"They have tied me to the stake; I cannot fly/ But bear-like I must fight the course."


I've yanked out the stake, and am now crushing their heads... how lovely this is ^^

trash little shells come out of my ears, and i puke them out like a street yard bum
i see everything as leftovers
the places, the steeps that are taken,
they all bend their ways and kick me out

i stubble fall or flicker full, rage eaten bag dragging bum
i break a leg and walk outside baring the canister of wine and water
mixed yesterday by some drag by the river
let the cans fall
and whatever there is, mix with the street soot sidewalk
and bare down to the sewers with whatever absent minded thought they can drag down

fall fall fall
and down to us all

Meu quarto é regido por um fluxo estacional como todas as outras coisas da vida que se alteram e mudam, mas apenas no momento certo, regido por pulsos e impulsos que não se refletem na materialidade opaca do dia-dia. são regidos por coisas outras, guardadas longamente por cima-atrás de tudo oclusamente construindo um dia amorfo que planeja jogar tudo mais no lugar ideal entre a fatorização de não agir diante o movimento das coisas e querer uma ordenação perfeita de cada fiapo de cabelo que possa infiltrar-se pelo viés da porta, se hospedando nos meados quebrados dos azulejos novos. tudo isso para colocar em movimento uma progressão continuamente mutável, conjugações precisas, entre um e outro lado de mim que se colocam em jogo no lugar do lar...

tudo isso pra dizer que a preguiça de limpar e a mania de limpeza perfeita combatem entre si eternamente. como dizia heráclito...

rsrsrsrs

que vontade de dormir ouvindo Willie Deadwilder...
sono

one more Saint Augustine... in a moment of devaneio

i throw myself on the floor as the little pieces of paper gently ripple
on. i still think of things gone by
as heads the we wore like dylan said
waiting in the cold rain for your mother to come
still listening to the tunes you were playing me as you changed
from one thing to other and i saw
the flaps of coco-birds that fluttered round your head
clean while we waited for the movies
that crammed down your through in nights of passion
silent-
ly weeping and laughing things unread from mouth to mouth and soul to
keep to itself as time of nothing, worth to speak as
people are constantly silent of the things they do
(i blunt a song in all apparent ways)
what could we, but keep clear of sins and time
by little paper lies we hid so well before
the clocks unrambled misshaped auras of your hair
in times of fair forgotten corpses
with daffodils and all those things we wore
before the aging screams of hairs and parted older yells
came out the door
and swimming found that life was loves embrace
in paper made origamis and disgrace
As I lay by the floor…

as i
i dreamed i saw Saint Augustine
smashing doors and running around with peas...