Found notebook entry, January 2001
Speak as if your life depended on it. Speak as if you were the tablet of stone, the fire-breathing dragon dispatched to explain the new ideas. Speak as if you weren’t even the person at the table who, after splashing the water pitcher about, went on to make a ruckus in the next room. Speak as if you were going to kill yourself. Don’t cry for me. Speak up! Speak as if you were you, you were you intentionally, and then you fired up another record that was so overbearing everybody leaves. Speak as if you were funny once. Speak as if you were to tell the story again. Speak as if your secrets were uninteresting. Speak after eating onions, your breath full of sour air. Speak on the steel of your desk, standing triumphantly in a Napoleon pose. Speak titles of books you haven’t read. Speak mistakes. Speak wrong. Speak in a duet with late-career country divas. Speak in a solo, alone at a piano, and talk about your harried life. Speak at the 7-11, and heckle the arcade game players. Speak into a microphone at Little League games, making fun of each boy’s swing. Speak into the milk bottle that’s half empty, smelling the acrid liquids you’ve drunk since you were one. Speak killing words, words that incise the air. Speak words, mutherfucker. Speak fuck. Speak shit. Shit pussy fuck shit bitch. Speak a lot of shit. Speak nonsense. Speak phonemes that are lethal when only combined in a certain way, in a certain town, in a certain mannerism. Speak songs that are so overbearing poets will look at them and say, “Why does he speak that way?” Speak questions into the microphone, little bequeathed questions, like, “Hey Why do you speak like that?” Speak speak speak! Speak because you know the world. Speak because you know me, the guy who wipes down your car and shuffles a few questions to make you feel comfortable that a grown man wipes your own ass. Speak with distinction, then speak with vulgarity. Speak with a version of vulgarity no one’s ever heard before. Speak the language of vulgarians, the only true poets. Speak down to the condescenders, the rich ones, shoot their kneecaps. Speak up to those who don’t think they speak poetry, but do. Speak in clicks that challenge your own peace of mind, your own equilibrium. Speak by chance to an old friend, an old lover. Speak while you choose to not answer the knocking at your door. Speak as if you were not going to heed the warning of you neighbors. Speak as if you don’t have neighbors. Speak. Speak in a shuffle around a sweet spot on your instrument, trill around it awhile, then stretch out to the boundaries that bother you. Speak off-key. Speak as if you were singing off-key intentionally to a hymn at mass. Speak loudly. Speak softly. Speak as if the words were to fly off the page, then never be seen again, ever. Speak like you were glad about this. Speak so gladly about this that you repeat, again, those disposable words, until they get shellaced sheen, preserving them. Speak as if you know the words you speak are already debunked and thought of as declasse. Speak because you’re not allowed, really, to speak. Speak into the microphone. Speak into the megaphone. Speak up girl’s skirts. Speak up my ass. Speak up your ass. Speak uncomfortably, then recline in a deep couch. Speak until your jaw is sore. Speak until your dick or pussy is sore. Speak until your tongue takes on a red aspect, frightening you in the mirror the next morning. Speak as if you were typing. Speak with distinction. Speak with disuinion in mind. Speak only in flashbacks. Speak that way because it lends authority to your story. Speak with authority. Speak with authority because your delivery, now in flashback, has a tall tale quality, and thus silence those incapable of tall tale. Speak until you reach the end of the room. Speak until meek women come up and ask you to be quiet. Speak until touch women with cigarettes try to make you speak louder. Speak so boys will think you’re weird. Speak so you’ll wanna party all night and rock and roll every day. Speak speak speak. Speak about the girls you fucked, the ones you want to fuck, today. Speak about fucking. Speak about the idea of fucking someone in public. Speak in public about the idea of fucking someone in public. Speak as if the person next door will fuck you. Speak and then fuck someone. Speak and then act. Speak about all the books you’re forgotten after reading them. Speak about book you haven’t read, but with authority. Speak gossip to people who care not to hear it. Speak philosophy to those who would rather hear gossip. Speak overbearingly. Speak with a toothpick hanging out of your mouth. Speak with a big dick hanging out of your mouth. Speak with a pussy hair hanging out of your mouth. Speak with your own tongue hanging out of your mouth. Speak into the silence. Speak into the wind. Speak out the window of your house, but only softy, taking in the wind, the outdoors, then quickly go back inside. Speak as if your plug was in a socket. Speak as if you were a crooner in a cover band. Speak totally ignorant of what you are saying. Speak in imitation of your mom. Speak in imitation of your dad. Speak flashbacks of someone else. Speak in wrong syntax, for example verbs first, and let everyone figure it out. Speak. Speak. Speak.