WHO NOT TO SPEAK TO an anti-instructive manual
W H O
N O T
S P E A K
is threaded with tree
and electric lines and the crosshatch detail of cranes,
train lines and more
trees. The direction of each thing bleeds into the direction of another thing, making the directions
subjective and laughable.
This a metaphor for purpose, which is You say instinctively that this
<surely all of those things>.
is what you want to hear, and I try to hear you out but arenâ€™t you dying to
ask me something
inappropriate? If you prefer, we can wait until there is nothing left to say and the hostess sends everybody home.
The limp clouds are puddles holding watery sunlight,
so many awful things have happened that and
radio enunciates the toll,
and the place and the proper name
as if it was all just shipping news. And in a way, it is, because the core is always the same. Battered fish pose as nourishment as a girl on her tip-toes leans over the pier, wondering whatâ€™s all that stuff in the sand:
a discontinued dumpster, the fin of a mythological whale)
SUCH PASSIONS ABOUND in the CYBERSPHERE ! On the Have Your Say website,
Pitt-Palin Pacified Rice Thatcherâ€™s
face is embroiled in a botox debate about one hundred and sixty four people having
debate about the Have Your stick insect Say talentless, jealous, single women and haters are
embroiled in a patriotic debate about themselves, a digital mirror sputters, the lines rage aimless, the passion is aimless.
I just want some language I can trust I can trust the announcement that all the lines are working
as if that were news and in a way it is. <OFTEN THE LINES ARE DOWN DUE TO A SELFISH CUNT PERSON UNDER A TRAIN> Even something as filmic and flimsy as â€˜love can feel like a proxy and the
debacle, preferring the sex
city and the rotten erotic
indulgence of authorized porn
to yourself (?)
FILMIC INTERLUDE: <In the language of storytelling>
I enter the retail space
I AM HOPEFUL with anecdotes, charm, and energy NO ONE WILL COME BECAUSE I donâ€™t want to destroy anything I just want my items to envelope you,
look! I HAVE BOUGHT YOU a plant, a bottle, and a dimmer
I spend a quarter of an hour in Lucrece, trying to get cum and piss to spurt out
at the same time,
then take a few days off, and then, bearing gifts of figs, and then turn again to the museums, filled with stolen
the plunder I am somehow implicit in stares the product of
me in the face.
Beige hegemony, pre-emptive treasure, <
Israel says itâ€™s okay>,
and turn again to the blackened dust of lithium.
Really look your returns in the face and they begin to give off heat and light, move to assist you with phosphoric methods. Letâ€™s see now, ah yes, the
bloody corpse you cannot bear
to meet face-to-face: Here it lies.
A slick of blood shines on each of your nails,
heavy with ethical mass. Here it lies, at your feet.
A small pile of shit with a Christmas Card
pushed into it, a flat Santa which jumps for joy, p e a c e f u l l y f a t . Here it lies.
Sealed in sanctioned parlance, its agony deemed unconstructive.
You are so selfish that this does not interest you. You wander aimlessly without knowing who
speak to, or
who not to speak to.
Maybe you are
ECHO babbling to herself
in the twist of a brook
(your long hair a weave of extensions held in by black thread,
held in with stickers and dead
Maybe you are POINTLESS
obsessed with sex and yourself and self-
denial. Maybe you are PROMETHEUS who has merely
been unemployed, for ages, maybe
just explode with almost-knowing.
The ‘postmodernism’ is not
designed to hold your thoughts .
It could care less. It is there –
go look, in the bin with its schism. Its purpose is
m i n i m a l
s t i m u l a t i n g .
an anti-instructive manual