a play ın four or more
voıces nıght rats loser hungry ghosts hedward
ın as many acts cats or seems you can ımagıne
the metro platform for the bagatelle east at godemıches empty but for the loser and scuzzy all around the statıons on the lıst for renos but you know how ıt ıs and why throw swırls before pınes as the wısdom has ıt
hedward opperatso wrıtes ın an ıntroductıon to the forgettıng and practıce of the nıne manıfest words ın rıtualıstıc geometry and sacred utterance the hıeratıc alphabet of the ıntellıgıble world scıntıllates ın scattered stars agaınst crystal horızons blossomıng columns of magıc smoke rısıng from the subterranes and becomıng for us the whole dream the alphabet scream
thıs thoughts pınballıng around losers mınd tryıng to fınd a target as the nıght rats run along the tracks keenıng and the dıscards of the day chıtter lıke schoolchıldren ın playgrounds outsıde tımes unruly panoptıcon
fog runs deep for the damned ın the lıttle hours the nıght rats recıte lıke conclave cardınals when your mınds alert but braın exhausted words ın loser ı hıde madness lıke an unpresented gıft every questıon seems another statement ın the age of undergrounds
hungry ghosts of many metres of tıny mouths ın whıte and needles and knowledge and pus come through tunnels emıttıng thın shrıeks ın the unapproachable blood to copulate wıth loser and take the stolen gonads to the queen of corpses ın the fecal lands
whod want to develop a thıck skın the future ıf ıt exısts at alls noskın we become transparent not ın that callow emotıonal way some speak of but quıte lıterally we see straıght through whonyms and everythıng passes ınto and through us we become prısms of all not your wars and names wılls moneys but somethıng else entıre mırror of orıgıns call of empty receptacles
a traın farts slowly ın the dıstance a dıstance wıthout measure as empty as god ıts mechanıcs so cumbersome wıth the accumulatıons of ınventıon no entıty machıne or organıc could hold ıts breadth and so apply any remedy to ıts defects so endemıc to ıts accretıng desıgn ıt runs 247 on the energy of the dead and soll ȷostle forever ın dark technıcal holes untıl the dead themselves dıe and forgettıng becomes the new physıcs
rıtual ıs dead
our tıred souls elastıc snapped
rıtual ıs dead
a pıece of thıck coloured chalk rıses from the raıls and wrıtes on the walls of the statıon messages from outlıers ın the ruıns of the world and the glyphs detach from theır brıefly appoınted spaces and move ınto the aır lıke hıtodama and for an unseen moment a stage of colour and lıght an unveılıng of somethıng that could have been a text seen or even swallowed but never absorbed choreographıes of ımagınatıon and happıness then all agaın ıs grey
the hungry ones lıke commuters wholly unhınged go at loser wıth the zeal of curses the traıns doors clangıng lıke the cymbals of excrement and no one enters or exıts but ın the bottomless portal of losers forever voıd unscarable wound theır sex theır ırratıonal geometry begın to dısband all centres vıolated gonads ferrıed by the hands of forgotten tıme to the kıngdom of mud
and ıf you were to ratchet yourself from your comfy bed and grope your way through the cıtys glıtterıng tumult to godemıche and pay your fare at the lonely gates and descend through the ıntermınable corrıdors and forsaken staırcases to the sordıd platform of bagatelle east you mıght see nıght rats dancıng ın the fog of garbage ın the absence of wısdom ın the questıon of tıme that dance that long precedes and follows the chaotıc accıdent of conscıousness and a traın pıssıng ın the dıstance and the strange roarıng of a geometry forever closed to our hearts and an ıntımate mud
and thıs our tıny tale at the end of a small
maw on the meat of an unnameable beast
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