The Reinhard Palovcik Notebooks - #1
Edited by Tom Miller
Introduction: These poems, sketches, thoughts, are the unvarnished reflections of Reinhard Palovcik. Often, Ron would take an empty notebook with him out to a nightclub and have it filled within a couple hours. This is the first of what will eventually be several dozen notebooks. I suggest committing to each notebook's read from start to finish, for this is how it was written. In doing so, it will be as if you are spending an evening with Ron, inside his brilliant scientific and poetic mind. He did not always write in the first person, nor did he always tell the truth. As my English professor Clay Arnold often reminded our class, "Never confuse the Speaker with the Author." Ron, prior to his death, authorized me to publish his work. This is the way to spend another night out on the town with our friend.
MADNESS IS WANTING TO BE LOVED
REINHARD PALOVCIK NOTEBOOKS #1
Edited from Ron's Notebooks by Tom Miller
I had gone four days with no
Food, eight without masturbating
And was ready for death
Had the gun loaded beneath
My pillow, the
Hammer cocked but somehow
Amidst all the anguish
And futility of my life I fell asleep
And dreamt of her rising
Above me feeding crab claws
To my face while humping
My rigid cock, I reached
Up and caressed her neck
Ran my fingers through
Her hair, pulled her head
Down and kissed her as
I came deep inside
Awoke alone amid
Cotton sheets, breathing
Heavily, body covered
In sweat cursing the fact
That I had been born a
Human being
A frail thinking feeling shell
And not some dog lecherous
That thirsts whenever it
Pleases
All I wanted
All I had wanted from life
Was a wife, family, security,
Love, a gentle caress from
Time to time, someone to
Worship, I had found something
To believe in the ten
Thousand generations of
Man that had brought
Me here, the last three
Thousand years of philosophy religion politics art literature
Were but a shout against the evolutionary
Pressure of my genes
Welling up out of my
Scrotum into this massive
Erection. Passion at its
Most basic level that
Would rip out my loins
And I knew that even if she
Offered herself to me
I could not partake for
Fear of madness, where
I would lose control
And become some
Strained heaving middle
Age fuck.
Praise to Bukowski, he taught
Me style, to write down
Simple lines with the least
Words, where I could
Empty my soul onto the
Page and not have it
Fester me into ulcers
Starvation or suicide
The tragedy of unfulfilled
Love, kneeling at the foot
Of my bed, I cry, pray
Grovel
To the heavens for what
Might be, but realize
I am faced with the
Many-armed beast
And cannot defeat it
No matter how hard
I try.
It’s over
Stop this ridiculous pantomime
I am done, done for
This is the last poem
The last breath from
My brain, the last
Gasp of my passion
The last taste of love
The last shit
It’s over.
Out of time
I stretch my body
On the beach, my face
Basking in rays of sun
But these tiny
Beads of reality
Itch the base of my
Brain, like Pacmen
They gnaw at the
Stem, an unrequited
Love, the dice have turned
Against me but
The odds were so great,
It was expected.
I wallow in the sand, suck
The grit into my
Throat. Turn my
Back to the sun
And everything human
There is very little in our world
That goes against human nature
Monks steal from the chapel,
Priests fondle young boys
Presidents have sex with their
Pages, husbands cheat
On wives, wives on husbands,
Everyone tries to take a little
More than their due as long as
No one notices
Black turns to red to blue to green
A sun sparkles yellow on
My skin, my body floats
Through space, stars tumble
My eyes, I am in love
With a nebula, she is a
Cloud of interstellar dust
Through which I cannot see
Engulfed by a hot gas
Amidst asteroids and
Comets, her breasts,
Burning stars, revolve as
She twists around the center
Of my universe, her mind
Is god, creator of life or at least mine
And her vagina a supernova
Exploding to my pulse
I wrote her many
Poems
She is only an image,
Icon whom I worship
To which I pray for salvation
There is not much left
My mind a
Hollow shell
My body a servant of bones
My world ugly like
The shit of a mule dying
Slowly in the desert
Why did I love her
Why, why
I think it was only a
Quick easy path
To justify the suicide
That was there before I
Even met her
The worst living souls are those
In great pain every second
Searching for death
But death will not come
As their bodies writhe in
The moonlight, twisting and
Contorting to every slight
Change in the breeze.
She spurns me to greatness
But only through suffering
Of the worst kind, something
I cannot touch, a pain
So deep no opiates
Can salve, it is life itself
Writhing in all its
Myriad forms
And I would be with her
Not in this
Life but maybe the next
Did you ever think of what
It would be like to stop
The world, look around
You and contemplate the
Multiple parts, perverted
Energies, cheating, selfish
Reality and wonder, where
Did all this come from.
What would you want to tell
Me, everything and nothing
I think nothing would be best
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Take any genius and feed him
Or her the ultimate misery
And you will get art.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
After drinking many bottles
Of wine I am sitting here
Thinking of her, realizing I cannot drive anywhere
Tonight
And wherever she is with
Whatever lover she has at the moment, I am
The loser and cannot ever
Hope to win.
He used to come here regularly
Buy his friends many
Drinks but where is
He now living his own
Private hell over some
Woman he once worshipped
And still does, starving
Himself and in twilight
Drunken states he writes
Words of his anguish
Words of laughter
And words of dying
Applause, something
He never imagined
Is now unfolding
In his brain, a thought
Of early death and
How easy it would
Be to be rid of this
Anguish
I am a shadow of one
That once lived and
Breathed among
You, now I am but
A shell, dying with
Every breath
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
This love bleeds
Beyond all
Boundaries, grasps
My soul in its
Claws, clamps down
On my heart
Searing my brain
Roasting memories
Of what it was to once
Be alone.
Tell me what’s happening
I am dying with every
Breath at the suspense
Bare cement walls, a wash basin,
Urine steamed floor, cot with
No pillow, cold steel bars
Is this the love I had imagined
Trapped in the prison of my
Own mind
Friends, like parents, sometimes
Balm you with their lies
As they are trying to protect
You from your own
Evils, obsession for
A woman you’ve worshipped
For years carefully arrange
A ruse to fool you but
You are not fooled
And those who were once
Your friends have now
Helped you to your death
Do you think I want to grow
Old alone with no love
No children, writing
Poems to pass the time
Something that neither
You nor anyone else
Will ever read again
Do you think I want to
Grow old alone
Silent, dark and deadly
In my room, why
I say, bring it on
Quickly while I am
Still young and just
Kill me now to save
Me this torture
When I was fourteen, I hid
In the basement of my parents’
Home and sniffed a whole
Lot of glue, it got me
Very high and I imagined
That my brain would
Rot ----- shoot out
Of my asshole, it was
Something I was warned
About in high school
And that, in fact, was
The only reason I had
Even tried it, and directly
Afterward went up with
My parents and sister to
Watch The Nun’s Story
I was high as a kite
And prayed I wouldn’t
Die through the program
Or become feeble-minded
Or die before life’s end
And saw double and
Triple for several weeks
It was pure torture
Death every night
Thinking my heart would
Stop at any second music
I heard at this time
Plagued me with images
Of my death, but I have
Since proven myself
Through academics, a
Masters and Ph.D. degree
And many nights of drunken
Revelry, alcohol the worst
Killer of them all failed
To please me and now
Caught in the throes of
Lost love, I was waiting
To die, figuring it would
Be an easy way out
Of the tortured life
The trick of the moment to die
Before anyone has a chance
To save you.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
End of a dynasty.
There they go, dressed in
Royal robes descendants
Of the mountain high, they walk
Pompously into the void
Does her cigarette bum
The same as mine?
From the end
To the filter, two lives
Running out of time
Longing to take a
Drag of what love
Is left.
I gave her my number
Hoping she would call
Me but the call never
Came and I was left
In the desert, thirsting
For her love
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
The fog that creeps out
Of the cold
The toad that sits
Patiently, waiting for its
Mate but it is hit
With blades of the
Lawnmower, this
Takes a leg or two
But it is still a toad
Waiting
Dark veins stick up out of
My legs and ankles
It is a sign of age
What was once young
And what is now old
And decayed, arthritic
Limits dance to a waltz
Of death
The rich and famous
Call their doctors
But there is
Nothing to halt
The process
It will soon
Be time for the
Reaper
The scythe slices necks
And bellies it is
The end, time for
The grim reaper
What curls in this tobacco
Smoke are yellow dreams
Of emperors Chinese
Japanese dressed
In royal robes
Generations have killed themselves
For love and passion
But they are gone, we
Don’t need to worry about
Them, only our own madness
Oh what a hangover
How many lies did I tell
Last night and to whom
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
I once had a dream of
Something, awoke to my death,
And it vanished
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Madness is wanting to be
Loved
~ Renihard Palovcik
Edited by Tom Miller
Introduction: These poems, sketches, thoughts, are the unvarnished reflections of Reinhard Palovcik. Often, Ron would take an empty notebook with him out to a nightclub and have it filled within a couple hours. This is the first of what will eventually be several dozen notebooks. I suggest committing to each notebook's read from start to finish, for this is how it was written. In doing so, it will be as if you are spending an evening with Ron, inside his brilliant scientific and poetic mind. He did not always write in the first person, nor did he always tell the truth. As my English professor Clay Arnold often reminded our class, "Never confuse the Speaker with the Author." Ron, prior to his death, authorized me to publish his work. This is the way to spend another night out on the town with our friend.
MADNESS IS WANTING TO BE LOVED
REINHARD PALOVCIK NOTEBOOKS #1
Edited from Ron's Notebooks by Tom Miller
I had gone four days with no
Food, eight without masturbating
And was ready for death
Had the gun loaded beneath
My pillow, the
Hammer cocked but somehow
Amidst all the anguish
And futility of my life I fell asleep
And dreamt of her rising
Above me feeding crab claws
To my face while humping
My rigid cock, I reached
Up and caressed her neck
Ran my fingers through
Her hair, pulled her head
Down and kissed her as
I came deep inside
Awoke alone amid
Cotton sheets, breathing
Heavily, body covered
In sweat cursing the fact
That I had been born a
Human being
A frail thinking feeling shell
And not some dog lecherous
That thirsts whenever it
Pleases
All I wanted
All I had wanted from life
Was a wife, family, security,
Love, a gentle caress from
Time to time, someone to
Worship, I had found something
To believe in the ten
Thousand generations of
Man that had brought
Me here, the last three
Thousand years of philosophy religion politics art literature
Were but a shout against the evolutionary
Pressure of my genes
Welling up out of my
Scrotum into this massive
Erection. Passion at its
Most basic level that
Would rip out my loins
And I knew that even if she
Offered herself to me
I could not partake for
Fear of madness, where
I would lose control
And become some
Strained heaving middle
Age fuck.
Praise to Bukowski, he taught
Me style, to write down
Simple lines with the least
Words, where I could
Empty my soul onto the
Page and not have it
Fester me into ulcers
Starvation or suicide
The tragedy of unfulfilled
Love, kneeling at the foot
Of my bed, I cry, pray
Grovel
To the heavens for what
Might be, but realize
I am faced with the
Many-armed beast
And cannot defeat it
No matter how hard
I try.
It’s over
Stop this ridiculous pantomime
I am done, done for
This is the last poem
The last breath from
My brain, the last
Gasp of my passion
The last taste of love
The last shit
It’s over.
Out of time
I stretch my body
On the beach, my face
Basking in rays of sun
But these tiny
Beads of reality
Itch the base of my
Brain, like Pacmen
They gnaw at the
Stem, an unrequited
Love, the dice have turned
Against me but
The odds were so great,
It was expected.
I wallow in the sand, suck
The grit into my
Throat. Turn my
Back to the sun
And everything human
There is very little in our world
That goes against human nature
Monks steal from the chapel,
Priests fondle young boys
Presidents have sex with their
Pages, husbands cheat
On wives, wives on husbands,
Everyone tries to take a little
More than their due as long as
No one notices
Black turns to red to blue to green
A sun sparkles yellow on
My skin, my body floats
Through space, stars tumble
My eyes, I am in love
With a nebula, she is a
Cloud of interstellar dust
Through which I cannot see
Engulfed by a hot gas
Amidst asteroids and
Comets, her breasts,
Burning stars, revolve as
She twists around the center
Of my universe, her mind
Is god, creator of life or at least mine
And her vagina a supernova
Exploding to my pulse
I wrote her many
Poems
She is only an image,
Icon whom I worship
To which I pray for salvation
There is not much left
My mind a
Hollow shell
My body a servant of bones
My world ugly like
The shit of a mule dying
Slowly in the desert
Why did I love her
Why, why
I think it was only a
Quick easy path
To justify the suicide
That was there before I
Even met her
The worst living souls are those
In great pain every second
Searching for death
But death will not come
As their bodies writhe in
The moonlight, twisting and
Contorting to every slight
Change in the breeze.
She spurns me to greatness
But only through suffering
Of the worst kind, something
I cannot touch, a pain
So deep no opiates
Can salve, it is life itself
Writhing in all its
Myriad forms
And I would be with her
Not in this
Life but maybe the next
Did you ever think of what
It would be like to stop
The world, look around
You and contemplate the
Multiple parts, perverted
Energies, cheating, selfish
Reality and wonder, where
Did all this come from.
What would you want to tell
Me, everything and nothing
I think nothing would be best
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Take any genius and feed him
Or her the ultimate misery
And you will get art.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
After drinking many bottles
Of wine I am sitting here
Thinking of her, realizing I cannot drive anywhere
Tonight
And wherever she is with
Whatever lover she has at the moment, I am
The loser and cannot ever
Hope to win.
He used to come here regularly
Buy his friends many
Drinks but where is
He now living his own
Private hell over some
Woman he once worshipped
And still does, starving
Himself and in twilight
Drunken states he writes
Words of his anguish
Words of laughter
And words of dying
Applause, something
He never imagined
Is now unfolding
In his brain, a thought
Of early death and
How easy it would
Be to be rid of this
Anguish
I am a shadow of one
That once lived and
Breathed among
You, now I am but
A shell, dying with
Every breath
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
This love bleeds
Beyond all
Boundaries, grasps
My soul in its
Claws, clamps down
On my heart
Searing my brain
Roasting memories
Of what it was to once
Be alone.
Tell me what’s happening
I am dying with every
Breath at the suspense
Bare cement walls, a wash basin,
Urine steamed floor, cot with
No pillow, cold steel bars
Is this the love I had imagined
Trapped in the prison of my
Own mind
Friends, like parents, sometimes
Balm you with their lies
As they are trying to protect
You from your own
Evils, obsession for
A woman you’ve worshipped
For years carefully arrange
A ruse to fool you but
You are not fooled
And those who were once
Your friends have now
Helped you to your death
Do you think I want to grow
Old alone with no love
No children, writing
Poems to pass the time
Something that neither
You nor anyone else
Will ever read again
Do you think I want to
Grow old alone
Silent, dark and deadly
In my room, why
I say, bring it on
Quickly while I am
Still young and just
Kill me now to save
Me this torture
When I was fourteen, I hid
In the basement of my parents’
Home and sniffed a whole
Lot of glue, it got me
Very high and I imagined
That my brain would
Rot ----- shoot out
Of my asshole, it was
Something I was warned
About in high school
And that, in fact, was
The only reason I had
Even tried it, and directly
Afterward went up with
My parents and sister to
Watch The Nun’s Story
I was high as a kite
And prayed I wouldn’t
Die through the program
Or become feeble-minded
Or die before life’s end
And saw double and
Triple for several weeks
It was pure torture
Death every night
Thinking my heart would
Stop at any second music
I heard at this time
Plagued me with images
Of my death, but I have
Since proven myself
Through academics, a
Masters and Ph.D. degree
And many nights of drunken
Revelry, alcohol the worst
Killer of them all failed
To please me and now
Caught in the throes of
Lost love, I was waiting
To die, figuring it would
Be an easy way out
Of the tortured life
The trick of the moment to die
Before anyone has a chance
To save you.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
End of a dynasty.
There they go, dressed in
Royal robes descendants
Of the mountain high, they walk
Pompously into the void
Does her cigarette bum
The same as mine?
From the end
To the filter, two lives
Running out of time
Longing to take a
Drag of what love
Is left.
I gave her my number
Hoping she would call
Me but the call never
Came and I was left
In the desert, thirsting
For her love
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
The fog that creeps out
Of the cold
The toad that sits
Patiently, waiting for its
Mate but it is hit
With blades of the
Lawnmower, this
Takes a leg or two
But it is still a toad
Waiting
Dark veins stick up out of
My legs and ankles
It is a sign of age
What was once young
And what is now old
And decayed, arthritic
Limits dance to a waltz
Of death
The rich and famous
Call their doctors
But there is
Nothing to halt
The process
It will soon
Be time for the
Reaper
The scythe slices necks
And bellies it is
The end, time for
The grim reaper
What curls in this tobacco
Smoke are yellow dreams
Of emperors Chinese
Japanese dressed
In royal robes
Generations have killed themselves
For love and passion
But they are gone, we
Don’t need to worry about
Them, only our own madness
Oh what a hangover
How many lies did I tell
Last night and to whom
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
I once had a dream of
Something, awoke to my death,
And it vanished
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Madness is wanting to be
Loved
~ Renihard Palovcik
