Our days can be measured in the suns we have seen: one sun = one day. Each day the sun takes a little more out of us. Our color. Our energy. Our being. Drain us of our life you goddamn star! Eat our soul with your extreme vampire-like life of four and a half billion years. I am but a fleck in the speck of your asshole’s asshole. Turn around! Face me you yellow hot solar whore! I will punch you out and laugh at the light year long smoke cloud that will form when you’re dead. Your radiation, my rad nation. Say “hello” Milky Way to your new white dwarf, neutron star or black hole. Sun, I will see you in the morning.
My cartoon gap smiles as your furry teeth cut. Our friendship, all in my mind, is strong as the beer drinks us. From the sprout the bottle’s amber soul rolls down my throat coating my brain with indifference.
Let’s make this beer last forever.
In front of the never varying dull blue sky, fourteen perfect stars swarm around my cock crooked smile: our family, now numbering fifteen. My brother sisters, as there is no given sex with stars, rejoice at this impromptu street family reunion. Around the picnic table they run, chicken bones and watermelon rinds used as bullets.
Bang! Bang! We’re feed.
Clown Town, where only the rats can know my pain. Laying here, slouched, balancing an empty can of Nooch Beer on my not-so-funny belly, I am reminded of all the planes I have never caught. Every day, thousands. Thousands of places I could, and should, go; but, don’t. Clown Town isn’t a lonely place, there’s dozens of us here. It is a personal place where every day behaves just as you knew it would. No surprises. Don’t get red, tomorrow will be the same, just accept it.
A 200 foot wall erected around our lower 48. Plaster of Paris poured over our mountains and gathers on the Plains. One nation, under White. A Jasper Johns dream of America for Americans.
Photography: Gene LaurentsVogue November 1963
Life forward and back : efil back and forward.