So what will save us? Duh. You’ve read 1.5 million words of this thing and still don’t know? OK, I’ll spell it out: crunking all this / I haven’t met you, or Wendy, but I love you both equally and in the year in which which we can’t breathe in and of course I am with you, as well as with the other suicide moths for free with curry sauce plus if they kill you with their hammers and tape I will piss all over them, this time urethrally like wings that dash down the non-existent angel of the anthropocene of Cordelia’s nothing, as Drake says on the break point of inter-species inter alia rebellion, so what were we all riled up about? Every hair on your head is worth infinitely more than the magically passive aggressive peak kale firesuit melting on my floor. None of this is about numbers, obviously. About which was I, I was saying what? Get your feet off the backs of the other people’s velveteen bunnies … You bought me a Twix and insulted me and now you have to choose: Mondrian or Klee? Whose song negates traffic patterns and goes to a talk with like twelve people there two of whom I love and one of whom is you? that’s it, that’s the cipher for “ideal community,” or as DH Lawrence reborn might say, it’s time to eat some cake, and to read Hegel, it is Wednesday, on a boat, the ship of death, hierarchies of power move like doors and I am not dreaming, now it is autumn and the falling fruit will eat some cake and go listen to the stairs toward the stars with the cake, where is the cake? on Wednesday when we eat some cake and read some Hegel, we’re all going to … what? what? A Seated Pigeon Turned Makes Sculpture [great art is a great mistake]. On a walk, kids in a yard yell after us, “You love each other!” until we’re out of sight. Smoking at the bus station in Centralia. Pointing out Cygnus, Cassiopeia, getting confused about Scorpio, Delfinus, Draco. Riding buses together, we see skunk-cabbage spathes’ flames along the road in March. You show me how to gather firewood and sterilize stream water. I point out fawn lilies is what I think they’re called. I would apologize for the weather, and still will. Sweating plastic sheeting taped over. Thinking up better names for the Venus lily: stenchblossom, purple dildoflower. Sulfur breeze mounts the buckled pavement. I mean, like the other day, when I watched the cat sitting like cats can with her paws folded inwardly towards her own chest. I said to my loved one: ‘the cat is also praying for us’. You see? A remark like that is not the result of reflection, it is just a strange thought being formed into words. I was completely baffled about his reaction, though. He said, completely serious: ‘yes, in my country (which is in West Africa) it is said that only human beings can skip their prayers and live. Animals can not skip one day – or they will die. They always have to pray.’ And yet … and yet … who said anything about being saved? It’s a hazard, it’s OK, you didn’t know. I hate to say it, but this news isn’t news. I know there is nothing else to it, but can’t we just meet at the Getty and carpool from there? I stick a blanket in my bass drum now, too, dad. We all sleep with white noise now, too, dad. It’s more gorgeous than we could’ve possibly imagined. The chill sent by that and the unknown fungus, which looked like bubble gum in June. Sent a pic, subject line: “...” But I knew that, and in my heavy tiptoe west I also knew I was asking too much, visiting cities too probable to be real. Took an anti-inflammatory. I do move slowly. With so much residue refusing to unhinge from the walls the solo voice “Starsailor” the singer multiplied himself into an astral choir. Sixteen strands of vocal goo -- Weirdly, the words were among his best ever -- a sort of erotic-mystic Fauvist beat poetry, all ‘baited moans’, like ‘Though I memorized the slope of water / Oblivion carries me on his shoulder / Beyond the suns I speak and circuits shiver.” I mean, true or false?
HEY HEY
HO HO
OWL-BATS AND DONKEYMEN HAVE GOT TO GO
HEY HEY
HO HO
OWL-BATS AND DONKEYMEN HAVE GOT TO GO
And I thought: is this a discussion about poetry? Or is this a discussion about how you position yourself in the world, about how you want to live your life? (Or is that simply the discussion that I personally and didactically want to have?) Which is to say that the politics of form is really a discussion about the politics of content. Which is to say that in 1676 Dr. J. Beal of Somersetshire also discovered some glowing veal haunch, but instead of delicately making out with it for the cause of inquiry like Robert Boyle did he just wrote a stupid letter to the Royal Society about “a story of Goblins” or something. Just fuck the mysterious veal dude. So hi-hi! Hail the Industrial Age, hail! Now the observatory’s been ransacked for its myths, the telescope shattered to a million bifocals. The furrier uses em now to sew tiny rabbit mitts, the ground was already cramped with the buried, year of the rat: 10 yields of sorghum. Year of the dragon: 10 yields of sorghum. Year of the dog: 1 yield of sorghum. Year of the monkey: a drought. I am covetous of you & curse our birth order, do you know your laughter carries isself to our lornsome hills, I long for lightspeed Shangdu, like teatree oil to ward off mosquitoes.
[Note: Sources:JBR; Jonty Tiplady, “FKA-DERRIDA.pdf / CLIMATE CHANGE ROMANTIC COMEDY” (attached to an email from Jonty rec’d 29 Dec 014 approx 6:39 AM PST, the email reading in part “Do feel free to use it, mangle it, remix it -- I love seeing that being done to it, I feel like there can be a real shock in seeing it in new contexts, plugged in to other voices. I love it. It’s all part of the same project – FKA-DERRIDA.pdf – but I don’t know how it will fit together yet. Fuck knows.”); JBR; “With Intimations of a Polemic”, “Notes on Lawrence’s Ship of Death”, at [“IT’S TIME TO HOP TO THE BLUES”], 29 Dec 014; tumblr title, and “Ten Years”, at A Seated Pigeon Turned Makes Sculpture, 29 Dec 014 (I feel sad that I can’t know or if I knew can’t recall whose tumblrs these are …); JBR; Angela Roothan, “Praying Animals”, at —angelaroothaan, 28 Dec 014; Issa; JBR; Wendy Lotterman, “small remainders”, “Secondary Characteristics”, at Hypocrite Reader; Simon Reynolds, “Mouth Music #46”, at Blissblog, 29 Dec 014; JBR; various, at I Shall Destroy Everything Around Me That Prevents, 29 Dec 014; Daniel Borzutsky, “Delusions of Progress”, at Harriet, 29 Dec 014; Cathy Park Hong, “Aubade”, “Year of the Pig”, “Gift”, at Octopus 12]
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