In Front Inside Out There

I could be found in front of cameras. I could be found in empty train cars box cars made for shipping freight. There could also then be found skid row alcoholic men and the flies swarm round their open snoring mouth. I could watch and catch the flies and lasso tie a strand of hair to make a leash on them. Fly on a leash. Bumming money to buy food and drugs and cigarettes. I could be 16 in a riot that I helped to cause. I could see the power all around me.

I could be dressed up high on LSD walking through the town a cardboard cutout partly zoot-suit chain spinning, partly glam rock kid androgyny, partly mystic hoodoo man, partly avant garde transcendent, partly just stoned kid away from home that doesn't feel like home. Nowhere does. With my tribe. A resemblance. Exogamous family. Smokes make me choke and cough up guck and still going at them trying to get used to them like that's what I’m supposed to do. How fucked up is that.

Like as if there is a way that it should be contained to be that way, which doesn't even matter. None of this is in your ear. It's the earnestness of it, of the feeling of it that's correct like yes I won't deny it any more correct. It is liberating, that is clear.

Who owned the POV?

There was nothing being corrected. Everything that was corrected was challenged openly or secretly. It was the secretly challenged corrections that mattered. That was where the truth of the lie of power was. Going there and being there could get you into something meaningful. The real real.

There was a doorway with no door on it. Just blackness like a pool at night. You could swim through that doorway. It was there only at night it appeared. It made my heart beat faster. It made his heart beat faster. There was no settling on the place of the eye. Who owned the POV? There were predators and there were guardian angels too. There was and still there is a great war going on. Soft style wins. But it’s easy to forget that. It’s a war in the atmosphere that sucks you in without any effort. You go willingly. I go willingly regrettably. He goes willingly unconsciously. We are all it is.