The Alan Sondheim Mail Archive

Awake With Your Hatred For This Poetry Story


"I'm others, perhaps they'll hate me."

Yeah, you hate me. I hate you. Crawl for me. Crawl for me. I hate me. You
hate me. I'll do anything you say. You'll do anything I say. You hate
memory, despise it, not the memory of words and language, already hate me.
I love you as one loves a human being, but I do not want to belong to
anything. Teachers hate me. Bosses hate me. To know me is to hate me. I
walk in and say, give me a job, I'll whore for you. I'm others, perhaps
they'll hate me. I turn on this machine praying for excitement - say it
over and over again. There's sense on the other side. I hate me.  Down in
Miami they hate me, they put my image on walls and scratch; to deal with
this stay away. I'm full of poison; you'll hate me when you are asleep.
Nothing comes. Maybe you are awake and hate me. I don't know. I hope not.
I wouldn't want you to hate me. But I am awake totally, sometimes even
more than that. Some of my friends end up hating me, hating me and maybe I
deserve it, difficulty no excuse. You hate me. I don't know. I hope not. I
wouldn't want you to hate me. But I am awake totally, sometimes even more
than that. Some of my friends end up hating me, hating me and maybe I
deserve it, difficulty no excuse. You hate memory, despise it, not the
memory of words and language, already hate me. I hate me. I don't know. I
hope not. I wouldn't want you to hate me. I turn on this machine praying
for excitement - say it over and over again. There's sense on the other
side. I hate you. Crawl for me. I hate me. I hate me. I turn on this
machine praying for excitement - say it over and over again. There's sense
on the other side. I hate me. Bosses hate me. I hate me. To know me is to
hate me. I turn on this machine praying for excitement - say it over and
over again. There's sense on the other side. I hate me. I walk in and say,
give me a job, I'll whore for you. I'm others, perhaps they'll hate me.
But I am awake totally, sometimes even more than that. Trust me I'm awake.

Sam, I think about the message I left you when Mary left you. Sam, she
trusted me. We didn't do anything. Why didn't you come by and see what
what going on? Nothing was. You shouldn't have stayed away. You shouldn't
have come back that night either. That changed everything. Mary's never
coming home now. How could she? You broke everybody's trust.

Was awake in the middle of the night. Al Wilson called. I went over his
place. The hall light was on, there was shit everywhere. I mean human
shit, covering the floor, the walls, the stairs, everything. I banged on
his door. What the hell's going on I said. The guy's been here, he said,
the guy who killed all those doctors.  He thought I had drugs. Crazy
junkie. You gotta stay with me he said. Al's place smelled like hell.
Garbage everywhere, his clothes falling off him. Had one set all the time.
That was Al. He ran out the back door to call with the guy screaming at
the front. Forgot a dime for the phone, ran back in, ran out again. That's
when I showed up. I don't remember him playing guitar that night. It was
way before Canned Heat. He was country all the way. That was Al. He
trusted me.


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