my head is in ruins. I cracked it open on the highway kerb to release the demons upon europa
shantih, shantih, shantih
But we like it here in the wasteland. Don’t get us wrong. Don’t ever say STOP
We like measuring the days in cigarette packets.
through the white nights we are making out in the ECSTASY EMPTINESS on beds that are always just about to break
post inspection, we can deny no longer that the city is built out of ROCK
from ROCK bottom the cold granite edifice rises
No. the city is inseperable from its monstrous foundations still
we can’t deny them any longer, the disasterous happenstances
that our cities don’t flower and float and disappear into the desert sand
we can’t deny that there are dead things buried everywhere under our feet
again dammit. something acquiesces
OH MY GAWWD
too many mornings like this, he watched the signs on billboard unravel and decode themselves
and he felt sick and stupid. His veins were pumping the same shit that made the city waver and lose itself
khemicals in the mainline, the sewers keep creeping up on us!
no. it is morning rain time again!
people are out wandering the streets in search of lost night and panadol and pastries and umbrellas.
a soft wind blows voices across the vast oceans and the voices they whisper to us,
they whisper COME INTO THE SEA. and they say everything and they say nothing but
too much bloody ketamine dripping acridly down the back of his nostrils and this is the INCERTITUDE OF THE VOID. wherever we go we cannot escape
he could remember his bank balance well enough but he couldn’t really find any way in which to APPLY it to the situation
which was out of hand, or actually much too clear for comfort. All zeros and ones. he was horribly KONFUZED by free choice who presented herself as a vicious specter on the dance floor
In a disco reverie James Joyce speaks to him:
Actually he doesn’t speak he laughs
THE WORLD IS ONLY WRITTEN ON THE VOID SURE
the world is tinged with chemical. It has this rainbow sheen like someone has spilt petrol all over it
either way the whole thing is simply a disaster waiting to happen
LOL
the final time i was sitting outside trinity library feeling larger than ever before a mad* person came up to me
he said DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOU’LL FIND THE GREATEST PAINTING EVER PAINTED
and i said no i didn’t actually, i didn’t know that much about paintings
NOT IN THERE, he said, pointing at the library, smiling warmly
WHERE THEN?
RIGHT HERE, THIS SUNSET, ITS BEING PAINTED AS WE SPEAK! EVERY ATOM IS IN ITS RIGHT PLACE
i could tell he was completely mad because it was hard to separate his words from his laughter
OR ACTUALLY EVERY ATOM IS IN ITS WRONG PLACE, BUT THAT’S ART, LOVER
apparently aliens were coming to beam us up but it was O.K we’d all have a fantastic party out on the mothership once we were past the clouds
*Problematic it seems, as increasingly there are few “sane” people left. I don’t think I have met one in years. Have you? If so please contact me, and we can notify the correct authorities*
*if such authorities yet exist?
steam roller across your body. reconfigure your face and your life upon a flat plane
i needed 789087832949 squares miles of parchment and even then i don’t think I did justice to the ridges and the curves, the ocean’s bottom, the lacunae. the storms and tremors always causing disaster
you now take more pills than any real human being should be allowed. they’re all the wrong kind of pills
the un-fun ones. the ones that are meant to keep your brain from breaking open on the rocks
its pointless because your brain is already more fucked than the USSR
the world refuses to carry you on its wave
the government is fucking you over one cut to dissability at a time.
you are fucking the government over. On a computer somewhere you’re name is listed in relation to various costs and expenditures
your friends are fucking you over or you are fucking your friends over and not realizing
when you freak out i wish your body would jitter and spasm like a footwurk track. that would make sense. that would be something to watch
but you just go vacant
you walk in circles and keep sitting down then standing up and telling us you’re going home, but you never do,
you’re at home anyway to begin with so its no use
you insist you are not yourself. you say this as yourself but you say that you are not yourself.
we don’t know what to do with you
we don’t yet know how to chart that crisis ridden territory designated by you’re childish stare
we make apologies for you, we say you are unwell, but we don’t know you at all
we are scared to know you and we try to hide behind words
you are almost crying and I have never yet seen you cry
your face is a map without directions only the names of cities with houses where nobody is home
Brother James gives his yearly lecture on ORIGINAL SIN over christmas breakfast
Like the EGG, WE”RE ALL JUST A LITTLE BIT CRACKED
THE EGG. THE FUCKING EGG. ITS CRACKED
cant you see?
everyone present appreciates Brother James and Brother James’s metaphors. No one suggests you might have to crack the egg in order to eat it for breakfast
All except the pantry boi. In his strange and endless dreams he has smelt the garden burning again last night (or was it the toast?)
something was burning anyway, and he knows now that it always has being so
even before we first dipped our feet, in the warm shallow waters of Oceans vast and deep
WHERE ARE WE DAMMIT!? The Incertitude of the Void? 