I I I I I I climbed into the refrigerator, I saw the water level rise and become the ice, I saw these things happen and I was unafraid. In the mornings my apartment is the ocean; I sit patiently in the ice tray and wait for the lifeguards to give me a push. I am not afraid of sharks. My innertube is a frozen bagel, I sleep beneath the sun and that is a lightbulb. At nights I dream of scuba, swimming deep beneath the surface. I count fish as the speed by in schools. Fifteen. Twenty-seven. I count them and for each one I count I tell myself a little joke. What do you call a bat with six eyes? How many tanks does it take to screw in a lightbulb? I am not afraid of tanks. Swim with me. Tonight I dive the Barrier Reef. A clownfish is not as funny as it sounds.

No.

The truth is terrifying – I climbed into the refrigerator, I saw the water level rise and form the ice, I saw the door close behind me, the sun blinked out and I was alone. Imagine the Antarctic, imagine colliding with penguins in the endless darkness, imagine falling down the side of a glacier, colliding with the wall, cutting your hands, imagine crashing into the water with the weight of a burning plane. Here I am, treading water in the dark. I am not afraid of sharks, but I can feel them, smell them, sense them, I can almost touch them, kiss them. I am reaching for the door when the first one grabs my leg. There is pain, but I’m not sure if it’s real. Somewhere I am safe, somewhere I am staring at a wall, a chair, a broken television, somewhere I am dying still but much more slowly.

No.

I climbed into the refrigerator, there was nothing, I flipped the switch and remained in darkness. I am afraid of the sharks. I stumble in the darkness, I bump into teeth, scales, eyes, I embrace it, and it tears me apart. I fall onto the floor in pieces, he swims past, I reach to hold him, touch him, kiss him, but he’s gone and I sit on the floor missing something Oh God Oh God I stare at the wall I sit on the couch Oh God I’m so alone/

1.

I am here; this is where I am; one wall painted, sculpted, beautiful / one wall hair teeth blood bone eyes eyes Idon'tknowmaybe a soul; one hand holding martini / one hand holding plate - shouldIshouldIshouldI drop it I can't drop it - I can't keep / I keep staring wanting waiting wanting waiting for someone to press a button / pull the curtain / flip a switch / step out from the wings and take a bow, all bow, the maybe-soul bows with a crackle of unfed brittle bones, I clapclapclapclapclap I clap I clap; this does not happen; what happens is I stare we all stare someone laughs someone spills martini no one cries no one goes mad someone says "good dog" no one cries I go home I leave no one says "sit, stay" no one unties him I put five dollars in the box because less would be rude because more would be hair teeth blood bone eyes eyes Idon'tknow maybe a soul; I went home I left I kicked my wife in the gut, my pregnant wife, I broke glass but did not cut my wrists, I broke my son's nose, my nine year old son's nose, I broke it with my fist, he did not cry, I said "this is not cruel. This is not cruel" and I laughed I laughed I laughed if they left I would not have stopped but we all laughed and laughed and laughed and no one no one cried.

2.

I made this man. I made this dog and his mother, his father, his sister and six brothers. I made the plants and the animals which became the food he will never be given. I made the people who will not feed him. With my blood I made the water which became the tears they will not cry. With my skin I shield them from the sun, which I did not make, which would burn them, destroy them, erase them if I do nothing. I could do nothing. With my bones I built the mountains which became the rocks which became the building where this man is killing this dog. I could have made nothing, but I made hair teeth eyes, a soul. Who here is the artist? I could have done nothing, I could have

3.

Martini, dry martini - I sat and I stayed and I watched for three hours. I did not eat, but neither did I go around and rip the food from people's hands. I drank, I wanted, I waited, but I did not act. I did not cry, but neither did anyone else. No one wept, no one put their food their water their dry martini down in front of him, no one pet him or said "I love you" or said "I'm sorry" no one said "no" or "stop" or "don't." Someone said "a man walked into a bar. Ouch." I did not punch him or kill him or starve him but neither did I laugh. I remember I remember I remember someone moved someone trying just to touch him, just to lie and say "it's ok," but it was too late, it was not enough, the dog growled and he coughed and the woman got scared and she stopped and she left but she did not cry. I pushed through the crowd - I wish I had knocked someone over but this did not happen - I pushed to the corner were the dog was tied, I wanted to say something beautiful I wanted to lie and make everything beautiful I bent down my knees crackled with applause and what I said was "Good Dog" - Oh Jesus Oh Jesus Oh Jesus Jesus shit fucking shit - I stumbled into the alley I vomited all over my shoes it smelled like dry martini and I think the tears that came when the acid hit my throat were the only tears that came to anyone Oh My God that is awful that is the worst but it's not it's not it's not.

4.

I come in the door and before I see the dog I shake the hand of the man who is starving him - he turns and kisses the cheeks of some pretty woman with a bit of a mustache - she hugs a friend too hard, he seems hurt, broken - he lightly punches a larger man on the arm by way of greeting - I watch this as it happens, my touch moving across the room, passing by the paintings, coming close so close but never reaching the dog in the corner - a man in capris kisses a girl with colossal red earrings - I watch as she moves across the room and swiftly, deeply kisses another, younger man, her tongue placing my touch on his person - I feel used, raped, stolen - I move to him before he can pass it to someone else, I grab his shoulders and shake myself free, I am touching no one as I move to the corner - it is my touch, my warmth, I want him to have it - I move my hand toward him, I am afraid it will not matter, he growls lowly, slowly, not even really menacing but it is too much - IcannotIcannotIcannot - Oh God I've left it too late to say - to say

5.

Who are you? Come closer. Who are you? Come closer. I want I want I want I want I want what you have. Can I have it? No. Please. Come closer. I need I need I need I need I need I need I need something. I hear food shuffling on glass plates, crunching dissolving in your mouths please I smell please I see please I smell everything I see you please why are you smiling please! I can smile. Here are my teeth. They, too, are lonely. Who are you? Come closer. Someone can touch me, someone can scratch me strike me please someoneanything I need I need please water water water I want I want I see you I see I see I see your mouths open, all that could be mine. How can you point at me and not touch me? How can you move when I am trapped. You. Come closer, yes. Here is your hand, yes. What will it do? Touch me. You are afraid. Touch me. You are afraid. Come closer do it you coward I growl

"Do it you coward do it do it touch me how can I hurt you how can I fight you I'm broken touch me you coward please please I want I need someone to see this touch me please you coward please do it do it do it come one please now!"

Hand drops. Ohmygod Ohmygod Ohmygod please someone touch me feed me touch me kill me please kill me where are you going come closer please I want this I want this what are you doing I want this do it do it come on Oh god Oh god here it is what is it here it is please please please kill me please now what now what what what what what what what please now please now who are you say something who are you say something say something say something -

And the voice said "Good dog."



*Author's Note: This happened before, and is in the process of happening again. Please look at the articles and sign the petition to prevent some fake artist from starving another innocent dog in the name of whatever he thinks art is. Thank you, and the dog thanks you.*

http://www.PetitionOnline.com/ea6gk/

http://www.PetitionOnline.com/13031953/




(Photo is a real photograph taken at the event by an anonymous witness, not by me or anyone I know.)

Blueprints for a story: A boy who has never heard music

He could be twelve years old. Thirteen. Blue eyes/brown hair. Yes. No. I will not describe him but I will always know. He has perfect pitch – this happens to people, perfect pitch. His mother knows this and protects. He cannot listen to music. It will be very wrong. As such, he cannot watch tv, or movies. He cannot go to school. He cannot own a dog, a cat, a bird; all these make noise, which would be wrong. He owns a fish, which is silent, which is ok. Beside the mirror, which is the first thing peoplesee when they come into the house, his mother has put up her ten commandments for family and guests.

1.      No whistling

2.      No humming

3.      No singing

4.      No talking, except in a monotone

5.      No Ipods, mp3 players, or compact discs

6.      No mention of music, movies, or television

7.      No tapping, patting, or drumming

8.      No animals

9.      No children

10.  No yawns, sighs, or musical noise

This is really eighteen commandments, which is fine. No. Yes. Why do I say “blueprints?” Why not green or red, which is my favorite color. No. This is stupid. So so so so so. The boy is: lonely + intelligent + funny x handsome x scared + curious x + short  + handsome x in love with is mother x … Where is his father? Dead. No. Missing, gone, left. Yes. The boy is curious so he tries to get his family to help him / asks his mother to / goes to the movies / music store / library. He has never been outside before. He hears birds for the first time but is not aware that this is music. He hears people talking, the tone and the cadence of it, but he does not recognize it. Does he run? He runs. Does he skip? Yes. No, that is stupid. As he runs his feet find the feeling of the noise of the city or As he moves through the city he is assailed by music; it clings to him, clutching the loose cotton weave of his shirt and clamoring to be heard.

I could write the whole thing in future tense; he will pull apart the doors of the library pulsing with unheard music, the mews and braying wails of society; he will approach the computer triumphantly (if one can approach a computer triumphantly) – then what? He hears music the first time and then:

            Nothing

No joy, no insanity; neither the orgasmic glee of pleasure long denied nor the unabashed terror of unexpected imperfection. I will build echoing descriptions of the noise of the city and on top of that the anticipation of a child and on top of that the anticipation of a child and on top of that the fear and unknowability of  music and on top of that and on top of that and it will all come to nothing. Profound disappointment. Will it leave a ringing in your ears? Yes. No. Yes. I wonder; is a whole story on noise, sound pretentious? Is it too biographical? Will I ever stop? He will sit before the altar of music – as an atheist he never knew to kneel – he will sit before the altar; he will place the headphones gently, lovingly on his virgin ears; he will close his eyes and wait and it will come like water melting running off an ice tray left on the kitchen counter too long it will come neither pleasant nor unpleasant neither hideous nor perfect neither frightening nor beautiful it will come like this

            dun dun-dun-dun dun-a-naaa

and leave like this

            dun dun-dun-a-nun-nun-naaa

and he will yawn and he will stretch and he will sigh and he will

The question I asked is are you a good person.

Here is a spider;
Here is mud;
He is a candy-blue can of house paint, excited-
These are the fragments I shore against madness.

Do my words ignite you? Sparks, petrol, an inferno of I in your brain. Boring as the child you were, continue. Here is a sandcastle spire of Babel; see ants flee giant footfalls, hear here the first indecipherable chatter. You remember magnifying glass fires between the pillars of salt, sipping tea with stuffed rabbits. You wore a red dress your father hated. Inside you is nothing. You have no organs. University philosophy you sat in the front row stared longingly at professor Stein, he said God is dead reality is perception, you sat naked in the shadow of your dorm room playing with your breasts your brain/lungs/soul invisible and you loved it, loved it.

Are you a good person?

Gravity gave you a new face by fifty. Here is your skeleton trapped in a textbook. You teach now, stare longingly at your students wear corsets under your only sweater, sit by yourself in school cafeterias cackling phrases from philosophy books, mostly Nietzsche sometimes Rousseau. You tell students the truth when possible. God is an agitated duck. The answer is zero. Zero camels balance on the head of a pin. Here is a city seven years old today clutching its skirts today crawling with seven million people. From your seventh story studio window you stare longingly wishing remembering wanting to tower over setting glass fires, scrape your knees cry for a while your father didn’t care crush a few under feet you are seventy years old now, your bones are tired of you, your failing liver is invisible. Dying is your profession now; here is a sandcastle crushed by the sea; here is a sand dollar drowning in the moat. Your brain is invisible, you think therefore you are, there is nothing inside you; are you a good person?

Here is a teacup;
Here is a nightgown;
Here is a grown woman painting her living room candy blue blowing smoke rings into the motorized fan;
Here is a silkworm swimming in wine;
These fragments I shore against madness

To believe you are a failure you must/