at the cresting of the song, i understand that i want to fly apart
fling my heart and lungs to corners far from each other
asunder/akimbo from myself
my organs losing their context and my brain melting into the pavement
what a hope!

to realize one isn't twenty any more
and certain things are not so charming
(spliffed-up tumbles down the stairs, tantrums over taxes)
that is one thing
but to know that one wants to live charmed forever anyway
well
what do you say to that, doctor?
doesn't that leave us at odds with our own bodies, aren't we going to find everything frightfully inadequate, right down to our bones, and aren't we going to tear and tear and tear at our hair until it all falls out and won't we dance until our kneecaps come loose and won't we always be aching?

still, yes, i think i'd rather be in pieces
find me in the gutter
in the old box spring
in the hedge row
a hilarious, polka-dotted fragment
one must be so serious to be a whole thing
and i would rather
laugh and laugh and laugh

Telling the same story, another way

ate all the fruit candy - didn't taste like fruit...scuse me sorry (need a minute, need six minutes, need six hours, need twelve-thirteen-fourteen hours)...ate all the caramel popcorn - tasted mostly of salt...should i say something about the ocean though let's be honest, if we're honest, it's been said

between drinking all the soda and finding the cookies on that high shelf (sometimes I stand on chairs) FOUND OUT what tub thumps up against the solar plexus, what shakes up the insides is simply a collection of space anthems by space girls like weird, alienated reverberations distant cold, but i mean really distant-far-away-underwater

just enough distance, just enough space between so no one has to feel challenged because let's be honest, if we're honest, there were always wary glances between us from one to the other when neither of us were looking or looking at other things like the lamp or the mug or the scarf on the floor, honing in our beams on the mug-lamp-scarf (still space objects, freezing surfaces having been invaded by the vacuum, to keep us from getting too warm)

because, again on the theme of honesty, it's abject terror that fuels us (after all what if I/you am actually just the blanket on this bed?), shoveling crunchy pot stickers from that one terrible restaurant, over/undercooked lentils, veggies with the bad bits cut off, and pasta pasta pasta, noodles noodles noodles, rice (and still candy that says it tastes like lychee, apple, mango, peach), squealing squelching tummies quietened - just a replacement really, for the fact that my/your sentimental attachment converts itself to a desire to crack open my/your jaw and force your/my head into my/your mouth WHOLE

tippy-toed on the kitchen chair fingers scrabbling around on an unseen shelf looking for crackerscookieslollipopshardcandiesgumtictacstinychocolatevodkagin filling up the bottles with a little bit of water just to make sure no one notices that i had that drink to fall asleep at a regular hour (my tummy hurts and I lay face down on the bed so my organs don't feel too squished) - the thought, "uh um um um um uh, ouch, really, ouch" wiggles into my brain

so stop...

oops

deep deep deep in an underground vault with no walls: a short essay on essays

figure 1. extending boundaries to enable depth

alack, alack!
the hail earlier today hit my face sharply, a welcome relief from the nebulous cloud of nonsense (see fig.2) that i breathe in when i try hard to focus on the cloud without thinking about its units of nonsense. (but what is a unit of nonsense? and would not the cloud bring me greater nourishment than a tiny unit thereof?)

figure 2. the possibility of borders

fuck time, i will refuse to disintegrate and somehow forge forward.

figure 3. a question of borders

it is hard to remember to take pleasure
in contradictions
when they begin
to melt
all over
my
glasses

figure 4. on the edge of concern, there is just one more thing

enough, i say! enough!
i demand more!
it's too much! do you really need to--
totally overlooked.

figure 5. the desire to draw boundaries induces dilemma

now is the time.
(how can the time be now? i'm not ready yet!)
the world is as it is because it is as it should be and
all is how it should be because it is how it is
(***reference proof for "why giraffes go up in lifts," car cemetery 12(4):2009)

figure 6. the recent discovery of additional dimensions to the problem has dire implications for the accessibility of shimmering intergalactic portals to contemporary youth culture

and of all possibilities
we are left with the comfort that:
all things are possible
which we can conceive of as possible!

figure 7. a statistical abnormality suggests the need for new methods of analysis



comment!, e.g. with your favorite little screenshot of brain2.0?
(these invisible mediators, these quiet prompts)

a joint-op operation

Leli does not want to watch tv...

said the hermit crab in a moment of lucid brilliance. 

Take me home! no, wait-

Cries of "free, free Palestine" mingle with hippie jam bands whining through weak speakers.  The question is, what's weaker here?  The speakers or the coffee.  I think it's the the nylons ridden with runs that wrap around Malic's ribcage, girl parts bursting forth.  Almost.  Not quite.  Leli knows that Malic is a boy now. 

It pours in rains and torrents of droves like pidgeons sitting-toed all in 1 well-tended & perma-coifed row.

it covers the sky but not the bird cry or the rip, rip, ripping of a nylon lie-

Leli ran into Terrence today. If Leli were as jacked on sugar as Terrence, maybe he, too could put on a 3-minute performance in the Reynold's club lobby consisting of nothing but coughing, coughing, and more coughing, 

"Ack! hhhg ick ahchem ack ack kcha hrrrrg rrrr ack ack ack!"

He put ten packets of sugar into two cups of coffee and swallowed it down in two gulps. Leli watched in horror as the sugar swam, from his throat to his stomach, from his stomach to his blood, from his blood to his head, from his head to his eyes, darting out of his face - and his eyes to his hands -

PAKOW! they explode into space.

He escaped lecture today by playing sick.  The boy who cried wolf . Leli says that Malic seems disillusioned.

Our lives are disjunctional.  We are consuming, consuming.  Yet we reject coffee and blocks of bison meat with ease.  Perhaps we can eliminate one by one--the flesh, the dairy, the smoke that slithers--until we purify into a poof (PAKOW!) of everything and nothing.  Like snakes eating their tails.

"It's hard to hang out and not consume.  We consume each other," Rolly says.

Wise words from sequined squid.