IF I AM NOT IN CONSTANT CONVERSATION WITH YOU I FEEL LIKE SHIT
I THINK THIS IS WHY SOME PEOPLE LIKE THE IDEA OF GOD
AND SOME PEOPLE THINK THEY ARE COMMUNICATING WITH SOMETHING
BUT FOR THE EXACT SAME REASON I LIKE FREEWAY NOISE
AND I TRY TO MAKE MYSELF DREAM ABOUT THE POSSIBILITY OF TERROR
FOR EXAMPLE, I TRY TO FORCE MYSELF TO DREAM I AM TWO PEOPLE, SPLITTING, SOMETIMES.
WHEN I SAY "GOD" I MEAN THE IDEA OF EATING VERSUS THE IDEA
OF SINGING. WHAT I MEAN, REALLY, IS THIS PUNCHING FROM THE CHEST
OUTWARD. TO BE MORE CLEAR, I MEAN MY HEART IS A FIST. TO BE
MORE CLEAR, I MEAN MY HEART IS HER FIST. TO BE MORE CLEAR,
I MEAN HER FIST IS HER HEART. TO BE MORE CLEAR, I MEAN
THERE IS NO BLOOD BETWEEN US -- THIS IS CLEAN. THIS IS
A SIMULATION OF WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF THERE WERE TWO TANGLED
CIRCULATORY SYSTEMS TRYING TO ESCAPE A BURNING BUILDING.
THIS IS A TV ON FIRE
AND THIS IS A FIRE ON TV
DO YOU SEE THE DIFFERENCE? DO YOU SEE HOW YOU AND I CAN
CONVERGE IF WE PRACTICE TRACING EACH OTHER WITH CHALK ON THE GROUND
AND THEN IF YOU LIE ON TOP OF ME AND WE ASK SOMEONE TO TRACE THE TWO
OF US? AND IF WE ASK THAT PERSON TO LIE ON TOP OF US AND ASK ANOTHER
PERSON TO TRACE THE THREE OF US? AND IF WE ASK EVERYONE TO LIE ON TOP
OF US -- NO, NO. SOMEONE WILL FUCK IT UP SOMEONE WILL FUCK IT UP. YOU
WILL FUCK IT UP, OR ELSE I WILL FUCK IT UP. IT IS NOT UNCOMMON.
Monday, November 9, 2009
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7 comments:
balla
shit has been killed
sick
i can't stop loving this blog. someday i will try to write a smart blog entry of my own about why the poems on this blog are better than basically all other poems. i'll let you know when this happens.
you should, uncomplicatedly
Maybe just that you, this, exists, is enough for me for now.
Gorgeous.
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