image by Peter Cole Friedman
Eulogy for Daniel Johnston
I thought about you last summer / in the months after my sister died / and my family drove past
canyons / and tiny mansions / without lawns / I wanted to see you / dining on a raspberry slurpee
and being good / or in the hospital / again and again and / a / gain / I have lost a life / I have left
so much in the air / one day it will all fall down / at once / in place / toilet head / green marker /
american hands / austin coffee / comic book glue / myself is on fire / my selves / my cells / I
sleep at the piano like a stray / I play magic / they can’t take my dreams from me / I live in so
many places / and every world hurts / each morning has its weight / sometimes as much as a
plastic bag / sometimes the bag is fat and full / of what I know / you smell the devil / I have been
God / I could have met you / I think I have / yes! / you were the moon last night / a shy
performer behind the curtains / but I heard you / thank you / thank you
canyons / and tiny mansions / without lawns / I wanted to see you / dining on a raspberry slurpee
and being good / or in the hospital / again and again and / a / gain / I have lost a life / I have left
so much in the air / one day it will all fall down / at once / in place / toilet head / green marker /
american hands / austin coffee / comic book glue / myself is on fire / my selves / my cells / I
sleep at the piano like a stray / I play magic / they can’t take my dreams from me / I live in so
many places / and every world hurts / each morning has its weight / sometimes as much as a
plastic bag / sometimes the bag is fat and full / of what I know / you smell the devil / I have been
God / I could have met you / I think I have / yes! / you were the moon last night / a shy
performer behind the curtains / but I heard you / thank you / thank you
I <3 Loss
When I was eleven my mom said you’re so invisible,
you should be a drug dealer. From then on,
I knew I would be hard to get. I’ve been twenty one for three weeks.
My friend poked the word lucky into my wrist with a
spare needle. I feel like a fever. I’m perched on concrete
that gets warm but does not burn. My psychiatrist says I’m
manic but I’m having fun like a girl does.
You don’t look like me and get away with it.
I have no money left but there are so many cakes in my freezer.
Yesterday, Allie said my writing matters less than hers and thought
I would agree because she’s so nervous all of the time. Shut up.
I’m not anxiety cute, I’m evil. My head is full of what they
called electricity before they could sell it. I’m Kurt, Madonna,
an apocalypse who knows you’ve been waiting. Genesis!
A woman in the hottest pink walks past me like a river. A man
gives me my third cigarette of the half hour and says he loves how
upfront I am. Now, what do I have to be shy about?
My teeth are gross and argumentative. I have never eaten lobster.
Actually, I’m allergic. No I’m not. I was the coolest when I was nine.
In my friend’s abscessed living room singing the new Britney Spears song
to a chorus line of mutilated barbie dolls. She wore big brass hoops
and told me I was a huge loser when her mom left to go buy
seedless grapes. No one likes you. Not at all. I screamed until
she apologized. An hour later, we stood before her greasy
bathroom mirror. And I whispered, will Bloody Mary taste my
feelings when she eats me? And what if she loves it?
What then?
you should be a drug dealer. From then on,
I knew I would be hard to get. I’ve been twenty one for three weeks.
My friend poked the word lucky into my wrist with a
spare needle. I feel like a fever. I’m perched on concrete
that gets warm but does not burn. My psychiatrist says I’m
manic but I’m having fun like a girl does.
You don’t look like me and get away with it.
I have no money left but there are so many cakes in my freezer.
Yesterday, Allie said my writing matters less than hers and thought
I would agree because she’s so nervous all of the time. Shut up.
I’m not anxiety cute, I’m evil. My head is full of what they
called electricity before they could sell it. I’m Kurt, Madonna,
an apocalypse who knows you’ve been waiting. Genesis!
A woman in the hottest pink walks past me like a river. A man
gives me my third cigarette of the half hour and says he loves how
upfront I am. Now, what do I have to be shy about?
My teeth are gross and argumentative. I have never eaten lobster.
Actually, I’m allergic. No I’m not. I was the coolest when I was nine.
In my friend’s abscessed living room singing the new Britney Spears song
to a chorus line of mutilated barbie dolls. She wore big brass hoops
and told me I was a huge loser when her mom left to go buy
seedless grapes. No one likes you. Not at all. I screamed until
she apologized. An hour later, we stood before her greasy
bathroom mirror. And I whispered, will Bloody Mary taste my
feelings when she eats me? And what if she loves it?
What then?
JASMINE LEDESMA can be found twitching in New York. Her work has appeared in places such as The Southampton Review and Crab Fat Magazine among others. She recently won the John Costello Award for creative nonfiction. Her debut chapbook, Racehorse, is being released by Dancing Girl Press this summer.
