cross the bridge of sighs in your robes of
doubt. sing to the punters of ends. expose yourself to time and may it violate
you. ascend to wicker prisons of fire
and burn. burn your histories and your
myths. burn your pathetic tears. burn your love and love. burn your stupid jokes. fire is the answer and is always the
answer. and the question? isn’t everything the question?
knowledge is ledge construction and
maintenance and pricing and profitability and enforcement, the ledgers of
ledges, unknowledge is no ledge or ledgers, and the immaterial orders are the
battle and unity of both.
i walk along my segments of the infinite
corridors of knowledge, limping like ulysses, soap in my pocket like leopold, a
little butterfly dreaming of better butters, the clouds are labia marching to
an unknown war, the concrete sun-dried scrotums, and all’s well, all’s well,
all’s always well.
take my hand or my prick or my hernia or
something and take me down the well of yourself and show me the knowledge that
isn’t there and slice me to death with your perfections. oh my impossible love. i have learned how to walk around inside my
head. it may sound silly to you but it’s
very helpful to me.
i would like to be a white-robed candle on a
hill, chanting pee-wee quotes, burning dumbly.
i would like to be some little retorts.
somewhere in the yucatan mayhaps.
then i would belong to the cult of the human and know the rituals of
knowledge and walk the walls of names. i
would know the wellness of wells. i
would know knowledge like i know myself.
then i would shine with the light of the dead gods and reflect the
mirrors hiding in the folds of clouds.
but i am not what i would like to be.
i am not what i would seem. i am
precisely the sum of the negations of this text.
