Joey Cloudy online

The Eschatology Of Our Mad Love Hangs Over Our Necks Like The Blade Of A Guillotine  

    One day she would be gone. It was always her ace in the blackest whole of our universe. The ultimate cunt Goddess of our big daddy gang bang cosmos from the ecstatic screaming orgasmic beginning to the whimpering Hippocratic end, she let me know who was in control of the ghost in the clockwork gears of the machinery, she would walk away and I could not. The Alpha and Omega of our nihilistic existence annihilated in that flash bang of disintegrated forever twisted double helix to steel rage freed from this uncomfortable cage. We write our poisoned poems in our own madness blood and death stalks us even in our home.  

  

 We are still this volatile compound of fear and desire we both got burned in the great fire that left us sentient shadows in super natural catastrophes aftermath as the atmosphere burns atomic every breath incinerates an instant. The door is open we are silhouettes on the up rooted slabs of sidewalk lost insatiable crack cemented the absolute pain of extinction and even in the terminal darkness of our East Dallas Duplex in the barrio across the alley behind the Mansions on Swiss Ave I could see that the Beloved was lost as our eyes missed the exit to eternity. 

  

     I lit a black votive candle it’s lone flame fencing the shadows of the madness left in the beloveds wake of slashed paintings, burned pictures, angry words of a jealous lover how cliché I have become. I confess to you on my iron knees Beloved I was never kool before I met you and I am so not cool now. I exist within your gravity slung shot out of the second circle of your sorrows away from the heavy water atmosphere of our dank little house each step taking me further away from the death march and the mad symphony of agony that is our staggered love. 

  

     The fear of you leaving like my mother without a suicide note was finally over. I love you means nothing to me anymore. I heard you…“Say it, Say It!, LET ME HEAR YOU SAY IT!!!” later you lie and tell me that you love me after you moan whisper and scream I love you into her pussy all day after she drives me to work and all night while I sit on the couch in the next room alone. She keeps telling me I did everything for you!  All of this is for you! and I stare into her wild green eyes now tainted with desperation disbelief lies suspended. Thank you for the Meatloaf. I feed the dogs I’ll find Akira a new home and leave Jaing at the pound to be put down.  

  

     I eat sorrow in your absence, get too high, carve your name into my body with your razor blade, stupidly listen to your sad bastard playlist on the antique computer, die as I hear music of the Cure, Depeche Mode and Joy Division destroy me, get drunk on the 180 proof purest misery of lost love knowing now that I have failed you as your man and feel ashamed of my poverty for the first time.  “I’m a loser baby so why don’t ya’ kill me?” 

  

     I am happy knowing that you are being taken care of finally escaped the East Dallas Ghettos the smell of beans and poverty and now have electricity and central heat and air as conditioned as Pavlovs bitch and hot water and food that doesn’t come from the 99 cents store and clothing that doesn’t come from the Good Will Store and shelter far away from the stupid drunken redneck neighbors perpetual fighting. You have it all “Look at me now Ma! Top of the World!” This is what you have always wanted and that I could never live up to I was never enough to make you happy but like a good dog you stayed for a while out of loyalty, how noble of you. Sit, Stay, Fetch …Roll Over 

  

     You look happy now in facebook photographs dreads predictably cut from your skull, still bewtiful Italian American with purple Mohawk, my mothers sadness shaped eyes and soft smile. I see my skull bracelet from the 99 cent store I used to wear in my hair on her arm and it makes me grin feeling as if I’m still with you. You have taken more pictures in the last year than you did in the near decade we spent together. Safe house in the serenity of suburbia is where you always belonged and out of this madhouse that polluted our bohemian dream duplex with the sound track of our childhoods each day and night the drunken screaming of our hillbilly neighbors kicked us in the stomachs until we curled up into the fetal position in the absolute poverty without electricity or gas in the cold darkness of our book filled half house we lost our power as we lost the psychic war. I awaken from a nightmare sick with fear and grief in tears and I can still hear the terror tortured screams in the darkness its 4:29 am. I am asleep on a sofa I get up and turn off the TV ready to join you in bed…but this is not our house and you are not here with me anymore. You are sleeping with her and I am sleeping alone. 

  

     Ours is a history channel we fail to learn from, ours is a history of repetition learned by rote as repetitive as a dripping faucets urban twist on Chinese water torture, as sinister as an oven with broken gas lines, as cruel as a date rapist. I am a litany of failure, failed lovers, failed children, failed marriages, failed education, failure to live up to our potential, failure to live up to your expectations, failure to keep our words to each other, we are egoless ghost haunting one another’s memories for eternity. No one ever expected us to make it.  We should have self-destructed long ago according to our two faced friends and if our family had their way with us we would both be in straitjackets. For now we still can act sane enough to keep each other out of the asylums for the moment we escape the chemical lobotomy. What is there to document? 

  

     I drink expensive bottles of 12 year old scotch whiskey, projectile vomit Molotov cocktails, smoke weed in the morning, snort coke at noon, take the red pill, eat the magic and the mushroom and the night, follow Alice down the yellow brick road on XTC and acid and crystal meth rails chasing the dragon at a 108 miles an hour stopping long enough to fuck anything and everything until I’m numb to the black hole ache in the core of my empty being. We could have been Buddhists for we are empty as Zen masters. 

     I left Jones Town a day early, you drank the kool aid because I made it for you. Then I abandoned our suicide pact. Hacked my soul stole my identity crisis, stayed high jacked my low self esteem. Still we are; Frida and Diego, Tyler and Marla, Dwight and Starlla, Sid and Nancy, Le Roi and Dianne, Bonnie and Clyde, Adolph and Ava, Mickey and Mallory, Rocky and Adrianne, Romeo and Juliet, Aaron and the Queen of the Visigoths. You know why I love Shakespeare. 

  

     I stagger onto the stage again the psycho clown, the mad world blurry as a time lapsed photograph as I walk down Sycamore through the swimming ribbons of halogen head lights cross Munger  to the gaslights of Swiss towards Dumas a backpack loaded with a few tattered books of Beat poetry, half filled note books and black roller ball pens. I am on my way to a new land having long since lost sight of the you on the shore, always alone, no longer afraid of the only holy freedom, solitude of the true mind. I surrender to the current of these events. Evolutionary epistemologist I accept the new reality without fanaticism or stalking the primal path of violence in my anima blood. I throw us a pity party that last a year as is tradition in the east and watch the hollow eyed man as you ascend the stairway to heaven without me by your side. 

  

     I looked down the road that stretched out before me remembered the fire that burned in the belly of the beast with too many backs, the monster of ego inside of us that kept us up late at night talking shit until sunrise to each other and with our little tribe of street musicians, graffiti artiest and Libertine writers that own the nights in every real city on this earth. We watch independent films and read the best books we can find and write our poems and plays and novels each the others greatest fan forever. She is super Mensa smart and talented and I am the total fanboy she married. My eyes ache for her but I know it’s not fair. I kept her too myself too long it was selfish of me she is so young she deserves better than this she needs something more than I will ever be. I’m doubting the wisdom of our sinking friendship.  “…the blood says live and I always listen to my blood.”  -W. Allen 

  

     Tonight, I walked alone all night from Deep Ellum, Live Oak to Gaston, I head East though East Dallas, north up lower Greenville past the M streets to catch the last train south at Mockingbird Station back to the Metro diner, another night hawk sitting in the same ensanguined plastic and vinyl covered booth we always sat in. I order coffee from the same tweeker waitress with the wireless vibrating egg humming inside of her a song of joy inside of her all-night as she serves and takes orders she comes and goes all night, all night you haunt my memories a comic orgasm an origami dragon a colossus of consciousness, the only one I ever gave a fuck about impressing even now.  A wraith of recall, so much joy now is lost to us all. Still, I write down everything I remember for the Beloved while her sweet musky scent lingers like a dead love letter in my dreads. 

  

     I walk away from your psychic-holocaust of despair and embrace my loathsome self in solitude of my father’s blue misery as Billie Holiday sings a song so sad suicide seems the sweetest solution to suffering. But, I am an atheist and this is the only life I have so I lie to myself, pretend that one day you will forgive me and confess love has made cowards of us all. She had to tattoo the others names on her skin so she would remember who she belonged to for the moment. My name was never on her deathlist. I asked her once where my name was and I knew that she loved me when she told me she had my name tattooed on her soul. 

  

     “I cut myself today” just a little to see what it felt like in the same place on my right thigh. I need you to leave a scars on body to match the one on my sorry soul I need something I can touch something I can see blossom under the blade like a meat flower. I need to bleed out my demons feel the diseased blood run wet down my leg and watch all that is purest evil in me pool on the bathroom floor. just a little now, careful not too much ahh. I need my wretched agony to scab over and heal and leave your beautiful mark on me until death do us part I need your name carved in runes down the side of my face with a white-hot blade so I do not ever forget and everyone will know when they look at me that I am your man. 

     I write down everything there is to tell the world of sorrow from my soapbox by the jukebox where I listen the sermons of pool hall philosophers and deranged hustlers and cracked whores while the blue music is blaring from the speakers like a siren warning us of the storms of silence that haunts us as we finally realize we cannot save each other when we can’t even save ourselves so say sweet nothing of our misery cradled love. 

  

     I stand my holy ground in this empty parking lot smoking a menthol cigarette inhale the ozone sweetened air of the city eyes howling at the perpetual tragedy of the hobo stars drifting above and the tragedy of us mortals here on this impoverished sad stone below and cry mutely at this mocking moon that laughs at me while the laughter of the poets and clowns scares me, still. I write a one act play Russian roulette with a semi automatics barrel cold metal pressed hard to my temple of dreads survive the humiliation of my suicide with nothing but broken memories, shattered knees, twisted spine, rotten teeth bloody gut of our poem of life vomited out of me on to this page. I lost everything but the dream. 

  

-Joey Da’rrell Cloudy