The Sound Of Silence
Deaf
I hear nothing
Silence
She made me keep quiet
An orchestra of violins
And ultramarine hues
Asian sun
Humid air over my two moons rising
The ocean steps foward on white sands
Three times I called out
No return, no echo
Shaved myself clean today
No stubble on my jaw
No under arm hair or eyebrow hair
Just an empty road taken alone
Curving and bending
Oncoming cars and hotel tips
My army shirt
Afternoon tea and biscuits
She made me deaf
I drown in the pools of my tears
They swallow my body and shadow
And I sink to the bottom of the dark blue
In the coldness of silence
As Iπm kneeling down infront
I hear an angels voice calling my name
Breathing in the ebony air
Wrap my arms around empty self
My tears of salt and past drop to the floor
The aged wooden floor absorbs my history
And the dreams of fallen teeth
Fly up to the windows from beneath my stained self
I hear nothing
The thoughts in my head
Yells from my father and mother
Wind birds on my shoulder
The silence now buried
And you can kiss the air and taste the scent
Chisel my name into your stone heart and memory
Always remember that I cared you
© 1999 David Greg Harth
1999.09.03.24:13:25 @ 296 and 1999.09.05.23:56:12 @ 296
Wholesale Limited Edition
Limited Edition
Signed and Numbered
Special Series
Autographed
1 for 1
Make a buck
Prints
Limited Edition
One time only
Unique opportunity
Great cause
Super deal
Intense Art
Limited Edition
Please send check, money order, or cash
In the amount of $25.00 to:
David Greg Harth
PO BOX 7786
New York NY
10001
USA
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.09.02.02:24:07 @ 296
Flies
I come home nightly
To strip to my cold nakedness
And run around in my baby skin
My smelly sweat attraction
And roll up my current fall issue
Of New York magazine
Curl it up into a bat
And swing at the iridescent
Buzzing-by larva laying
Disease infecting mother fucka
Flies
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.8.30.01:27:17@NYC 296
Grey Hair (Orange Juice & Coffee)
We took the sour Orange Juice together
soaked in the wetness of health
and had a delightful toast
She massaged my back and that was that
Like dead animals living
flesh eating flesh
She quivered in her own cum
She used salt chalk for make up
Q-tips until her ears bled
brushed her teeth until gums bled
choked on her tears
He laughed and laughed with me
We ate sweet bananas together
And laughed at the fat laugher and the tall guy
That guy was really tall and skinny and always shook
He did the Thorazine shuffle
Wish I was in the Day.
She really knows how to burn a friendship
and scatter the ashes
across the plains of death
I wonder if she will tuck me in at night
Read me a bedtime story
Knowing I cannot respond
or remember her name?
I got dressed up in my tuxedo
We wined and dined and she did her usual grind
We had a ball, a grand all time
but it wasn’t her who I wanted
All these years
I wait and wait,
search and search
I see her reflection
her dirty ragged old hair
her aged skin with valleys of wrinkles
Liver spots and dead skin drifting to the floor
I comb her thick hair and hold her fragile hand
We talk for lasting hours into the night
I learn about her two sons and her daughter
The life she had in the vivid colors of greens and blues
Tomorrow a new day
it’s today
to see my friend, I dive the traffic
and I find her dead
Her silver hair
She gave me ten-dollar bill in my hands
I never said thankyou
It rained down
Oil upon my face
I go outside
Rub chalk on my face
and wash up
brush my teeth
and discover my feet under the covers
You know I did wrong
but I only sang the song I knew
and now my hair is grey.
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.08.25.24:08:13 @ 296 NYC
99.08.27.08:58:09 @ 296 NYC
Leo
Leo
I’ve never met you
You’ve left before a new discovery
You lion, you
Leo
My sign is cancer
A disease I hope I did not end you
Did you get my invite?
Leo
No bible tonight
No 72nd or lower down under
Make me a star
Leo
Your aging face
And little ones up there
It’s nice to be the singing song
I’ll never forget
The name plate I have written
Leo
Father
Art of the man
Should have bumped into you then
Was born too late
Perhaps too early
But now I’ve got Nine
And Nine more coming
Leo
I never saw your shadow
Or heard your footsteps on wood
I never sold you a painting
Or complained once or twice
Leo
For you
I make art
Tonight
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.08.24.23:45:34@296 New York City
In Memory Of Leo Castelli
Love (Version #02)
Fist
Concrete
Fist
Steel
Fist
Glass
Fist
Tar
Fist
Iron
Fist
Bark
Fist
Moat
Fist
Barbed Wire
Fist
Stone
Fist
Truth
Fist
Lies
Fist
Promises
Fist
Apologies
Fist
Looks
Fist
Warmth
Fist
Birth
Fist
Opera
Fist
The Book
Fist
Mind
Fist
Beauty
Fist
Navel
Fist
Eyebrows
Fist
Eyes
Fist
Lips
Fist
Breasts
Fist
Ass
Fist
Legs
Fist
Communication
Fist
Sharing
Fist
Caring
Fist
Welcoming
Fist
Cradling
Fist
Singing
Fist
Aging
Fist
Sleeping
Fist
Thinking
Fist
Broken
Fist
Chained
Fist
Bound
Fist
Lost
Fist
Hurt
Fist
Fuck
Fist
Art
Fist
Her
Fist
Fist
© 1999 David Greg Harth
1999.08.21.03:13:13 @ F to Broadway & 296 New York City
The Bag Of Shit Side Step
I woke up this morning
In a pool of my salty tears
From now on I will cry
Yet I realize why I have my rules
And why I follow them
Because every single time I fall
I fall into the darkness of emptiness
Where people shed their true skin
And expose their evil intentions and unwarming heart
Once again, perhaps I could have stepped into a bag of shit
But before I could try I got pushed into the darkness
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.08.17.23:27:40 @ 296 New York City
Wolf’s Flu
She asked me, “Would you like some more?”
I said “Yes please.”
Overhead, on the radio, I could hear what seemed to be the Talking Heads
We had a conversation, about the songs that related to every woman I dated
or was involved with. It’s weird, we both realized, ... it was a hot summer
night.
Am I right or wrong? My god, what have I done?
Nowadays it’s no more 12 cups of coffee with 4 sugar and 2 sweet n’ low per cup.
Now I take it black, strong, thick.
It was a conversation unrealistic. I only spoke to her once. When she was
in California and I was in New York. We’ve exchanged before but not like
this. It was just grand. I recall my High School English professor using
that word.
Today I put on a suit and tie and got myself a new job.
In a way it’s kind of horrible, I have to ‘dress up’ now when I goto work.
Some days are better than others.
And, If I want to be free, I’ll be free.
It’s in my head.
She rolled over, next to the ice cold glass of water.
She was in white, the drapes moved with the wind from the open window.
Far in the back we heard the rumble of a stock train going by.
This is where we were that day.
Pittsburgh
Later I met with Paul and Andy and Myself.
I wish I had some tongues with me.
One summer I would drive my car on errands for my gay boss.
I would drive up the New York State Thruway and get off.
That summer I listened to two songs over and over again, and one tape.
She made me a turkey sandwich; He knew something was up.
My grandmother, on my mother’s side, she would make this potted chicken
dish stew thing.
I, pretty much hated it. But I really did dig the potatoes and carrots in
the stew.
If I’m out in the sun too long, I get an awful sunburn.
Who wants to go walk on a nude beach?
I was walking home the other day, just after a thunderstorm.
The sky was so incredible. The sunset was just over the clouds, but hiding.
The sky was pink and the light reflected all over me and on the streets and
buildings and people and taxi cabs, gosh I wish I could replicate that
beauty ... in a painting or photograph... But It will have to last in my
head. As long as I can take it.
So, like I said, I’ll bring down the government walls.
I finished, and asked her for the check.
I told her “Have a good night.”
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.08.13.24:07:19 @ 296 New York City
Woman In Blue
The woman in blue
My Azul
From Argentina
Showing her belly button
Her smiling lips
Her beauty bending
Few words spoken
Glances from chairs
I wish I knew her name
I wish I knew her name
She sat just a few chairs away
Just before we exchanged questions and answers
She would look back at me
I would look at her
Glancing her up and down
Following her contour
Her bare feet
And black low cut pants
Up upon her waist and her tight piercing-blue top
The curves of her breasts to her neck
And her rose lips and great baby brown eyes
Imagined the love we could make
She was, a guess, about thirty-four or five
Beautiful from the Southern Sea
All we did for the rest of the evening
Was glance at each other
Not speaking a word
Only exchanging smiles of wonder and understanding
And appreciation for the photographic memories
Woman In Blue
I wish I got to know you
Your aging hands and palms and ringless heart
Woman In Blue
I might bump into you and grind away at what makes you tick
Through our connection of wires that brought us together
I’ll see you later
Hopefully at Two
Tonight, I’ll dream of Blue
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.08.09.24:12:12 @ 296
99.08.12.24:12:12 @ 296
99.08.12.23:19:38 @ 296
New York City
Mass gun killings, they’re not just for kids anymore
Mass gun killings, they’re not just for kids anymore
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.08.11.23:18:52 @ 296
New York City
with direct inspiration from H. Wagner
JFK
USS Grasp won’t lift me out of the sea
The United States Citizens won’t pay to fly my father via helicopter
to my crash site out in the ocean bed
At least now I know there is a big loft available in Tribeca
I could be doing lots of art there, and not be just a rich folk
How come I’m not famous?
Because my father didn’t die?
Because my father didn’t work for the government?
Maybe my father did more, if he saved one person from suicide, does that
make him famous? A hero?
Would you dive for me?
Would you dive for my dead father?
And his airplane?
Would the President give a damn?
Will Newspapers cover my death or will I be buried in lonesome without
public knowledge?
Will a Coast Guard ship ferry my father out to see my dead plane?
Will England and Australia and Japan write about my disappearance in the sea?
Why is it appropriate for the Navy to find them?
Aren’t we all equal? all human? Isn’t there an Amendment?
If I contribute the birth of a child or a smile, is that not enough to save
my life?
Or now, my taxes, my money, must pay for the salvage of three I never knew?
I know what really happened, you see...
It was just a little Orgy.
You know the car fun, why not airplane fun?
JFK’s wife was going down on him, giving head, on that airplane, now there dead.
Her sister got hot, and her panties, damn wet - before you know it, the
windows were foggy
and wha-la! JFK was going speedy, and kaboom! (remember that cereal?)
All right, you may be disgusted, but we all know what happened.
It was a double murder-suicide.
You see - JFK was smackin’ around his bitch. The bitch’s sister interfered.
JFK lost his cool and punched her in the face and pushed and pushed and now
she’s gone without a trace; he pushed her out of the plane
JFK knows he done wrong - so now he must beat his bitch out of the plane too
He beat and beat and killed two - that’s a double murder on his plate - what
to do?
He didn’t want fame nor George nor boats nor airports nor common sense,
murder just led him to heaven,
so, he committed suicide after a double Dutch!
And now i buy the papers, it’s what we call art,
or I use for kitty litter and abbey road junior can make a piss on.
How can you say, that the Kennedy family contributed more than the Harth family?
And this justifies why I spent my tax dollars on a man I never gave a damn
about?
I would never get the USS Briscoe out to sea for my commitment
Now I have to go home and take a JFK Jr highway home or bridge over waters?
And later plan my schedule to go around blocked streets because I’m paying
for the President to come to town to pay respect. Fuck that, It’s a free
world, let me walk on the street, or If I do, I’ll be arrested?
I went on the online auctions today
Did you see them?
You can get the first issue of GEORGE magazine for currently $150
You can get the current issue of GEORGE magazine for currently $26
You can get the next month’s issue of GEORGE magazine for currently $26
(with JFK Jr on the cover!)
I got mine; did you get yours?
You can also buy domain names, like JFK-Jr.com and such, for five thousand,
fifteen thousand and twenty thousand dollars. There’s something I need!
I went to St. Patrick’s Old Cathedral
Just a few blocks away
I was just there, a few weeks ago
Out on the street watching girls eat mangos and French films projected on
the church walls.
The old Irish lad came out and said it was a circus in there
Kind of like the media circus out here?
I heard the bag pipes
And took some photographs
The priest came out to those who couldn’t get in, though those that were in,
were hot smelly sweaty pigs and dogs. With no air conditioning, the FDNY
went in often. And Con-Edison, that I paid for, set up unique
air-conditioning that didn’t work.
The priest giving Communion. He came around. He placed a wafer in my hand,
circular with a cross in the middle. I saved it in my palm close to my
heart and now tomorrow, check out the online auctions I’ll make a million
with it!!
After services I toured the church, couldn’t find my art but lit a candle
for a friend.
I ran away and got more tape
I ran away and printed up signs
I trekked down to Tribeca where I posted signs on the Police barricade.
They said
“
(in small letters):
WE LOVE JFK-BASSETTE
(in big letters):
PRESS
LET
THEM
REST
“
A woman asked me, “What organization are you with?”
I replied, “None, I’m just Human.”
But the press didn’t like me.
Gave me weird looks
Yelled and called me names with sarcastic thankyous.
I took photos of my art and went on the waiting line.
It’s time to fuck up the mainstream, and I’ll start with my medium, the media.
so, I went to the flower shrine in TriBeCa
waste of money flowers? how about all the dying children and cancer?
i left an “I AM AMERICA” bill there to lay
and on it I wrote
‘In JFK we don’t trust to fly us’
I have photos to prove it, I’ll show you one day.
And I taped up all over the walls and flowers my signage to the press;
PRESS LET THEM REST
I passed the candles, American-flags, teddy-bears, signs, photos, children,
letters, drawings, paintings, guitars, caps, dead flowers, 20-dollar bills,
glitter, marker, ink, non-American flags, poetry, hands, flashes, elevator
shaft ways, and life
went back to my Police barricades and my signs were ripped down
The press doesn’t like it when I fight back
So now I plead with you all
Realize today we play the bagpipes all together
Like the bum on the corner making a dime
We once were told we were equal, but you see we are not.
Some pigs are more equal than other pigs
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.07.23.02:10:17 @ Tribeca/New York City
RABBITFUCK
I remember, one day, a few years back ...
While sitting on the toilet, peaking at my shit, as if they were clouds. I noticed the magnificent shape the shit was in. Like Disney characters Mickey & Minnie, ah, childhood. Believe it or not, I was reading Artforum on the potty that day. When talking on the phone and having a drag, my girlfriend calls. She tells me that she wants to tie my legs up to the kitchen chair and make me masturbate in front of her. I tell her she’s crazy but she comes over anyway and fucks me to sleep on my throne of porcelain. I wake up, she still on my shoulders, shit below me, she had pissed all over me. Madonna once said piss is a cleanser, today it got my fungus out of my ass and toes. So, I picked her up, way up high, and ate her out until her thigh was giving me a great big red television reception. She brought that tv in earlier. Just to watch porn, or maybe herself. My girlfriend is a porn star in daisy dukes, she shopped for those cut-off jeans on long ass lines just too entertain me and drive me crazy and insane. Which is why now I do nothing, not even walk or keep house; I just sit on my pot and give up my spouse for this daily shit I do. Too bad, I could have wed or even done med, but without a degree, I’m just going to continue to pee.
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.07.22.01:51:56 @ 296 NYC
Last Night
She was dancing in front of me
Up above my shoulders
On the table before me
Scattered with wine and glitter dust
Her tight white pants
Snugged her clean shaven legs
She grinded her waist
Before my blue eyes
She moaned all night
Sexy she was
I couldn’t help
But get harder and harder
I noticed her daisy flowers
Her breasts bare underneath
With the music playing
And the warm candles burning
She leaned into me
On her 57th street flat
We kissed and dove
And I was joined with Romeo
Embraced and kissed
Feel of a thigh
My fingers glided up and down
Around her navel and in her hair
Bodies pressed against each other
Her nipples stiff in my mouth
I lead her to the bed
Cascaded in gold and ravishing cream
Until late hours of midmorning
After four bottles of wine
Devouring the sex
Until the next night
The silver was all over me now
She and I lay in the nude
With the breeze over us
Laying still watching her
I traced her contour with my finger
Around her insides as she slept
The morning sun penetrated the room
Now whitely lit with a taste of mint
I rise out of bed
With my imagination in place
Step to the sink and splash my face with water
And I awake once more from my dream
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.07.13.04:36:10 @ 296
New York City
10th of July
I heard the shuffle of angel’s feet
Because today I managed to take my dagger
And deepen the hole that creates
My own passion and pain
I’ll see you next year
Same time, same place
Quarter of a century, as long as you remember
Bury me in the garden of the lost
Have bagpipes play at my funeral
And play the soundtrack for all
And let the womyn and men in blue jeans
Create paintings on the grassy hillside
Hear my song and chant
Listen to the wind, the music of the night
Dance naked in front of the wildfire
And look in the mirror and see my shadow
Today I’m an angel
Hear my feet sliding and stomping
Hear my heart pounding and my veins popping
Think about the times
And now I hold my dagger closer
Today is a day how we all remembered him
Always fucking around, not one soul knew truth
Except for the great spirit in Missouri land
Look into my blue eyes
Tell me what you see
Search the rest of the earth
And what you have forgotten
We lay him to rest
On this tenth day of July
In Nineteen Ninety Nine
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.07.10.00:00:00@NYC
A Virgin
Oh my god, I did not tell you what happened with that cab driver I
went with last night. I thought I was going to be possibly kidnapped,
DEFINITELY raped and possibly killed. He was just basically telling
me how he and his fiancé never had sex and that he is worried about
the first time. It was an arranged proposal by his mother and he has
yet to see the fiancé. From this he is asking me about his first
experience to come such as if she is going to bleed a lot or a little and
should he continue or stop and if he does not stick it in the whole
way is it considered sex still and if I had a boyfriend and how my
first time was so I told him that you were my boyfriend and that we
never had sex. I told him I was still a virgin and he was SO happy.
I was hoping telling him I was a virgin would make him more
compassionate about raping me if that was his intentions. I figured
that would make him wait to take a slut instead or at least someone
“experienced”. Anyway..his cell phone rang and I sat in silence for
the remainder of the way.
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.07.09.03:26:09 @ 296
New York City
Ninety
I’ll catch you
When I can
You and my ninety
Stamped dollars
You & Nina’s Holiness
And the ticket for inspiration!
You should have been honest
But now it’s too late
When I see you on the street
I’ll know who you are
Because you are the man
With no thumbs
Ninety dollars is nothing
And I’ll shove
A cows tongue up your ass
And this ain’t
No Mapplethorpe photograph!
I’ll see you without pity
A man whose meals are free
For just a little longer
You’ll be wishing you were the fly on a bathroom stall door
Instead of the misery and the ass-mark you’ll have
Red and Black, the colors of America
For Twenty Five Dollars
I write a little note to you
Forever carried on me
So, when I meet you
And Mohammed
I’ll smack you in the face
Until your family feels my fists in your soul
And my children can spit on your blood
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.06.26:22:12:00 @ St.Marks&3rdAve
99.06.28.24:12:00 @ 296ES
New York City
Five Years At Least One
I remember growing up.
My dad was at Attica.
And I would burn ants as a kid.
And play with the rat poison mom had in the cabinet under the sink.
Richard and I would come up with these weird con-cock-shins.
Like little league volcano science experiments.
I grew up in a farm state.
Filled with apples and I remember cow tipping and buying crap at Sugar Loaf.
And being yelled at to “Just answer the fookin’ question” by my uncle who
gave me the big-ass tannish teddy bear.
I remember the Fourth of July when both of my grandfathers would come down
the walkway and shake hands with open arms, as if they haven’t seen
each other in years.
It’s funny, when I think about it, I remember seeing my next door neighbor
completely naked. She saw a sock on my cock and I saw her breasts divulge
that her puberty had beaten mine. I once saw a kid on a roof and once in a
puddle of rain.
All my memories fade away now in the sun, because that’s when I get these
awful headaches and have to run inside in the shade and darkness. And when
I do, I think of my father that I had lost in upstate New York. The 2nd
largest killing of Americans by Americans since the Civil War. I feel
bleeding on my side because of that, and I’ll never be complete. Even though
I gain a brother every now and then.
I wonder where Jessica is. She sure was pretty, her golden long hair in
braids. That’s what I remember. Too bad I repress certain memories, she
wasn’t my kid. I would have supported her if she was. She didn’t have my
eyes. My eyes. You know what I mean. I’m a seduction sucker. But do I get
sucked or do I suck?
If I asked you to sit in the photobooth and take a photo with me, would
you? That reminds me, I have to go to the meat market and get something for
a self-portrait. Christo said that something was not his and I believed him.
Because I’m unconditional, that’s why I can do this. And he was broken and
bent out of shape? Maybe he should have gone to the doctor then, right?
Doctor? Page them please.
My grandfather would make little toy cars out of Quaker Oat Meal cylinder
cartons and pencils. He also helped me to draw. I remember one distinct
thing he taught me. If you look at the corner of a room, where the two
walls meet, the seam; you’ll notice that its actually lighter than the two
walls. You might think that this is wrong, but actually the two walls are
both reflecting light into the seam, hence, making it brighter. I recall
drawing a pack of True cigarettes with him one day.
She made some pasta for me, and we had some wine. She danced Infront of me
in my year of Nineteen Ninety Nine. We went skinny dipping in her outdoor
pool and the towel she wrapped herself in dropped to the floor.
I was making a list the other day and I was checking it twice. I didn’t want
to see who was naughty and who was nice. A lot are not nice and I want some
more to be naughty. Say naughty. Be naughty with me. Let’s get together and
feel all right. I’m a rebel and I can hear the chimes in the wind. And see
the kite fly above me on the beach of the New Jersey shore. I’m not from
there.
One time I had a friend that introduced me to frog legs. He was an artist
at Columbia. He killed these little frogs and used the back leg muscles to
operate his art frog that was made of metal and machinery. It was a robot
frog with real muscles. David must have thought and wondered if the world
changed just because this little frog left the world. Kind of like when you
step into the ocean, the entire ocean rises around the earth, just because
you are in it! Amazing.
He had a dream about urinating in garbage cans. One Infront of Robin, one
Infront of Travis.
It’s kind of like design, or performance, or a bad artist, or bad move.
Almost like chess, but not checkers; that’s a hot dog, run it through, drag
it through the garden, take me to the river.
I once knew a man that had steel plates in his head. After gutting him I
tied my shoelaces around his neck and hanged him out in the yard.
My brother once taught me about love. But he left the family and has never
come back. He stole lots of things and hearts but I forgave him. He’s my
Valentine, and you are not. Do you hear that laughing or is it the gas in
my head?
Anyway, just a taste of fluid, that today, might be 100%. But give me at
most five years at least one year and I’ll show you something strange in the
mirror. But I won’t be talkin’ to you for a while. Sorry Pop, you know it
and I know it, I’ll catch your tears, if you catch mine.
© 1999 David Greg Harth
99.06.20.23:59:25 @ 296NYC
Fathers Day 1999
99.06.24.03.15:21 @ 296NYC
Thursday after eating some French Toast at VG Bar