Spirit World Rising - Daniel Johnston

I don’t know how
I’ve fallen in love
again,
I thought I’d
forgotten

and
it isn’t the
kind of love
that has been steeped
in romantic
dinners
or late night
conversations,

it’s the kind of love
that hits you suddenly
like a good idea,
that comes on
with thoroughness
and
richness

it is overpowering
and untamed
and I can go on
trying to get at it
but if you’ve had it,
you know you can’t do
it with words

but nevertheless
you’ve gotten under my
skin
and I find myself wondering
what it’s going to take
to get those
skinny legs
wrapped around
me

if you do not want
me

I will live a monk’s
life,
not become a monk
but
live in that fashion,
wake up
and
live for the
act of existing
and not for
success or
gain

I will forsake
ambition and
try my best to
slide in with the
birds
and
lions,

those that
follow the invisible
trail of spirit and
science
and use their hearts to
move only blood

and I’m sure that
sometimes I will
fail in this

that
I will meet
some mornings 
with sleepless eyes
and
feel the exact
pain
of knowing that
you chose another
over me
and
that he feels your touch
and knows the curve of your
neck
and the small changes in your voice
as you
find the right words
to
express what’s
swimming in your
head

I will work myself
to exhaustion
to keep
the desire away

and I will wrestle with
my dreams
to keep your
face from behind
my eyes

I will
turn myself over 
to the elements,
to the day,
to the endless,
mindless, and
holy
rhythm

if you do not
want
me.

I have no right
to waste this
time
waiting 
for you

I should have learned
from past
loves

that this love

may be no love at
all

I should have learned
that the only thing
to do is
press forward,

achieve,
dream,
aim,
etc.

that the best life

is
a

light
life

untied
and

steadily gaining
on an
undetermined, 
pre-determined
point

living with
meaning
and subtle 
abandon

appreciating beauty
but
never
admitting
it

accepting
maturity,
prosperity,
and
utility

in 
their

entirety

always moving with
the
thin
red
hand
of the
clock

and never
waiting
for
you

I don’t speak
or listen
lately,

I am 
deaf,
dumb,
and
knee-deep in
love songs

but 
when I see you for
any extended period
of time
I feel better

I feel the colors and
sound creep back in
and
I want to hear
about the books
that broke your 
heart,
how your good looks are
forcing you into
a person
that you don’t want
to be—

I want to see
you
in the evening,
the day dying
with your hands cupped
around the spark you’ve
caught
giving it
just enough
air to
grow

I have been fooled
and
educated by
your beauty
and I am
senseless for
your
love

the alcohol has turned
us
into chewing gum

and left
the typewriter
looking like the lower
jaw
of
the 1950s

and I press my hand
to your
lower
back

the night reeling
with no
chance
to catch
us

Asker Anonymous Asks:
Who are your favorite poets?
brightlightsloudnoises brightlightsloudnoises Said:

It changes, the old old stuff is great if you can get past the language.  He doesn’t really write poetry but to me John Steinbeck is the best there is.

these days you
hate me
very
much
and

you can barely look
at me
and

I look at
you,
into your eyes
and say,
“don’t be a baby”

you are so sensitive
and so easily
turned off

I sit
in my
bar
slipping
towards ecstasy
and
dilated pupils

shot like Van Gogh
by a couple
of kids
in
a
field

I think about the mexican
church we went
to and
the
miracle
water
they imported from
france
that
they
ran down the side
of
a rock
and through
spigots

I think
about
the statues
and
the oaks

I think 
about you
often

with
sentiment
and
maturity.

and I occasionally find
myself
in your
old neighborhood

I stop by the cafe
and they do not
know me any longer

they
are strictly
business
and
I say coffee
and eggs
over easy

and they repeat
it
fine.

do you belong
behind textbooks
in line buying breath mints and pregnancy tests
out of love
in auto part stores
electronics liquidation sales
bending over to pick up
cards for magazine subscriptions
listening to
broken people scream advertisements for
law offices, buffalo wings, window tint
because they need to pay their lawyers,
restaurants, mechanics

do you see
the parking lots swollen for hours
and then suddenly empty
highways swollen for hours
and then empty
the sun getting hotter,
the rain washing away less,
the mixing and matching of pills,
documents,
certificates,
bills,
one-time-only coupons

the accounts deep into the red
like the lipstick
that won’t scrub off the coffee cups

maybe I’ll
never hear that kind of
joy again in
anyone’s voice

I’ll never
feel
the same
arc of your
breasts

or the same
hesitation between
short
shallow
breaths

I’ll never
meet anyone
that was so sad
in quite the same
way,

find anyone
so thoroughly
and irreplaceably
lost

and my coffee sits
in its
black circle
fitting
the
edges
fully

and it’s been trying
to rain
now

for
fucking
days

when i wake up
and think of your
small sneakers on
the sidewalk
and
when
the blinds do their best
to hold
the
morning back

and i brush my teeth and
think of
your thighs on
the passenger seat,
your teeth on my
neck,

your heart
on your sleeve

we live in 
high water

and 
sleep in empty beds,

we
have poor timing

and
no patience,

we are
inconvenient,
inefficient,
and
unmanageable

but we
have our
moments.

magic

is 2 am
and you call 

it means 
that after all the 
bars,
assholes,
and traffic signals, 

you can still stumble through
your special kind of drunkenness
and give me a few kind words
that help keep
the daily bullshit
at bay