The Process

The dimming is

good.  Most days, I want to be alone in a dark

bar for hours but when I have the day I take its

sun and shit.  And walk and sit and breathe and think

about the dark bar and when I go

in I’ll want this and when I stay, I’ll want this, and

I want then I want then I want and want and the bartender

dims the lights and I think it’s OK the way I am.  I come

into my skin and I’m hidden and shown and unassociated and

disassociated as are the rest of the people.  I think

about American Horror Story the Hotel.  I think about Lady Gaga.  I want to know why we all need somewhere safe.  It’s just a show; this is also just a show.  And that’s a reason to not think so much.  The guy forgets he goes to the hotel; he forgets

he’s a killer.  We wash it down down

down and forget also; we are at home and then we exit

dark and we strap the faces and costumes and shit tight tight and that’s that.  Rather than

stay. |in the hotel they were ghosts| I were was am

out and the rules in the sun, oh the rules, but the sun feels possible–wants me to?