbitrary precision, a smooth concrete surface leading to a severed edge. Dubbo had been thirsty for months, but with me came the rain. Then the precipitation was ceaseless. It's dry now. I’m desperate to hydrate, but some remedies only preserve the desire. On the opposite corner sits the Amaroo Hotel: high stools set at tall tables; schooners of Toohey's, Victoria Bitter and four X. I'll stay here until it passes; the craving that ulcerates in my head. They can't hear, not what I hear, but they wonder about me.
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Porcelain Smooth (part II)
Dec 31, 2007
Sugar is the essential ingredient.
I survive in a constant barrage of beauty. Chalky, red bricks lined with streams of flowery brilliance - the small cottage at the Country Apartments. Gary discusses every floral decision with me. Unlike nature, nothing is left to chance; a flawless potpourri of vegetative elegance. Why is it that the mind is so entertained by colors? Sue can't understand how I stay so thin with my effervescent tendencies. I offer running as an answer. It's quite a contrast, the two, but then that's me. She made an exquisite dining experience, as she always does. We talked over Christmas pudding: plum pudding mixed with ice cream, refrozen, then scooped onto a plate and decorated with strawberry and thin lines of dark chocolate. I didn't take notice when her eyes drifted off. I continued to speak while Gary gathered her up and administered orange juice in the kitchen. She returned and apologized. How can that be?
I love the gathering of rain.
The blurring of images arouses my thoughts. I switch the wipers to the lowest setting and let the droplets build, everything becoming indistinct. My anxiety burns until panic threatens to overtake me, then the blades swipe cleanly over the glass. Everything is brought to bear. A heavy rain will wash away the remnants of life, but we can't depend on that, especially in a drought. We have to make our own water.
Are we meant to be comfortable?
My cement seat offers no peace. Its rigid contour is not at all agreeable. I'll need to do something soon, but I can't go home. The silence is overwhelming. People escape in and out of storefronts. There are so many reflections, each offering a different image. The sun has concealed itself behind the buildings, and I can now see them roosting in the Amaroo. They look delightful. Why shouldn't they?
Thirty minutes for ninety dollars.
My first experience with Candy was the usual. Of course, that's Australian money. A shower in each room, I hung my towel carefully. She remarked about that. "Oh yeah." She liked those words in an American accent. "You're a good lover." Her lie infatuated me. I leaned in to kiss her, forgetting myself. "Not on the mouth." I didn't intend to see her again, but when she was brought before me the second time I felt obliged. So we talked as I massaged her buttocks and spoke of my concerns. Her skin was taut and rippled under my touch. I put my lips to the raised follicles that stood on her flesh, and moved towards transcendence: the nave of a woman, at the small of the back where the soul and the psyche convene. Trying to arouse myself, there was only tenderness. When the knock came at the door - ten more minutes - "Okay, come on." But that wasn't what I wanted.
Everything contained within an ivory basin,
So even and genuine, with curves that excite the mind; or the indelible purity of tile. My hand glides lightly over glazed surfaces, quickly wiping away dirty little sins. I sometimes immerse myself in the warm water embrace of ceramic arms. However far I stray, tainted by the stain of time, I can be redeemed with a cleansing effort. I rub my skin raw.
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Evil Me: Poetry for the Problem Drinker
Dec 31, 2007
Beyond the boundaries of rational thought
I have become
Evil me has become
The true self hidden from watching eyes
Worlds that mirror each other
Each despising each other
Evil ramblings that make perfect sense
All others are mistaken
I am not mistaken
Evil must sleep leaving the other to cope
What has been done
Cannot be undone
Internal disorder creating the chaotic mind
There is no way out
The other must sort it out
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Binge: Poetry for the Problem Drinker
Dec 31, 2007
I've pissed out all my dreams and aspirations
Lying in a pool of my own self absorption
My dehydrated will, replenished with guilt and shame
I'm increasingly brilliant when saturated
So poignant and introspective
It is at these early hours, at the last stages of consciousness that I find myself
For a brief moment I was able to touch dreams
But these have been crushed by the cruel weight of sobriety
The loneliness has all but swallowed me
I long for a nurturing hand to mend my broken spirit
To take the cumbersome burden of responsibility from me
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