Autumn Collage, Serge Gurkski [ebook reader TXT] 📗

btw

bc you do not step into the open

for no cause: you

meet your guys exactly because

you just RAN away from homesweethome

but now HERs castle. See

my point?

Wai-wait, dont touch me yet,

I hardly know you and

you not me, we are not

yet friends.

But some magic made it that

from a dark blue sky of

ice, some flakes of

heart-warmers

rained down on us.

(to be continued)


II. blue feather fell down to die


So out in the cold we

stood around a bar

room bistro table

enjoying our lagers

when the brother of

the tobacco shop keeper

all of sudden pulled

out of his jacket a

suppressor and I said:

Lemme see what you got there

and so he did and I thought

weighing the piece of

metal in my hand, quite

heavy. ‘d never had thought.

I said I thought they were light.

K.then I proved myself wrong

and later there

was a birthday party going on

and because there was no

one to be shot that night

I started to relax with

the pills in my pocket I need.

You see, that is how

we make it down here from day to day.

After all those turbulences

of my heart and my brain

and several other hearts

and maybe brains too, I

fought my way back to my only her.

It is true that I made love to

the fashionista and that I told you

that I did not, so

ok I lied , so what? I am back now.

I needed the touch. So blame it

on me.

The timbre of your voice

colored so sad

is what breaks me finally eternally

or wait, what was the .. to quote it cor

rectly (not erectly,-) )

theme of the love song

we can’t hear anymore…

and as we move on yes

my main influence is

Hubert Selby

and I let his somber voice

dance and cakewalk and tipsily

sway over Buddy The Guy’s

take on sweet home

slaughterhoused Chicago.

And now beat the shit out of the

meat I once was but

don’t die unaware of this:

feels like I am gonna
let my fingers sing
and hum and moan and yell
my last of the last boogie
woogie blues swampy,
Lou i see Anna
tunes to tune out of all this

seems I m a
am simply not made for this,
god is a fucked up designer
If I know one thing I know this:

So home-school your heart
with the poisoned sneaky whisperin honey dripping
bull shit
from
xtian liars smearing their
how-to-be-best-to be good
around your – and all over too ,-)
your wantoning
pretty lips:

And then
die in vain to prove
an unproveable theodizee,
all you

you and me ever needed

to deterioriate

into the finest of slumbers

and now I am drowning lightly as a

feather (which is not easy and a-

gainst your best intuition

a rather tricky fucking pretty hard

thing to do)

Basta and Amen

and arriverderla

wherever that might be. ,-)

a blue feather fell

down to die but,

but not yet ,-)


III. iced were the beers and my heart too


( listenin or rather swoonin over Laura Fedele’s

venti-nove dollari e una borsetta di cocodrillo, la sua ommagio, her homage to Waits)

(Still dunno how but) I

made it out and speed-stumbled

over to

the pharmacy

about a 5 minutes horseride

away from my misery

just that there was no horse to mount and ride

candies are principally lost on

horsies not there. Did you not know?

polizia e arrivata tarde*

the cops late due to

per colpa di un café*

Due to a cup of coffee.

(not an espresso of course)

So there parked a police car

right in front of where I had to

go.

or stumble, whatever. I knew

i had to make just another joke

for the farmacistas

in order to get my nocturnal fix.

So I, in a rush. came

up with a silly joke but it

did its job. Walked out

in a pre-orgasmic state of

mine .

Went then over to the groc’ries

to get what else I needed

to round up la mia notte,

this my

night of si

assoluttamente

absolutely

chemically induced

mia notte di gioia

my joyous night.

Which was when

I almost made a grave mistake.

You know just like a bum

I sat on a bench letting

the pills do their job on me

and I had a bottle of beer

rolled a cig, only to notice that

I’d forgotten a lighter.

continua ,-)

(whenever i fall in love i am prone to die … ,-) )

what a wonder listening to Blues can do to you. ,-)


Sorry for the detonation (Fashionista)


(owe the title to a fight with someone close to me, I at least thought*)

Fashionistas leave their needles on my floor.

Seems I’m the ashtray now I’m gettin into arts deeper.

Some of … find it nice to watch a poet maudite bleed.

I can tell, I seen it, they cum …

then! Mean lipstuck pussies, well,

coking the snow out of its white

but I am in need

for

a detonation

call it whatcha wan’

I need a touch

detonating on my skin,

instead of a hiss from

oh so by nature

blown-up lips.

(grace à dieu, ,-). thank god, she knows no English)


————–

* and I may well be wrong. To put it into the finest of the poshest Queen’s French Mince alors! Sigh


Catalunya por contrabajo triste

Catalunya por contrabajo triste *// Fashionista Blues (así o así)

————————————————————————————————————–


Catalunya, belleza oscura, tiene un resfriado de blue y ahora he sido infectado, mi también …

———————————————————————————————————


dedicado a Carles Benavent y mi fashionista

(desafortunadamente no en català)

———————————————————————————————————


Un diario on a Friday with a cold:

It was a smooth moon of a morning noon,

I was in a mood almost velvety

and that be-

cause of our sun, she

stroked me with her feathers of gold and tender

and encouraged me thusly

to meet my delirious day.

As if

it was about time:

but I yelled back with a

voice a mess of mercy less though

but got up.

I let my fingers by heart learn,

by the heat of my heart, mi corazón,

a new blue blow over funk

and by that heart (a punk of

a tramp and inside sad)

I made them learn it,

learn it by a heart

not mine anymore

because by then she was already gone.

Por eso tengo

I by now have

to rededicate it to

una mujer hermosa y

maravillosa:

La fashionista,

mi nuevo amor.

So my heart sings to her

en su ausencia,

in her absence,

una noche de

primavera azul,

as life pours down on me

sad and drab drops of

a heavy-weight rain

of fear of loss:

temor de pérdida

before we even

found us.

¿Cómo se llama su nuevo amor?

esperanza

——————

* Catalonia for a standup-bass sad

or

Fashionista Blues

(whatever you prefer)

Catalonia, dark beauty, caught a cold of blue, and now I am infected too, me too.

For Carles Benavent and my fashionista

(unfortunately not in Catalan)

my fingers on a tipsy of a haste wrote the piano blues I refer to (Fashionista Blues) and the intro bass lines Carles plays, match almost exactly the rhythmic pattern of my right hand! It’s too cute because you would think, this rhythm is a left-hand voluminising (adding volume or roundness) growl dancing clumsily , but… enough of that for now. I originally intended to hand my blues over as a present of sounds unkempt to my now-not-and-nevermore lover. Have fun!


Parker Flights


I. An unnoticed so far crash on North Beach,Cali, just last night


poem about a 4 a.m. night flight

when a Jazzairplane crashed into Bob Kaufman’s

forehead forcing him to … sink down

on his knees and starting to pray

to Kerouacian pantheons

pre-dawnishly

wineless his only offering

a second-hand reefer

a big-titted queen of

the surfer beaches

with a mock-gracious

but sexy wet-lipped

smiiiiiiiile spit

at

his pitchdark feet.

We meet Bob in adoration

of a majestic vagina glistening

in darkest purple and

GAIA’s pussy

grants a grin

to our poet

that he takes

maybe wrongly

for an

invitation

to dive audaciously

into a sweet giggling

sea of lust infinite…

We start now:


II. A planet of the mind with three moons

assai mosso e arioso


Enters the guy who’s Bob’s chronist,

2 bottles of rum in his blood a-raging

and a handful of pills working their evil

ways out from his stomach

using the semi-permeable

Border-lining for crisscrossing overs.

Serge tumbling his path paralleling the

shoreline of an Awakened and lazy

long after midnight pacific

Sees no one and nothing

but three moons

spiraling in courteous manner

(höflich as Einstein

would’ve put it)

each around the other

while listening to the portrait

of a Tracy whose last name

is a twin with the one of the poetess Ann*.

Serge thinks, which of the planets

had three moons again? None!

You could ignore the 2 smallest of Pluto

being denied his civil rights by deGrasse Tyson

and play with Charon, Nix and Hydra, but

Pluto’s not a planet anymore

and it would be unfair to

P4* and P5** too.

————————————————————————————————————–
*S/2011 (134340) 1

** S/2012 (134340) 1

*** Sexton. Tracy Sexton. Was Jaco’s wife.

the song is Portrait of Tracy (by Jaco Pastorius)

best version in my opinion is here

Neil deGrasse Tyson, ya.

Him! , he denied Pluto’ planetishness.


IV: Obsessionism fighting ostracism

Bowing down into these eyes
filled with disastrous
personal histories, his
eyes a crying howl-wail
into the breath of this
sea of madness* we
linger upon