I fight chemical mind try to nurture life-force
can only navigate the channel upstream so much because becoming
still is to be a dead fish in water
feel
the river push you around
kundalini useless, so
crawling into my destiny.
Up above is Slaughter blue sky waxing moon rising
my eyes reflect late dawn try to align
spine w/ the surge what starts Miles deep
as I splatter each syllable on this near blank page.
I splatter each word each line I
study the source of the urge find
Pollock already there, cigarette in mouth, looking as if he's ready to change my oil.

6:38A - 8.11.01
lines from Birth of the Cool Lewis MacAdams pg 76

11—What is Cool II

Monk and twisted genius bent by a pile of machine expectations
spent life-energy by making a circle of
his world, created by his own gravity, his own sense of
time.                                 (Insert a blue note here.)
Lying in wonder @ the overwhelming pain & injustice, not
on heroin as most peers
his fat-fingers flat on keys, dreaming of melodies in
bed while the planet seemed to spin faster than
in dreams,      but     not         fast         e   n    o     u       g         h.
A sense that after the silence, after one or two off notes a
twilight glissando will emerge tell the
world to  (in the most pleasant musical manner)  kiss my ass.
Hovering above all in the hall of cool
on
the
edge of sanity & madness instilling a Yoruba rhythm
of life-force energized by the
mental games of the Kontomble  their magic may translate to
illness on this side of the veil, Sphere
staring, seeks inspiration from the Goddess
up above, between the moon and life on Jersey earth
@ 3:15
a message that nothing is as important as the
picture of future 10 yr olds in suburban schools learning
of his Dear Ruby  or how Brilliant the Corners are. Petition
Billie
Holiday, perhaps pain will ease perhaps secrets
tacked
to
the
ceiling will unlock a certain antidote, a certain stifled wail.
Praying to her ease the pain, ease the pain, ease the pain.
To always meet
the current head-on   is   the
essence of slow agonizing torture,
of  death yet also the essence of
cool.

8.11.01 line from
Birth of the Cool—Lewis MacAdams
pg 61