My apartment’s a mess, belongings askew, with people on the way over, I need emergency advice. The TV’s on the blink, the carpet needs sweeping, the refrigerator’s empty and this includes drink. There’s a drilling in the hallway, while someone pounds away at all this and that. I give it little thought, proceed with what I’ve got, okay, a cheap shot…because, then there is you.
Laundry is piled up, dishes are stacked up, bills both stacked and piled - essentially unpaid. Paintings steadfastly unfinished, peaches slowly rotting in a bowl waiting for what - immortality? The radio jockey plays not my song though I’ve politely phoned in my request. Still hours to go before I rest in the loving embrace of a cocktail or two. Pissed-off rejection, gloomy reflections, nutty projections…but, so, well, then there is you.
I’ve errands to run, projects to plan, my panicked anxiety pleads for some sanity. Not enough drugs, love, music, order, warmth…not enough of anything except censorship, deflation, lunatic antics and the need for a linear narrative. I need some pressing need, I require necessary requirements. My mind is out to lunch but where exactly is my lunch? Is a simple repast too much to ask? Meanwhile, I’m hatching serious doubts about any number of objects and subjects both significant and timid, immersed in this clever verbiage that will fool no one…nevertheless, then there is you.
The afternoon glow settles itself in my room making the pressures equivocate, my vehemence just a lackluster performance in the second act of a supercilious drama. Mother’s on the telephone issuing an edict, landlord’s lurking outside my door issuing a summons. Furniture’s undusted, radio pundit explains the political situation in regards to an economic slump adversely affected by an increase at the pump; everything except what happened to my request. Mirror’s got cracks, skin's looking slightly mottled, books out of alphabetical AND categorical order, summer leaves dying…still, then there is you.
The radio announcer keeps broadcasting an 800 number trying to raise some funds. I go to give them my money and find I have none. An empty wallet is no pretty reminiscence while these shady ghosts try to stare me down in a rendezvous I’m unaware of orchestrating. I would seek any escape if I only knew what works in these times of trouble. I’d alter as much as possible this losing dispossession. I have much to learn. Clothing needs mending, state colleges need funding, wolves need protecting…oh lord, then there is you.
Growing indifference, I’m at a loss, rub me the wrong way, I just despair. Echoes and mirrors reflections of me, take them away; “I must be alone.” Life in installments, I quite, no you quit, no I’m fired, okay then you’re fired. Then I said, then you said, then I said, then you said…silver needs polishing, the piano is out of tune, no one plays it anymore since Shostakovich died…except, then there is you.
My spending is out of control, there is a leaking from the ceiling, my friends have let me down again. Talked to my guru, he said, relax, it’s only a pattern, time is the condition, patience the solution. You’d better fit in, babe, or you will only run chaotically, unable to flow into the everlasting cloying paradigmatical redundancy. Me, I sense conspiracy. A cold air blows in my cracked window pane…still, then there is you.
I think I need an agent who will play it by the rules, help me in the cross-currents, keep me in belief. Tell me who is who, what is up to what, maybe offer maybe - something besides than this no, sorry, no. It wouldn’t take much to turn irritation into pearl, kill this forlornly aloneness, make it all make sense. Now I’m out of cigarettes, my bathtub overflows, the pen is out of ink, silence overcomes me. Looking past my shoulder, about to turn to stone, instead I smile wanly…for, then there is you.
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