DARK BASEMENT

i sit in the basement and do nothing.
this cancerous mold, grows in my lungs.
i do not care.
the sunshine is outside.
i do not seek it.
i'd rather languish in filth...
old playboy magazines
shitty art
subversive books
poetry
toys
dust
tokens
idols
spiders
old business cards
crap everywhere...
i should bag it all...
throw it out.
yet, i can't part with any of it.
i might be throwing away my soul.
what if there's an idea in this miasma of shit?
dried up tubes of paint are saved...
brushes with one bristle
ancient national geographics
art magazines
pornographic pictures of ugly females
taken with my nikon.
i belong with my filth.
there's a strange beauty in this hideous collection.
i search for my soul, down here.
i remember all the voices.
kerouac
ginsberg
leary
kesey
pirsig
billie holliday
janis joplin
dylan
dave van ronk
burroughs
bukowski
watts
all went into the void...
without finding their souls.
excess
meditation
transformation
drugs
fugs
slugs
in the head.
we are dead...
in our rooms...
in basements...
in moldy darkness...
when we could go outside...
in the sunlight.
why do we do these things
to ourselves?
to humanity?
the whole world...
is a dark basement now.
what's the point?
we'll never know.
i'll never know.
you'll never know.
i stay in my basement.
don't give me god.
spiritualism
drugs
out of body experiences
aerobics.
it's all for passing time...
waiting for the bus of death.
we're clawing at unanswerable questions.
it's all bullshit at a certain point in time.
i stay in my dark basement.
i'm better off here...
than in the world.