DITCH, THE POETRY THAT MATTERS
NICKY TISO Nicky Tiso is a student studying literature and creative writing at the Evergreen State
College in Olympia, WA. His work has been published in No Record Press' 2008 The Red Anthology, as well as Slightly West, Evergreen's literary journal. He is now co-editing submissions for No Record Press, and editing Inkwell, the student guide to writing at the Evergreen State College.
it is what we do
Friend, it is what we do; haha, I cry. who plays host in this industry? able to produce its own "reality" nor endings of all that fame nor this to detect a pattern and a play of forces searching for that identity inside language who plays host to this striking unity? our skin on the billboard we follow that space, this is that space nor time a rhythm seeking revival
the emotive vessel of disavowal from ourselves "the unthought is the ground of all thinking" insofar as it's useless nor avoid this writing itself challenges to not succumb we build maps to guide us towards mysteries so how do we move? nor false waves upon waves of narratives that one cannot trace back to one within this rigidity we grind and push nor avoid reading becomes an act of rebellion against barren dogmatic principles that comes with it nor place we know this nor that an interaction on par with "reality" nor repetition for that would insinuate the holocaust as the pinnacle of cultural achievement; language. how's that for hidden? for that would insinuate progress leading us away from the landscape already traversed and colonized we expose our hidden commitment to things a space for space "the splintering word within every word and the piercing cry that is the unhealable wound of language" but the burned bodies lay testament to a hollowness we cannot echo and there are no wrong turns when there is no ideologically free form of language to inherit the pursuit of non-knowledge
under the monolithic sway of that particular darkness from which my eyes do not turn the whole is the false nor nor but what is happening? consumerist state of tongue shedding like snake skin reading becomes an experience unannounced to create our own space for space nor repetition peeling in the sunlight, as it transcends the physical between all subjects, geographies, ideologies capable of deconstructing or reproducing every level of interaction in sociality nor true even my homework, quantified on the refrigerator the spectacle writhes nor are there beginnings eventful as it defines movements – financial, human, material convulsions produce meaning multiply the space of a continent dressed in violence and market sensibility we are each, in our own way, in our own wounds, discovering the methodologies of healing the unintelligible demands we have muttered so our silence can be heard the perpetual revolution; the to what? from what? for what? is the question we don't answer we are each, in our own way, in another's words, discovering ourselves in otherness, the question is continual the rest is quarantined a rejection to closure by a swarming pool of writers whose views coalesce within micro.
"the sterility of the bourgeois world will end in suicide or a new form of creative participation" in the space of such definitions, that pattern is a play of forces that criss-crosses into a moaning drive of material; we choose both so as to prolong the diagnosis that we are dead once upon a time All functioned as a totality to the ideological network of a concealed monopoly as it follows highways to their undeniable ends – the spaces where monsters are kept, Stranger, as the damned, we embrace to bask in the non-glory lest we run out of reasons to write we enlist a surrogate self to compose existence and make amends through irony macro. once upon a time, identity became imitation or deny? points of contact became painful mimicry that comes with it. We know not what we do.
(http://www.addthis.com/bookmark.php?v=250&pub=xa-4ad0a6bc101abbf9)
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