“Today is the 20th day of my hunger strike …” Nothing is as blue as this blue, nothing real, I have no forevers in the category self. THE BOY WITH ONE GOOD LIP ASKED A MAN WITH THREE THOUSAND LIPS WHERE HE GOT ALL HIS LIPS. THE MAN WITH THREE THOUSAND LIPS PULLED BACK HIS ENTIRE FACE TO REVEAL AN EYEBALL THAT WAS RAINING TEARS ON A HAIRY STEAK SANDWICH THAT WAS EATING A TOUCAN THAT HAD BEEN SCALPED BY SOME RAIN FOREST DIAMOND EATERS. The formation flew backwards over a German city that was in flames. The bombers opened their bomb bay doors, exerted a miraculous magnetism which shrunk the fires, gathered them into cylindrical steel containers, and lifted the containers into the bellies of the planes. The containers were stored neatly in racks … When the bombers got back to their base, the steel cylinders were taken from the racks and shipped back to the United States of America, where factories were operating night and day, dismantling the cylinders, separating the dangerous contents into minerals … The minerals were then shipped to specialists in remote areas. It was their business to put them into the ground, to hide them cleverly, so they would never hurt anybody again. She knew when she coughed up feathers. Was her head once a brilliant lantern holding angelic fins, les poissons trembleurs comme seraphim? IN A DREAM ONCE, I WAS HOLDING MY EMOTIONAL ANIMAL IN MY HAND BECAUSE IT WAS A GRAPEFRUIT. I BEGAN TO PEEL THE GRAPEFRUIT. THERE WAS A GRAPEFRUIT INSIDE THIS GRAPEFRUIT. I PEELED THE GRAPEFRUIT THAT WAS INSIDE THE GRAPEFRUIT. THERE WAS ANOTHER GRAPEFRUIT. I PEELED THIS NEW GRAPEFRUIT. I CONTINUED TO FIND MORE GRAPEFRUITS. I SPENT THE REMAINDER OF THIS DREAM’S EXISTENCE FINDING NEW GRAPEFRUITS INSIDE GRAPEFRUITS. AFTER THIRTY BILLION YEARS OF PEELING GRAPEFRUITS INSIDE GRAPEFRUITS I FINALLY ASKED ONE OF THE GRAPEFRUITS IF THERE WAS AN END TO THE GRAPEFRUITS. THE EMOTIONAL ANIMAL IN THE FORM OF A GRAPEFRUIT THAT I WAS HOLDING SAID, “IT’S PROBABLY ALL GRAPEFRUITS …” Where is that fire chief in his big hat / where are the fucking pumps / the rescue boats & the famous coalition of bullhorns calling out names hey I want my red life jacket now / & I need some sacred sandbags / some fix-the-levee-powder / some blood-pressure-support-juice / some get-it-together-dust / some lucky-rooftop-charms & we smoke a joint in front of a photo of Che smoking a cigar, like some fractal of revolutionary kitsch. In incompetent Spanish, I ask Marco what the end goal of his, and Somonte’s struggle is. “It’s like the myth of Sisyphus,” Marco says. “But Sisyphus loses.” I answered. “I don't have a date in mind for the revolution,” Marco says, drawing in his smoke. No Light, No Water, No Fear. 84 photos of dead malls juxtaposed with Shelley’s “Ozymandias”. Protesters from the Gesgapegiag Mi’gmaq First Nation set up a blockade on Highway 132 Tuesday evening, and a group from the Listuguj Mi’gmaq First Nation are blocking a rail line west of Gesgapegiag, saying they plan to maintain the blockade of the tracks at Pointe-à-la-Croix for as long as necessary. So. In case you are wondering: Your brain goes into shock. You zip through a gigantic roaring chrysanthemum form. You are with your teacher if you have one and you are doing bardo retreat and it is awesome. That’s it. Not so scared of death any more.
[Note: Sources: Chief Theresa Spence, as quoted in Kathleen Winter, “Full text of chief Theresa Spence's historic statement day 20 of her fast”, at WE · DRANK · CACHACA · AND · SMOKED · THE · GREEN · CHEROOT, 1 Jan 013; Kirsten Kaschock, “1.2.13”, at Kirsten Kaschock’s Sleight Book, 2 Jan 013; Mark Baumer, The Boy With One Good Lip, The Emotional Animal Within All Of Us, at Fifty Novels; Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five, as quoted in Christopher Jobson, “This is What Fireworks Look Like in Reverse”, at Colossal, 2 Jan 013; Anne Gorrick, “from I-Formation (Book Two)”, at Peony Moon; phaneronoemikon, “The Dawn of Poem’s Secret Naming, Jumbled”, at Jellybean Weirdo With Electric Snake Fang, 2 Jan 013; Jayne Cortez, “Talking about New Orleans”, as seen at wood s lot, 2 Jan 013; Molly Crabapple, “Seville’s Squatters: No Light, No Water, No Fear”, at Vice, 2 Jan 012 (“That afternoon, I’d been standing in the sunlight in Somonte, an occupied farm. In March 2012, the Andalusian Fieldworkers Union, sick of the government’s rigged land auctions, took over 400 unused hectares. Three hundred special forces officers threw them out. They returned. The farmers grow lettuce, tomatoes, and peppers, which they sell at city cooperatives. Somonte’s whitewashed buildings are decorated with an art selection that looks like all of the left mashed together. Che squaring his jaw next to Jesus, Second Republic flags and giant anarchist A’s. …”); JBR, but see Matt Staggs, “Eighty-Four Photos of Dead Malls”, at Disinformation, 2 Jan 013; “Hunger-Striking Chief Urges Unity With Idle No More”, at Huffington Post Canada, 2 Jan 013; Timothy Morton, “Death Bardo”, at Ecology without Nature, 2 Jan 013]