Untitled Poem

 

What are we to do with this new sense of
narcissistic decadence – there is a
sense of disparity – I intend to
keep these lights on. This is a new
experiment with the body: ‘oh no
these aren’t youthful indiscretions, they’re
middle age indiscretions.’ I have become
art-deco and baroque, regardless we
push this experiment forward: what do
you do with a man who spends the morning
listening to Bechet del Ray – I’m a
Dandy Lion! The perishable nature
of the emotions: why read an erotic
tale, when you can live an erotic tale.
She said: ‘I hate driving in the rain – but
I didn’t mind, I got laid that evening,
after it.’ And now we begin to write
the post-script of her life. This is nothing
other than an interzone: the weekend turns
to reading to keep the mind fuelled – Warhol
turns out be a futurist after
all. I do not wish to talk of the dead, I
only wish to talk of the living and
life: and so September begins – is this
what life comes to, just this simple piece of
paper. What is the sense of a man
suddenly released from his moral duty?
Everything coalesces down to one
minimal event horizon we all
pass over, and then carry on new lives.
There is always beauty in an age,
regardless of its temperament; with a
single line there is purity, with a
single line and purity there is peace.
Why is it I always feel stuck between
the saint and the sinner? I feel like
strange bouts of paradise – I want to
wither into something new. It is time
to go off the old road map and explore
a new territory. I’m thinking of
starting a new scheme in which you could ‘Adopt
A Psychosis.’ On the other hand,
I wonder if I could ‘Pimp My Psychosis.’
I spend a part of the afternoon listening
to Charles Mingus: I have this feeling that
the rest of the year may get a tad more
bohemian than usual – is this
total self-annihilation, or a
new phoenix rising? This is a savage
fight against entropy, I just feel like
becoming whole once more, to push through this
darkness into a new bright light. In this
box there was everyone’s engagement and
wedding rings – over a one hundred
years of love. I think I have a Dionysian
narcissistic impulse? Maybe in this
house there are far too many ghosts and
ectoplasm: now I know what hatred
sounds like. I have never known such a range
of emotions which thunder through my body
in one hour – I am a creative
reaction to the world. More threats congeal
through interior walls: everything in
life travels through the self – the new thinking
is how far can one push the new project.
Today the ship set sail for other lands.

 

 

Nick Ingram


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