The man without a goal used to sit
on his toilet bowl and compose great poetry. The man without a goal
had hemorrhoids and he didn't like to exercise. He was a virgin.
He used to hang out with other men without a goal. He was very smart.
Some called him PROFESSOR. The man without a goal wrote a lot.
The man without a goal was very upset by people with goals. It reminded
him that he had no goal. He liked to look at women but they thought
he was weird. GET LAID everyone told him. The man without a
goal was very upset by this. He used to cry a lot. And puke
at parties from mixing wine and beer. He used to attract insane people
who had grandiose goals. But he knew. They didn't have a goal.
And that upset him. He used to lie around in bed all day and think
about girls. He liked girls. But he was a virgin and they thought
he was weird. Or maybe he thought he was weird. GET A JOB everyone
told him. And he didn't like that. He wanted more. But
there was no MORE. Everyone seemed to have a goal even the little
retarded man working at McDonald's. The man without a goal was very
sad. He wrote a lot of sad poetry which he showed to women.
Other men without a goal were less sensitive. They liked to get laid.
But he wanted MORE. Maybe there was no MORE. So he cried.
The man without a goal used to draw and paint and he still likes to draw
and paint. But his parents thought he was impractical. GET
A GOAL they told him. And he didn't like that. Men used to
make fun of him because he never had any money to go out. GET A SHAVE
some told him. But the man without a goal used to sit in his room
all day. He wanted to write something. But everything around
him seemed so shallow. So he cried. There was this man with
a speech impediment whom he liked very much. But he did too many
drugs since childhood and was very incoherent. But he had a good
heart even though some called him a LOSER. He also had some foreign
friends. One friend of his was acting like an intellectual and used
to shout at him. That man thought he was Jesus Christ but the man
without a goal knew better. He just laughed at the intellectual.
The other was very upset because the man without a goal thought him a fool.
But he probably was. Then there was another man without a goal who
joined the army. He was a small man with a big mouth. And they
were all very paranoid about their reputations. But the sad thing
was that everybody was nobody. The man without a goal spent some
time in a mental institution. He didn't like it. And now he
meets a lot of other people from mental institutions and a lot of them
are just as boring as normal people. Only they hear voices and speak
in tongues. And have BIG IDEAS. Are there angels? Does
God exist? The man without a goal thinks about it very often.
But a lot of times he just gets depressed. Really BUMMED OUT.
People around him go to rock concerts and have favorite groups. But
the man without a goal is sick of music. He wants SUNSHINE.
He wants FLOWERS. But he is impractical and everyone around him comments
on his appearance. YOU HAVE BAD BREATH! YOU STINK! USE
DEODORANT! So the man without a goal stays alone in his room and
writes a lot of BAD THINGS about his friends. He knows. They
are all just liars. They all pretend. They have to pretend.
TO SURVIVE. Survival, what a deadly thing thinks the man without
a goal. Some day we are just going to destroy ourselves with atomic
weapons and all our reputations will go up in smoke. The man without
a goal is really no different from other men without a goal. Just
sensitive. Perhaps too sensitive. He goes to parties and drinks
beer. And watches all the social games. Men like to get women
drunk to get them horny. And then they take advantage of them.
Or maybe they like it? Who knows? The man without a goal is
upset about this. And he cries. Because he knows. Or
he doesn't know. But he wants MORE. But maybe there is no MORE.
He wants SUNSHINE. He wants FLOWERS. But they make fun of him.
They call him NAIVE. So he gets upset. And ANGRY. And
he writes BAD THINGS. The man without a goal has a degree in psychology.
But he doesn't like psychology. He HATES psychology. He hates
psychiatrists. He had a bad experience with psychiatrists.
He doesn't really hate them all but can one blame him? So he writes.
He writes poetry. Some people like it. Some people call it
sentimental. Some tell him that he needs more imagery. WORK
HARD they tell him. POETRY IS HARD WORK! But he wants SUNSHINE
and FLOWERS and a LOVE AFFAIR. He is a romantic. But everything
around him is unromantic. AND BORING! AND MONOTONOUS!
And he has no money even to buy a cup of coffee for himself. But
he has a very nice mother. She helps him. She thinks that some
day the man without a goal will find a goal. But in the meantime
he relies on his insane friends. They buy him drinks. They
like his company. But they don't always like what he says about them.
So the man without a goal has to be a bit more diplomatic. Let them
screw whomever they like, he thinks. But inside he is very sad.
He wants MORE. But maybe there is no MORE. He goes to many
parties and meets a lot of women. And they like his poetry.
They think it's funny. AND SAD. The man without a goal must
be a very unhappy man, they think. And nobody wants an unhappy man.
They want to smile. They want to have a sunshine day. But they
are UNHAPPY. The man without a goal know it. Or else why would
they come to see him? What draws them to him? They seem to
work hard for their money and they want to drink hard and fuck hard.
But there is something MORE. Or maybe there is nothing MORE.
The man without a goal is a foreigner but he has no trouble speaking their
language. He hears a lot of words like shit and fuck and bullshit
and hey man and cool and groovy and interesting. He is very, very
bored. He wants SUNSHINE and FLOWERS. He wants to kiss someone
but they have all become hard. They don't like to touch. They
like to fuck. And talk philosophy. And listen to mindless music.
They watch a lot of TV. Sometimes the man without a goal watches
a lot of TV. And he gets upset. Sometimes he gets horny from
seeing so much sex around him. He masturbates. He doesn't like
it. But he doesn't want to fuck. He wants SUNSHINE and FLOWERS
and a LOVE AFFAIR. But everything around him is so unromantic.
He doesn't like girlie magazines but sometimes he gets them. And
he fantasizes. And masturbates. But it's all so unromantic
and he wants SUNSHINE and FLOWERS. And he wants to kiss someone.
But his friends think him naive and stubborn. So he writes unhappy
poetry. And he gets hemorrhoids and he gets constipation and he worries
a lot. Sometimes he thinks whether he is attractive. And he
looks at those guys and gals on TV and he feels cheated. He wants
MORE. But maybe there is no MORE. So he cries. But he
writes and writes and tries harder. What else is there to do but
write? He would like a revolution but it seems unlikely. And
he looks at all those mask-like faces and he feels sad. AND ANGRY.
He wants to rip those masks right off. But they are scared.
They don't like to touch. The don't like to feel. They want
to fuck. Sometimes the man without a goal thinks that he wants to
fuck. But he knows. And cries. And his friends tell him
GROW UP. But he doesn't want to grow up. He wants MORE.
But maybe there is no MORE. And the people around him work hard and
drink hard and fuck hard. Some are not like that. Some spend
a lot of time alone in fantasies and daydreams. But they are scared
too. And lonely. Some eat a lot and watch a lot of TV.
But they don't touch. They are afraid to touch. They don't
kiss and they rarely smile. The man without a goal sits in his room
or sleeps in his bed or takes walks. He doesn't go to health spas,
he doesn't lift weights and he meets a lot of homeless people. Once
he met this guy with an organic brain disorder who secretly wants to be
an actor. He meets a middle-aged manic-depressive homosexual with
diabetes and a foot infection, who graduated from a top school and also
writes poetry. Everybody is a poet, an actor, a thinker, a writer,
a movie star, a rock 'n' roll star. The man without a goal is very
sad. He feels like he is in prison or in an insane asylum.
Everyone is afraid. Nobody touches. Nobody kisses. Nobody
hugs. Everyone wants to fuck. The man without a goal looks
at his TV set and gets upset. He calls up his friend and wants to
talk to him. But that man thinks he is Jesus Christ and yells at
him about nihilism. The man without a goal is sad and calls his other
friend friend from the army. I'm in luck, says his friend, I'M GETTING
LAID. He calls his homosexual friend and he tells the man without
a goal that things are getting much worse and he was turned down for an
apartment. The man without a goal is very sad and wants to cry.
His psychotherapist left him and there is no one to listen to his heartache.
Nobody touches. Nobody kisses. Nobody hugs. Everyone is busy
being an actor, a poet, a thinker, a movie star, a writer and a bigass
winner. The man without a goal reads Bukowski once in a while.
And Heine. And Lorca. He likes to read poetry. He wants
SUNSHINE and FLOWERS. And a WOMAN. But all he has is a fantasy.
Perhaps some day he will get published. Perhaps some day his friends
will understand him. But in the meantime he weeps in loneliness.
The world is so lonely. Nobody touches. Nobody kisses.
Nobody hugs. Everybody smiles. The man without a goal doesn't
like Grateful Dead and punk rock music. He wants SUNSHINE.
He wants FLOWERS. He is stubborn and naive. He doesn't want
a job. But he has no money. He wants to write poetry, beautiful
poetry. He doesn't want to be sarcastic all the time. He wants
to touch. He wants to kiss. He wants to hug. But his
friends want to talk philosophy. And everybody wants to be a bigass
WINNER. The man without a goal doesn't want beer. He wants
MORE. But maybe there is no MORE. The man without a goal is
a virgin and everyone tells him to GET LAID.
But the man without a goal wants MORE...
June 30, 1987