David Wojnarowicz

"Sometimes I come to hate people because they can't see where I am.  I've gone empty.  Completely empty and all they see is the visual form: my arms and legs, my face, my height and posture, the sounds that come from my throat.  But I'm fucking empty.

The person I was just one year ago no longer exists; drifts spinning slowly into the ether somewhere way back there.  I'm a xerox of my former self.  I can't abstract my own dying any longer.  I am a stranger to others and to myself and I refuse to pretend that I am familiar or that I have history attached to my heels.  I am glass, clear empty glass.

I see the world spinning behind and through me.  I see casualness and mundane effects of gesture made by constant populations.  I look familiar but I am a complete stranger being mistaken for my former selves.

I am a stranger and I am moving.  I am moving on two legs soon to be on all fours.  I am no longer animal vegetable or mineral.  I am no longer made of circuits or disks.  I am no longer coded and deciphered.  I am all emptiness and futility.  I am an empty stranger, a carbon copy of my form.

I can no longer find what I'm looking for outside of myself.  It doesn't exist out there.  Maybe it's only in here, inside my head.  But my head is glass and my eyes have stopped being cameras, the tape has run out and nobody's words can touch me.  No gesture can touch me.  I've been dropped into all this from another world and I can't speak your language any longer.

See the signs I try to make with my hands and fingers.  See the vague movements of my lips among the sheets.  I'm a blank spot in a hectic civilization.  I'm a dark smudge in the air that dissipates without notice.  I feel like a window, maybe a broken window.  I am a glass human.  I am a glass human disappearing in the rain.

I am standing among all of you waving my invisible arms and hands.  I am shouting my invisible words.  I am getting so weary.  I am growing so tired.  I am waving to you from here.  I am crawling around looking for the aperture of complete and final emptiness.  I am vibrating in isolation among you.  I am screaming but it comes out like pieces of clear ice.  I am signaling that the volume of all this is too high.  I am waving.  I am waving my hands.  I am disappearing.  I am disappearing but not fast enough."

Little diddy.

My head lulls up and down, and I lean back into the plush seat.  The rumble has us all shaking slightly, and I would be more if I wasn't completely exhausted.  I go right to the window.  It's chill radiates through my skull and the vibrations have me back in the center after twenty seconds.  To the left.  To you.  To your shoulder.  I'm conscious of it.  And then again I'm not.  Because I've never needed sleep more.  To grit my eyes tight, set my jaw.  And pretend that this isn't happening.  That this hasn't happened.  That only part of this happened.  And I'm just filling in the rest as I see fit.  I don't want to face you when I finally recoup the energy to sit up.  If you're okay, I'm just going to stay here for a while.

Sun Ray

I took the bus downtown this morning.  For the purse.  I'm not gonna name it, okay, but I do have it.  As much as everyone I am around is repulsed by the thought of using public transportation in Los Angeles, I find it to be oddly calming.  It's prime people watching territory.  And not people that go out that go out because they want to be watched, like so much of LA can feel like.  Just people.  That have to take the bus.    I like to examine faces from behind my Raybans.  Today there was a scruffy, middle-aged man sitting towards the front, holding a spiral notebook.  He kept holding it at arm's length, above the level of his head.   The first page had the alphabet written out with bold red marker, and each subsequent had pictures paired with corresponding words in block print.  A sharpied drawing of the sun with an arrow— "SUN RAY."  He mouthed the words to himself.  I wondered if he was teaching himself to read.  It made me happy to see him working on it.  Not in a condescending way like I know how to read, but you don't.  Not at all.  It was more it's nice to see someone make the effort to better themselves.

After biting the handbag bullet, I got lunch with Annie a couple store fronts down Spring Street.  Had an amazing veggie wrap, which Annie and I agreed that the rest of the ingredients could have been totally subpar and the spicy mayo would have saved it.  We sat at the bar that faced the plate glass window and street.  That location beat out the bus entertainment wise.  First there was a close save of a pile up when some truck went barreling through a red light.  And then some woman sat in one of the patio chairs outside.  Dressed in an open graduation gown.  She was black, but had put what looked with ultra fair-skinned foundation on her face – including eyelids and lips – to the point where it created a mask.  I couldn't really see her from my stool, but Annie relayed that she had a package of strawberries and was eating them all, stems and leaves included.  Everyone in this little falafel hole-in-the-wall was staring at her and well as people passing by on the block.  There was even this silent exchange with some guy walking by; he and I caught each other staring incredulously at the woman, and he playfully pointed at me and laughed as he moved along.  It's surprising what can be shared through a wall of glass.
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