No trifle is but a
trifle but has just as much bearing as a massive outdoor knife lying on the ground
under a swaying punching bag and that is my mystification that a thing can be
so blunt and immediate and yet so enigmatic God is not what consciousness knows
God is what consciousness is before it knows anything at all the natural sphere
of what Heidegger termed unshieldedness is the invisible and interior of
consciousness slopping around in my head all day I feel a stirring in my
inertia I need an antenna to hear your shirt the fabric is so glittery and full
of conviction the gold toilet stolen from Blenheim palace has probably been
melted down into ingots and rings it makes you wonder what are poets for sometimes everything is nothing
but mist kitchen knives bitter regrets I’m in awe of whatever autonomy life
affords there are no absolute structures in the cosmos a poem starts out as a
story and ends with a spirit of anything goes
Everything is what
it is by relation with another the world that surrounds us is diversified and
teeming with life after striking down the demons of capitalism I went to work
on a parable about a violin concerto that I chewed with my eyes the devils of analysis
sip at the troughs of science most of the time I’m an engine of glass an
imbroglio of inalienable curls what I’m doing now can only be described as a
form of scrap metal the sky is everyone’s titular destination the lightning has
the smell of raw leather not unlike the upholstery in a Nevada brothel
celebrating the extraordinary is an effrontery to the blasphemies of wealth
that prostitutes everyone and puts our own life out of reach
I solve my
problems by walking around in circles until I find a place that has not yet
split into subject and object and when that is accomplished I feel oval and
shiny and shaped by internal forces I feel lighter I feel inventive and
wonderfully subversive contrary as a puncture and easy as a forefinger in
Edinburgh pointing at a UFO
Special relativity
rests almost entirely on the fact that the laws of physics exist independently
of the particular form of those laws it’s the grammar of phenomena in which
physics is written the grievances of old age challenge my nerves to sip the
wine of dissolution while my craving for music drives the urge to pound the air
with my tongue it’s a funny feeling to feel oneself slipping away it’s
simultaneously sad and euphoric according to Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle
virtual particles pop in and out of existence ad infinitum the quantum foam of
space is a bubbling cauldron of vulvas and bells
10:41 a.m. my
stream of thought is briefly interrupted by the thud of footsteps the city crew
hasn’t begun the work on the road as yet which is why we had to move our car
from our parking lot which will be blocked for an indefinite amount of time
we’ve already grown somewhat accustomed to the pandemic of incompetence
negligence ignorance hypersensitivity victimhood orgies today’s trending
searches on Google brain eating amoeba national parks cloudfare layoffs noaa
forecasts northern lights visible across northern united states the northern
lights are mentioned in Ezekial in the Old Testament “I looked, and I saw a
windstorm coming out of the north–an immense cloud with flashing lightning and
surrounded by brilliant light” Pentagon begins release of UFO files mom
mistakes alligators fighting on her porch for home intruders in Ave Maria,
Florida
I remember one
summer years ago standing knee-deep in ice cold water near the spray and
thunder of Snoqualmie Falls you can’t go there now they’ve blocked it off the
park department restricts everyone to a boardwalk you have to crane your neck
and study it at an angle as recent as the 90s people could jump from a rock and
swim close enough to get a face full of spray this has been the history of the
United States it started with barbed wire and quickly escalated to parking
tickets and criminalizing poverty I’m fascinated by islands remote places too
small to become an empire too warm and pretty to reprove the poor too rocky to
become a golf course too cracked and fissured to become a resort
In the end, I opened book of incongruous dimensions like a door and felt meaningful toward anyone I touched it was called Desperado and read like a tarantella of rotating blades the protagonist wore Technicolor cufflinks and had a shadow as long as a Pythagorean tetractys there was an overall sense of dread combined with a soupcon of grenadine settling on the bottom of each page it was based on The Trouble with Being Born by Emil Cioran but with obvious infusions of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance most of it took place in my head since I was reading it while the plot simmered quietly somewhere behind a paragraph and miners panned for gold in the local creek which was fed by an imagination we all share in the quantum field where the emptiness of interstellar space is a buzzing, energetic sea of potentiality I love it I love it all the void the vacuum the improbability of it all shattering common patterns and leaving new ones behind what more could anyone ask for nothing ask for nothing nothingness is such a grand propeller my medication can wear it with oysters in the firmament among all the poems singing at its inauguration
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