Don't touch me. Don't come near me. Don't question me and you better watch your ass cause I am bitter bitter bitter. Oh yeah...I work. I walk. I smile. I am civil and I can drive too. But, don't come too fucking close my friend cause given a chance I will rip and tear and take and you will never have any idea of the hurt that I can deliver.

Talk to me you say?

Yeah...okay.

So...when did this all start? I dunno...must have been a long time ago cause I have tried a number of things and here we are talking about how you better watch your ass...so, whatever, whenever it started whatever went wrong went wrong a long long time ago and here we are...smiley face, huh?

used to be i crouched in corners quiet never speaking seeing no one for days on end the beast all quiet head down quiet as sleeping...now the crouching has been replaced by drink and restless sleeping and the respite never comes...now am so far gone that even those i love cant touch me and for me they might as well not be there wherever that there is...cause now im alien set apart a wolf condemned by habit to roam a round an round an round and round...

how to this no caring came i without design...how come i came to this place without a conscious step...how come i came here to this quiet and lonely place...how come i inherited became what once was framed upon a wall...how come how come how come how come no normalcy despite the fact that i was well prepared for such...how come how come how...come

No sense to beat a dead horse here...most of this I have covered time and time again so there's no point to do the same here...Sartre and the dispossessed...have read pretty widely and become, to some degree, that which I have encountered literarily...is that a word? Well...anyway I am what I am and that's okay but one day I think the top is gonna blow and what will you, will anyone actually remember then? Like I say...I dunno...

I've told you before that I don't care about anything...and I don't. Care...I suggest you don't test me on this. Who should know better than me? Right? What don't I care about? Well...I don't care about you...my daughters...my brother...or that body lying in the street over there...See that? He's hurt, right? No way do I care...he can bleed to death and that's his problem for sure...and if it was you over there instead of here talking to me...well, like I said...suggest you don't test this one out...better to take my word. Believe me. I know what I am talking about.

How old? Well...depends on how you look at it I suppose...I am and I am not. Old. Am not as limber as I was 20 years ago that's for sure. Can't drink as much. Can't eat as much. Need more sleep. Don't smile as much. But, my mind is still in pretty good shape. I pretended a lot...wanted to be a savior/soldier of fortune ala Che...you know. Always tried to find something to believe in. Worked pretty hard at that too...funny, after all that trying I have to believe that there is nothing to believe...weird to come to that. You know? Always wanted to believe in Right and Good and God and Love and Truth and here we are come full circle from that pure pure child to believing only that whatever it is I want to believe is good for me and no one else...sad to have come to this but at least I can relate. You know?

I guess if I could point to the beginning of the realization of the end I would have to point to the disintegration of my marriage. Lots was lost there. Dreams. Gone. Burned up pretty quick they were...I never really thought too much about it all. Just kinda assumed that all would be well. You know? But it wasn't.

For a long long time I told myself and any other woman who asked that I really didn't love her but, lately, I am coming to think that I really did love her cause now so much has changed. Oh, now, I don't love her but I must have way back when...you know? That's rhetorical, you know. Am not talking to you. Just talking to myself...

You know...one doesn't come to this unless he is supposed to. Guess it was all mapped out. Line drawn. Ruts defined...right? Don't ever offer me the chance to look ahead cause no way do I want to know...don't force it either. God forbid things should get better...cause there is no way in hell I can see that happening...

"A man's work is nothing but the long journey to recover, through the detours of art, the two or three simple and great images which first gained access to his heart." ...Camus said that. And it's true. For sure. There once was beauty. Once was caring. Was in here. In me...could still be there I suppose. But, really, it doesn't matter anymore.

Yes...I've done some things for sure. But you know that, right? It's why your here...Why are you here? Why? Ah...I don't care. Don't really like to ask questions. what's the point of that. When one asks a question it's implied something matters. Right? am thinking that is so anyway...I don't really ask too many questions anymore cause I don't care...

I see you smiling...bet your thinking that he (me) is saying so specifically that he doesn't care that he MUST care. Right? Well...I warned you before...if you are going to walk that path you're gonna end up in a world of hurt. This is no game we are playing my friend...there is a dark side of me you do not want to see...

I am a trigger. I am cocked. Just need an excuse, I suppose. A reason to act. Some reason to do. Some reason to commit.

I must hold onto the anger because it is what drives me...without the anger I just seem to stop in the middle of the road. Simply stop...have been told to look at the joy the good the beauty of thjings and write about that I but I can't do it. I just can't. It is the anger and the fire that drives me...I believe that they are all powerful and so I am drawn to their warmth. Did you ever imagine that anger can be warm...that it can feed? Well...it certainly feeds me.

So...why am I angry? I should ask you why you are even bothering to ask...for me to tell you anything means I am taking your presence seriously. And why should I do that? Who are you to me? Better yet, who am I to you? Tell me that my friend...and, yes, in this I smile...cause you want something from me...are willing to take what you can get? And then what...what will you do with what you get? Will you expect that I'll owe you something...will you then owe me?

I remember the first time I touched a woman's breast...brushed it really...just the top...the moon was shining and I was young. I remember that time...I remember all the pure times. It's just that I can not describe them. Can not relate...they scare me...I am afraid to care. The pain and scarring did that...I can't go near that anymore...I am wild. I am the Wolf. I stand on the hill and I will tear your fucking heart out if you come too close to me...

So...that said, what IS the point of this...yeah, I write cause I want to leave something behind. Something on paper. My paintings are gone. Scattered all over this fucking planet. I have saved a few drawings...that's all that's left. Anything of consequence I have either lost or given away...almost anyway. So, now I write until a nuclear slate wiper runs its hand down the electronic blackboard and then that will be no more...futile, huh? But I intend to keep hammering away cause when there is no point one constructs a point and I fucking believe there is SOME worth to this...some fucking REASON for the doing for the effort for the prices I paid to be led to this fucking clearing in the forest. I FUCKING BELIEVE in that at least...whew.

Yeah...don't get me going...I have no problem whatsoever with me putting MY arm around you but...well, I have already said this...after a while you get to spend too much time alone...the warping does that I suppose. And, as mentioned, this sorta things starts when one is way way young...not way too cool...but, way way too young.

William Burroughs just died, you know. A great man. Shot his wife in the head when he was drunk. Tried to shoot a bottle off her head. Her pain was simple and quick. His lasted longer. How does one account for that? I left my Father crying all alone...I didn't go to him. Hold him. He was so thin and he cried...I drove away...his tears now scar me....i dont care dont care dont care dont...cant.

left he did gone no more standing tall smelling of smoke and clean hair no more...alone he was but still he left me lonelier he didn't choose to stay and watch the children grow no, no he left to go where he had no idea... his heart was gone barren hollow and nothing from the outside could he bear to touch he left, he left me and I am bitter some nerve he had did he?

that father gone now bones bare all bug gnawed flesh dried yes but memories nothing can touch and is he watching wonder often i do full well knowing that i can never escape his gaze...so why bother this am thinking with no ever ever answers coming... no god to save no hand to grip no float to buoy me ever and no wonder shannon seems so desperate cause her father has no answers and she senses his despair...

Georgia, William, Kenneth, Mark, Jack, Eun Hwa, Leonard, Anna, Shannon, James, Betty...you dont know these guys. But, I do...they live with me...in me. I harvest pain. Absorb it...it is fuel.

When they came to tell me about my Mother...that she was dying, I was drunk. In Israel...they told me she was waiting for me...waiting for me to return before she could die. I returned. And she died. I saw the pulse in her neck stop. She was moaning...so full of the pain that now resides in me. But, her pain was different. Her pain was not as mine...I will always honour Mothers...women actually. For men they are the Door...I will always honour Woymn. And She is dead...