unsure if i do
don’t i think with my ignorant skeleton too?
the living tradition of a refusal to admit the horrible reality that these proverbs rest on is concluded that the desert was perfect and there is nowhere to find a corridor back to it until the desert return and even life is pleasant anyway without resting on people’s skeletons in order to stand out as saying that particularly… yes it’s the particular that’s blameworthy… the particular with its arrogant name yes it’s the desert refusing that
lost those lines – it was three –
think of them by morning
it isn’t cold anymore
the depth of spaghetti in the death of every poem
think of them as mo(u)rning broken
to do this three by three
switch off any moment of this
i’m drunk & when i close my eyes a mass of black spots obscures my ability to see the light
les verbes ni existent, ni se vendront.
i abandoned a certain level of frenetic activity that used to make me write because i couldn’t feel the blood moving through my veins. now i can. all you need to do is lie in bed at 100s of kms per second. used to make me write “because”. post it on the internet…then…yes, a certain level of despair concerning the cutout, and it feels good–
mystical despair as icononclasm
no, mystical hope as iconoclasm towards culture. Erica said
but maybe we are just the shadows
of its hi-speed rotations.
Shadow of a jet on the ground,
a jet of shadow; jet crossing the (terrifying) blue sky triangulated
by a window and something. Contribute. Work. Lift.
if the wild light of this sleepy nightmare is true
pierce the dumbphone with wakefulness beams
meditating upon that sauce in the night
8 weeks, 8 x 7 = 56
There’s always fuel for this weird pastime.
Feeling is what remains and what dies. Like mattresses and dust and collapsed buildings and faces and water fountain and school and architecture and the empty sadness of these grey lost streets disappearing into the disappearing act of the seasons…specifically, two NIL cigarettes in my leather jacket inside left pocket and gran’s scarf heavy on my neck will I naturally revisit this one day soon? Five years in this body that belongs to its landlord? To say that it’s happening today lets time decide – the knife that cuts the real in two and then we don’t know which half of two is one and real or maybe the real is two too.
Like milk cartons you dont want to know about that everyone does–
or the apparently limitless stream of chickens whirling through the kilometres of plucker chopper deboner machine of personality on the video looked up that projects you – skeleton element in the horizontal pieces
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