Przesuwaja sie
Jak obloki na niebie
Kamienie w snach
W tym ciele
Nie jestem warty siebie
Bo wcale w nim nie jestem
Jestem wyposazeniem
Dla innego istnienia.                              Zlem konicznym
Ktore night nie zwleka

I

I can’t believe that people think that

I can’t belive that people think

I can’t belive that people

I can’t belive that

I can’t belive

I can’t

I
(crickets)

12. /m/

just because there is no path

doesn’t mean you can’t follow me

12

12

in all directions

by finding ways you’ve always cheated yourself

out of Everything at Once

invented passage of time

Invented self

it’s purpose

died contained within design

how bizarre

I could never belive

my mind being more desperate

than its lack

Double Door

I am starting to think more and more about writing a screenplay for a movie about Vietnam War from my point of view: someone who was shot and died in Vietnam in 1965 in his previous life and its impact on my next life, which is this one. By any standards – script is amazing as there is literally no fiction in it. Just mind blowing arrangement of scenes that had both realities from both lives interact.
The first scene is a love scene between me and my Jewish girl-friend in Warsaw.
She proposes that I play an American soldier in a TV play on Polish television, just one silent episode.
– You look so American.
I was twenty one, she was thirty.
I entered her and started fucking her like a madman to make her quiet, running into our orgasm.
After I finished, I only said.
– No.
left her apartment after taking shower.
Another scene … Three o’clock in the morning. Chicago. I sleep outside in a hammock, on a porch. Suddenly I am awaken by smog suffocating me. I run outside to make sure it is not the building I live in or neighbor’s that has caught fire. I am in my boxers only with broken crucifix on my chest. Jesus has no legs. I walk to the street to look at other houses trying to locate where the smog is coming from. Call 911 – big shop is burning on the other side of the park. They just send out services there – I start hearing sirens coming from all directions.
I go back home, fill Jacuzzi with water and go back to sleep in water. Dream about fire fight in a jungle. Noise is getting unbearable. I wake up shivering in cold water.
Hear choppers. Walk outside to porch again. Two News choppers are hanging in the air above park, filming the burnt shop, driving me crazy. 8 o’clock in the morning.
I walk back into my place to get a gun.
I am standing almost naked pointing the gun at choppers, whispering, mad with hatred:
– land, motherfuckers, land already.
I know I can’t shoot them but I know if they don’t land I am gonna put that gun to my head and shoot myself.
-Ohio/ car breaks down on the way from Colorado, repair shop/ brother
– awake at four, Vietnam war footage on TV, man evacuated, wounded
– Vietnamese refugee in a grocery store giving my sweets, speaking broken Polish, smiling
– jacket real/not real
– the same military knife through out both lives, addiction,
– nephew wants to open militaria store, shoes from Vietnam
– women, mirror reflectiions
– Sex with Korean girl after Rolling Stones concert, can’t  (on the radio in Vietnam- the same song)

50 people reached

back to now

gardening
sowing seeds
with my knife
military
but
I am not a military man
I was
in my previous life
died in Nam in 1965
lost too much blood
somehow
reasons to survive sucked

back to NOW
my military knife
I use for many tasks
other than it was meant for
takes it easy
puts up with it like all military personnel should
calm
not surprised
I was the same way
then
when I died

the color of flowers will have a meaning after
meaning of me in this current life is gone
one pot is experimental
for this great future I have read about
at life break

by all means
I am still on the way to you

and I still hope flood is not an option
but
thinking NOW
and PAST
why care?

Daylight I

I liked her ass, face, smile, eyes, hairdo. Little of a shock how much.
And she liked what I said. Smiled and turned away to hide it.
Got my medicine. I was shivering for few hours already and that’s what I was hiding.
Missed my medicine for two days already, didn’t sleep most of the night.
Pain was really bad for few hours now. Couldn’t concentrate.
– do you have any questions for your pharmacist?
She didn’t smile this time.
– No. I’d better don’t. I would ask you for your phone number.
I walked.
Pharmacy girl is a tough prey. She knows you are a lost cause. Girls at the banks are easier when you have money on the account. Had three of them in good times.
Took double doses right away to see if that could help and it did. Two hours later pain was gone.
I could think but through the wall of numbness.
That was after we went to eat. Me and Guatemalski.
Guatemalski is from Guatemala but knows so many phrases in Polish we call him Guatemalski.
Teaches me phrases in Spanish. We went to Latino place and I was ordering in Spanish.
The girl enjoyed my broken effort. We both laughed. At some point she thought I spoke better Spanish than I did and started talking and talking and talking…about something. Guatemalski laughed too.  She was making fun of me asking about everything and nothing while I made “si” and big smile my remedy. It worked.
She brought food to our table, sat next to me and talked some with Guatemalski.
He explained we were both students – me of Spanish and him of Polish.
Then M. called and even though he is from Slovakia, we speak in Polish.
The homeless guy sitting by the entry stood up upon hearing me and sat by the table to my right, staring at me.
Each time I looked at him he looked away. I looked at Guatemalski, the homeless started staring at me again.
I was sure he was Polish. Big blue eyes, European face, poor and in torn, dirty cloths but clean himself with delicate hands. It is feminine habit to look at man’s hands. I finished conversion on the phone.
– Are you hungry?
– yhm…
I didn’t know what he meant except it was obvious he was.
– what do you want?
– yhmmmmmm…
Many hand gestures. Look of an orchestra director going through allegro ma non troppo part of the piece.
He was pretending not to be desperate, cared about his dignity during imaginary performance. I stopped asking, stood up and went to order what I had.
The girl smiled:
– You like it here.
– I do but this is for the homeless guy. Give him rolls instead of fajitas though.
I was going to give him my fajitas which I put aside for later, it was too much food.
Went back to my table. Guatemalski and the Homeless were staring at each other. Guatamalski is a sensitive and educated guy.
The homeless  got bolder.
– Where are you from? I asked.
– Russia.
He surprised my with quick answer.
– What city?
– yhmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
Wouldn’t tell. Dignity thing again. Had face of a very soft, good man but broke mentally somewhere. Reminded me of another Russian guy I used to see years, years ago at the bank in Bucktown. He would enter the lobby, get free coffee and donuts and leave. Was a medic in Nam and lost his sanity there. Head loving people care for him.
Same absence in the very intelligent, you would say, good eyes.
The girl brought homeless man meal and put the plate in front of him. He started eating like a prince in distress. Etiquette was not compromised but he was visibly hungry. She told his story in Spanish to Guatemalski while I looked at him and later … her boobs right by ma face. She saw it and smiled again.
Before I left – I sat next to him and put my arm around his shoulders
– everything will get better – I said in Russian.
Smell was … that’s OK. His face was of an intellectual. They break the easiest. Left my fajitas on his plate.
After we left I asked Guatemalski to borrow me ten bucks. Now I was missing it to pay for my medicines.
He listened to my music in my car when I came back.
– Guatemalski, you should have seen this girl at the pharmacy, fuck!!!
I was shivering pretty bad by then. Holding it was pretty tough.
He looked at me the way he looked at the homeless Russian only twenty minutes earlier.
Yes, Guatemalski is a sensitive guy.
While I am writing this ,five cops just took a conference table next to mine. I guess I can leave everything: phone, laptop, credit card, food, tea, backpack and walk to my car to get the medicines. I got some more work to do and it is pain to pack everything. It is such a nice working set up. I am writing “Ashland”.
After they close I go swimming. When I don’t have my medicines I sleep in my Jacuzzi. I tried last night. Didn’t work but still helped somehow.
“Ashland” is a play now, with which I  try to teach my nephew not to do what I did – he is handsome and smart and might have the same genetic problem. We are all murdered by death and death is blind to its cause, it just wants to come. Transform. I want it to dance to me. It dances on medieval paintings. I want to remind death the good times.

od pieniędzy do pieniędzy
chodzę jak zarżnięty
biję w mur
zmowy świętych krów

Bogdana – Venus

piękna kobieto
jest tyle ślepych ulic
które mogliśmy wziąć
by nie trafić na siebie
błądzić
oszukać instynkt i przeznaczenie
wiarę
nadzieję
i sens
spojrzeniem zrobiłaś mi krzywdę
uśmiechem
wbiłaś sztylet w serce
w twarz i pod sklepienie
Chrystus
Hamlet
i Otello razem
nie mieli tak nasrane
jak ja teraz
wrażenie