We kissed there in the stone entrance, In the great cool stone mouth of the building, Before it took you. We kissed under the granite arches. And then you turned and were gone And high about and above were the hard towered walls, The terrible weights of stone, relentless, But for the moment they had been kind to us, Folding us with arms While we kissed.
(1918, poem in public domain)
“Fear has more disguises than my mother has floral dresses, and that’s saying something as she’s got a wardrobe full — ”
— Marieke Lucas Rijneveld / The Discomfort of Evening
“They drilled holes in his head, vacuumed out the blood and more words. My father was finally arrested, he turned in the rest of his words, they bound his tongue. And he dreamed in blank paper.”
Oh nine oh two what a time to be blue. What a place for heartache and heat. You wrap your fingers around godness and restrict, redistrict, reapportion us on the path to hellion days.
Nothing good is coming, nothing fair awaits us.
You say things have been this bad before, but we’ve heard that 1850’s before—and proffered at these late dates—and at such exorbitant prices? It’s beyond late—we’re overdue for a reckoning—we’re headed for a wreck. We are functioning wreckage.
We are Wile E Coyote looking up at the anvil headed toward our head.
(Cut. Long overhead shot.)
A puff of smoke below in the canyon.
image: warner bros.
“One is often told that it is a very wrong thing to attack religion, because religion makes men virtuous. So I am told; I have not noticed it.”
At a remove, in a gesture, a part of a thing Representing the whole.
What are ambivalences of texts? Polyvalencies in readings?
What flows from this desire To macerate the pulp of life Into a sodden discourse— An echolalia?
The fishers of men as hirsute Suitors unhinging Penelope’s loom—
What is that? An arrow?
I am arrow proof, Soothsayer approved, Trodden by legions of anonymous Men with angular intent.
Note this now—
I pique in wolf-like rages Deep into the night. I aim at precision / incision—
Beware.
“The church has never been asked to explain anything, our specialty, along with ballistics, has always been the neutralization of the overly curious mind through faith…”
His word, his breath, Are merely synecdoche — Ephemeral.
Nothing is true in the true Sense of the word.
He drifts on the Lethe, Intoxicated by water that transforms — A trip into languor — And never sets foot on the other shore.
“It turns out you can kill the earth, Crack it open like an egg. It turns out you can murder the sea, Poison your own children Without even thinking about it.”
(Spanish to Persian to English translation version via Google Translate with Google sculpting)
Inducing a pileated simulacrum— This very large & important evidence of the potential impact of gravitational loads & Levitational toadstools: Pileus Brimless & Thesis paper joyless.
Circean chubby in their gelatinous set— Unpredictable & immeasurable— Marcela the right-wing jet Stimulates the heart with a shot: Potassium bromide bright & a defense beyond recognition.
The new goal was to coze Through inarticulate agreements Aggrieved & articulated, Art-I-ficial, Apathetic & Bakra-bent bromides.
“Well, I’m a-thinkin’ and thinkin’, ’til there’s nothin’ I ain’t thunk Breathing in the stink ’til finally I stunk It was at that time, I swear I lost my mind…”
Las angustias y los torpecillos, como torpedos de gloria ensangrentada. Yo me devolucione de una manera trastornada con una demostración explotada y acrimonia. Adelante el alarde y sea alabada Antonieta Asuncion. La mas recaída e iluminadas de las estrellas del cine motografico en Iberoamerica.
En resumen—
No te pongas alas postizas. No trates de volar de tu balcón. Resentidos somos todos, y todos somos elegidos a beber cuarenta cuarentas de Colt 45. Y si vas al concierto, dile a Roly que te de un purgante, despues de tomarte ese espíritu de malta tan lleno de mal de San Vito.
Lost in Translation (English)
The anguish and the clumsy ones—like torpedoes of bloody glory.
I bounced back in a deranged manner— exploited in manner and acrimony.
Go ahead with the boast and be praised—Antonieta Asuncion: the most relapsed and enlightened of the stars of motorcycle cinema in Latin America.
In summary—
Don’t wear fake wings. Don’t try to fly off your balcony. We are all resentful, and we are all chosen to drink forty forties of Colt 45.
And if you go to the concert, tell Roly to give you a purgative, after taking that malt spirit so full of the curse of St. Vitus.
“Hence, viper thoughts, that coil around my mind, Reality’s dark dream!”
