David Jackson

BLOOD IN THE LOBBY

walk through the convenience store
there’s a door through a dark hallway
that leads to the main
lobby and the
elevators
past the bums and the sniffers
the crackheads
the drunks
the potheads
the working-class immigrants
scars on the wall
broken bottles on the floor
sometimes blood in the lobby
bob used to hang here selling
rock
now reggie took over
but he too friendly this
barbados immigrant
he too kind and crafty
too wasted
chillin’
and
shaky
hands awry, crocodiles too drunk
wolverine in the dark doorway
i look at reggie
i look at our caretaker
old bat hump on back
gimp leg
fears no one this wiry strega
i look at laura
i look at the sun
the moon
the car exhaust
the old man shovelling snow
from the driveway broken down
house nothing but a shack
on corner by whorehouse
all lit up like
a carnival
destiny walks with back straight
emma sticks to the shadows
i look at all this,
shake my head
thinkin’,
i got nothing to say man,
nothing….

Starting some more ‘give away’ boxes

old curtains, window shades

stuffed animals

not the animals with which i’ve developed emotional attachments

just the ones i don’t like and can’t remember where i got. like bozo the clown here

he’s gone. definitely keeping goofy he’s

been with me since 1961

and the black and white musical bear.. plays

brahms lullaby. about the same age as goofy. they’re staying

they know me.

de buddha says all life is sorrow so be happy when you can
and happiness is only a state of mind
as children, petting a happy friendly dog was happiness
as an old person and/or artist … if we but remember
happy little things
and best of all is the help we get from our friends
…..Summer Breeze

A look at Artvilla in November 28, 1999

As you can see Artvilla was “Modern art, poetry, music, the cats and the kitchen sink”. I had to drop the kitchen sink because of traffic to the keyword. I should have turned into a kitchen sink store, I’d be rich now. Ha.

Archive.org and the Wayback Machine have archived much of the early internet. It is a noble attempt to capture a fleeting moment or two which would be lost. It is a noble attempt to capture a slice of folk creativity and energy which would be lost.

These are all magnetic spots which are there because someone has paid a bill somewhere. If the bill is not paid no one considers what is lost. The lights just go out so to speak. Ten years of work and creativity can disappear without a flash. Over the years I have seen many of the early great internet sites disappear. Thousands of poems by unknown poets lost. I guess only an unknown poet can cry a tear for them.

I hope Archive.org can pay their bill.