Autobiography

Autobiography

The following information is important:

Name: Justin Anthony Hultman

- My mother told me that I was named after a catholic priest in Aliquippa, Pennsylvania. In 15--, Martin Luther broke away from the Catholic Church. Aliquippa is a small suburb of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Later, I would attend a small catholic high school. I was almost broken away from a small catholic high school, once for writing, and again for not being a man. If I were Martin Luther I would have nailed a list of complaints to the door of the chapel. Instead I would sneak into the back of the chapel and sleep in the warm sunrays through the stained glass. Now I assume Martin Luther would just send an email. I assume he would drive a car. In a car, I left Aliquippa and moved to Johnstown, Pennsylvania I went to a small catholic high school in Johnstown, Pennsylvania

Birth: July 23, 1986

- When I was born, a plane departed from the Pittsburgh International Airport. Aliquippa is a small suburb of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania Aliquippa is very close to the Pittsburgh International Airport. I assume a plane must have been departing at/or (around) that time. On that plane, people were leaving Pittsburgh. People with money were leaving cities all around the country. My father told me Ronald Regan was an American hero. He said in the 1980's the economy was booming. Now, I see a man on the bus wearing a Member's Only jacket and I wonder if he has money. I wonder if he's ever flown on a plane. I wonder were he was the day I was born. Every 20 years popular culture repeats itself. The 80's are back. I feel like I'm being reborn. I may/may not actually exist. Twenty-two years after I was born, the United States elected a black man as its president. He remembers the 80's much better than I do. The trends will repeat themselves.

Birth: July 23, 1986

- When I was born, a plane didn't departed from the Pittsburgh International Airport. Aliquipa is not a small suburb of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvainia. Aliquipa is not very close to the Pittsburgh Internation Airport. Don't assume a plane must have been departing at/or (around) that time. Don't get on that plane. Please don't leave Pittsburgh. People with money are cities and all around the country is my father. Ronald Regan was an American hero. He was the 1980's. I am the economy. Now, i am a man on the bus wearing a Member's Only jacket. I wonder if money knows that it's money. I wonder if planes are ever scared to get on planes. I wonder if the day I was born will be the day I will be born. Every 20 years popular culture repeats itself. The 80's are back. I feel, therefore i'm born. I may/may not actually exist twenty years from now. Twenty years after i was reborn, the United States elected a black man as it's president. He remembers the 80's. The 80's remember being born. The trends will repeat themselves.








Ars Poetica:
The Art of Poetry

Unless of course there are two
and one and one we = mornings:
new dawn / a dead dew and grass
clippings. What are you hiding?

(I) barefoot on your back steps
(You) hate cigarettes
(We) made breakfast

On hold. each other waiting
for early bird lunch specials
catching the worm. Feed me.

"There, the hole. That’s where I buried it."

What are you hiding?

First things first among the second thoughts and
two hands like a spade. we cleft hours. Being:

Beating. Announce.

The second coming.

A child. A whore. The neighbors
Talkings to closed windows.

The alley. Two tin cans. Throw away everything you
know. everything can be understood. Just try. and catch

me. i am. i was. But now i'm not. you
pick up the pieces. Forget what I told you.

Only remember one thing.


Nevermind.


What am I hiding?

We are (I am) the only thing left.



Introspective:

1.

There was a time on the stairs. I understood it was on the stairs you later reminded me of our exact location, the time of day, even how I held my feet - tapping; the other hand folded grinding nails into skin leaving an early parable in scratches, arms blushing. This was not a once, but an everyday; years were vague, holding hands that held air and papers folded into books - remember. You must have. You never bothered to tell anyone. I am sure. I never. I manage. Leave an imprint on public walls above restroom sinks. Four more years. This is a two-fold reality. I in a shadow, or I in different haircut, different boots passing self and selfish never time to recognize; myself, here now backward in
motion. Strange, it was we leave. Leave capsules.


2.

Infection dancing Beautiful girl with crowfoot eyes and deep orange lips. Pages then Books then Learning: it was essential. How to cope Changing (bus schedules) skin and seasons altered the west
-ern Pennsylvania saint. Who brought god in, You Too, one of us was dying, changing shapes rain
that falls like orbs that look like breasts. You never felt. A woman I knew was lying. Leaving you said
the country you said best option you said. Running easier if the terrain was, essential you said the map was only half complete. You said my shoes were old, ragged my pants were getting slim. I had hair of disasters. Maybe


3.

(for jocelyn)

There is a matter of motion. On dance floors. In car accidents. We precipitate reality when we discover our hands. On smooth aluminum. Around a teacup. If ever there was a chance to take back. To talk to neighbors. To buy a wooden shovel. I have scene great cinematography. The forest. The space between your two front teeth. It was unexpected. To weigh you. To weigh options. Unless of course. You and I had met. Had you met. There was never. A glass avocado. A package of cigarettes. Reservations were required. To enter the hospital. To leave the cathedral. We kept trying to taste. The checkerboard. The parking lot. Tomorrow will be better. For tragedy. For children. Everything is wanting. A pen. A pen. Everything is only. A new haircut. A pair of boots. The only thing left is cognition. Or paralysis. Or capitulation. You told me you were reading. A pair of scissors. An elm tree. The animals are restless. Like skeletons. Like asphalt. Never had I thought of being a father. Or a salesman. Or a clock.










Birth: July 23, 1986

When I was a plane, I departed birth. The international suburb is people with money, am only cities – was only the 1980’s. My father, Ronald Regan, told planes to fly and they flew. He was an American jacket. His pockets were stuffed with money. His money was booming, it was all around the country, it was a born from black men. Twenty years from now you’ll all be sorry. You’ll be departing sorry culture existing men to feel like being born is repeating and seeing Aliquippa you’ll know. I wonder. Much better than the president, I am, on a plane. The only member of ::repeat: the only member of the United wonder. States the feeling much better than I do.


Today: November 11, 2008


Now: 2:12 PM



It has begun. Even now I attempt to hide. I will lie to you. In the following pages I will lie to you.




I am sitting down to write
a poem. It is the first real poem
I will write. Until now I have
only spoken to friends.


Sitting at my desk. There must be an order to this motion. The act of writing. Beginning - fresh pens, new paper :: a slight diversion to get a snack :: The view from the bay window out on to South Pacific Ave. These homes are family. They have seen the city change. The forgotten Garden Houses, the plight of the widow and unmarried. The walls begin to breath. Old houses sweat at the thought of another winter. The walls begin to talk to me. The wall adjoining sets of strangers. Hearing you. I know you now. You hate each other. The walls where talking. You were fucking a stranger. You take the garbage out every Monday night.

You found me hiding amongst the cantos.
Knitting ropes of words and disparate
images. Dreaming about the red wheel
barrow. and love letters to Alice B. Tolkin.
I wish I were building a snow man and cross
-ing the last day of April off the calendar
(They say it was the cruelest month) Yet
many seasons’ I’ve spent in hell it was
a game of dice. The red haired beggar girl
has taken my last coin. Giving everything
I have a name. Or A mantra. Repeating
syllabics and…


(On November 4, 2008 my mother refused to answer her telephone
for the first time in 22 years)


The only time I am able to get any real work done is when I think no one is around.



Rilke told the young poet to reach into his heart when no one was around and ask himself why he was writing. Would he cease to exist if he stopped writing. Could he not live if he was barred from writing. My mother said that if she were without her piano she would cease to exist. She purchased a grand piano to hide her light under. I purchased a copy of Eats, Shoots and Leaves so the women at Boarder's would think I was compulsive about grammar. You don't know anything about me do you. Fuck you, next time ask before you spend the night. I will cease to exist if this goes on any longer. Fuck you.



Sentences:


Simple
Once, my mother showed me the plants that pop.


Compound
Mother gathered the poppers and placed them in the plastic shopping bag.


Complex
My mother won't come visit me because she thinks the Turnpike is dangerous.


Fragments

At christmas.

Bakes for month’s prior.

The neighbors.

A good homemaker.

A good home.



Because
because now you are progressive,
Because
the only way to remain
Because
the only way



The average reader can read only the first and last words of a sentence and still follow a thought.
I can address you in the preposition. I can assume that you assume. This is how we think.



Birth: July 23, 1986

-Because when I was born, a plane didn't departed from the Pittsburgh International Airport. Because Aliquipa is not a small suburb of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvainia. Because Aliquipa is not very close to the Pittsburgh Internation Airport. Because you assumed a plane must have been departing at/or (around) that time. Don't be mad. You were wrong. Please. Because people with money are cities and all around the country is my father. Because Ronald Regan was an American hero. Because of the 1980's. Because now I am a man. Because of the economy we now take the bus. Because I wonder if money knows that it's money. Because planes are scared to get on planes. Because I wonder, ok? Because every 20 years popular culture repeats itself and that’s not ok. Because nothing has changed.




Today.


If you decide to come back. If you find trouble remembering. Thinking is the only memory of childhood many of us have. The present act of attempting to remember. Do you remember birth? Will you remember death? A conversation with dinner plates is to remember a taste. "I've been tasting you all week." To long for is disastrous. To live for desire. Unfit, able bodied allowing time alone. Apart we grow apart. In 6 months your name will not sound the same. Parched; reaching for a juice glass to choke out a name. I seem to remember you coming back. You boarding a plane. You tipping a cab driver. You matching socks - a public launderette. Recall the last time in a place. Excessive. I was reason, You were too high. You offered to buy me a drink. You told me you could try to love me. No guarantee that our Philipino waiter was not staring at your chest. I will begin to stare at your chest. From the bottom of a pint glass the complexity of convexing lenses. I would have never assumed such beauty through these eyes. In the airport, vegetation grows up through the tiles in the restroom. The exchange of foreign soil. So many pairs of hands and feet, so many steps stepping over each other. I don't think I will miss you when you're gone. Is it threatening when I walk barefoot? It was presumptuous for me to assume. I would like to at least keep your hands. To have your hands would be to own you. This home would be constructed by you. This home would be constructed from you. Your hands on my VCR remote. Your hands on my favorite teacup, the one with the floral arrangement invested within it.

I own a thesaurus
It contains many words for morning but only one word for night. Night.
It contains a list of possible synonyms for ownership but only one for possession.

It has been altered to meet my current history. The dictionary is next.



Fuck you. For spending the night without asking.
Fuck you. For not ending the war.
Fuck you. For leaving me all your to sort out.
Fuck you. For
Fuck you.



An unwanted invasion of personal space. Coming back in the morning is shameful. Coming back at night would be unflattering. Not coming back at all has become alarming.


The Art of Leaving

40th and Market - train L: (Blue Line)

Do you have nothing
Has become of
when will we break

West bound - last stop: (69th street station)

Do you have
Nothing has become of when
will we break.

Look for the route 100 trolley

Do
You have nothing has
Become of when. will
we break

Three fourths of the way home.

Do you have nothing has become of when will we break.





I want to want a return flight. I want that flight to crash. I want you to not be on that flight. I want you to not come back. I want to change my name.



Name: July 23, 1986


With patience I am able to collect myself enough to consider this story as nothing more than syllables.
You are nothing more than a syllable.

If Tyler were still here none of this would have ever happened.


For tyler

11:30 / driving on white interstates / you asleep: front seat

Never did you reach / the coast. The city closer / than white elephants

Watching you from here / nothing but silos dancing / for miles eating grain

Poured like white oak, or / imperfection on pavement. / Last known survivor

A man slips on / a banana peel, and dies. / Well you might still laugh

Walls, or miles between / standing on piles of books to / catch the tragedy

Overturned bottle / on the threshold, prowling cat / never alone to eat

Coffee in tea cups, / without saucers, refined taste / this world will soon end

Hurry, scurry, jump! / Be masterful as the song / shoots you backward

Coffee in tea cups, / without saucers, refined taste / this world will soon end

Two plastic dice knock / against the glass, then turn up / in your suitcase

Never did you expect / your face a picture; / you forgot to look

The annual fish / fry in basements. All of them / are old - so are you!

When we met for lunch / I tasted your soup. You knew / but never told me

The open door, and / the open face, the black sky, / and etc.

I'm uninterested / in anyone interested / in anyone

The salamander / slips into the pond, and drags / me into the mud

Wrote by level, wrote / on motorcycles, bards, hoops. / Constant vowels, shapes

Complete meta morph / a noun removed from normal / reverb, normal jumps

The front door is never / home. Closed mailboxes and lights / on in the back room

Did I forget 5 / feet of rope. A tin can call / across boundaries; states

Rooftops! Dry branches / on rooftops, budges on branches, / at my feet - the acorn

I wrote stories on / skin or the carpet. In red / ink takes time to set

Chorus as a bell, / neighbors saying "my right head / gone." World of fresh, new

Churches behind churches, / skies behind skies, clouds drift / through the widest eye

Dishes in the sink / covered in forgetful lyrics / like men in black suits



To what extent: I am to become:

1. That which was once a hollow opening in a tree.
2. That which will forget to retrieve the morning paper.
a. The evidence is clear.
b. Headline: No News Is Good News
c. Right?
3. To make it through the night.
a. This was in fact a pleasantry.

What will become of these two teacups in the morning. What will become of these two lives in the morning.

Morning; silent, sleeping – the front seat of a ’94 Buick Century. Morning; silent. Sleeping.














The following places are important:

1. Stairwell; a family home.
2. The steps of an old Lutheran Church.
3. The oak tree in the corner of the Main St. Park.
4. Second floor; Fraternal Order of the Kiwanis Club – Center Ave: Age 12
5. The threshold of the public high school.
6. The intersection of Marian St. and Highland Ave.
7. The intersection of Marian St. and Highland Ave.
8. Rt. 422 out of Indiana County.
9. The backstreets of Oakland, Johnstown, Pa: Winter – Age 15
10. The women’s locker room – Bishop Carroll Catholic High School.
11. En route – Highway 22: Johnstown, Pa to Pittsburgh, Pa: 57 miles (No Jake Brakes)
12. Leaving 329 S. Pacific Ave Pittsburgh, Pa 15224
13. Never returning to 64 Wakefield St. Pittsburgh Pa, 15213
14. Wondering if you’d ever return for your rag doll. And the blender you got as a gift.
15. Memorial Day 2008.

(The above locations are important to you. Let them be important. Try to remember.)

A Confession:

The following information is important:

Name: Justin Anthony Hultman










Birth: July 23, 1986














Birth: July 23, 1986

- When I was born, a plane didn't departed from the Pittsburgh International Airport. Aliquipa is not a small suburb of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvainia. Aliquipa is not very close to the Pittsburgh Internation Airport. Don't assume a plane must have been departing at/or (around) that time. Don't get on that plane. Please don't leave Pittsburgh. People with money are cities and all around the country is my father. Ronald Regan was an American hero. He was the 1980's. I am the economy. Now, i am a man on the bus wearing a Member's Only jacket. I wonder if money knows that it's money. I wonder if planes are ever scared to get on planes. I wonder if the day I was born will be the day I will be born. Every 20 years popular culture repeats itself. The 80's are back. I feel, therefore i'm born. I may/may not actually exist twenty years from now. Twenty years after i was reborn, the United States elected a black man as it's president. He remembers the 80's. The 80's remember being born. The trends will repeat themselves.