American Savage

American Savage

 I do not presume to claim that

                                                    Yet I know, moreover, I have discovered.

 Here I could see clearly 
 (It is clear to me that)

                                                     I have seen and I am suffering.

I am personally more and more obsessed by

I have felt with incomparable accuracy,
                                                     That America is full of
                         have spent all of my time absorbing (the task of accumulating and increasing)
                         and am becoming well acquainted with (the state of things)

The atmosphere! le monde quotidienne.

American civilization is based, in spite of its early traditions

                                                     That life in America is full of

                                                     the strange [“How much does he make”?] the inhuman. 
That life in America is based, in spite of its early traditions

Prostitution is paid kindness. The classic question is. Here in Newark I have been able to gauge.    
Often I have had the impression that life in Amer-

ica is based             on an utter disregard for human emotions.

in that there is no world in which we may refresh eachother

I. The dream was unimportant. 

   That it reoccured last night in the form of a second, a more public act, does not grant it greater import.  

   I'm learning, on a curve 

   (or maybe I'm leaning) 

   to be suspicious of persistence. 

                                                                         (she married her stalker, but it didn't last. couldn't.)

II. I tell myself this, but I was no less tempted, yesterday a.m, to use this space to record and think the    

    dream through. I began to write, but my fingers locked, full stop, mid sentence. It was not that familiar  

    feeling of kinetic mutiny causing me pause---that internal phenomena that causes your hands to  

    abandon ship on a foreseen (prosaic) nightmare---but fear. Fear of expressing myself too simply.   

    Fearful, too, of being understood. 

                                                                         (i meant it. pain no words can render)

III. What persists: the detritus of details. longer hair, his, not mine. an auditorium. red, velvet seats replete with cigarette 
      burns. a flash of a scene, rounded by dialog. the sudden appearance of a former teammate. "Engaged," she says, 
      presenting her ring (and her fiance).        enter: lady macbeth.  the slow rise of a murderous impulse---hers not mine--- 
      that I can feel no less.

                                                                            

                                                                           (please show me to the lifeboat).