#6*0
I had a four blanket night
Not the weather
I was cold
Empty
Before bed
I tried filling it
Peanut butter, bread, jelly, etc.
Now I suffer from awareness
(Belch)
Immortally wounded
Half death half life
The arrow is balanced
Half known half unknowable
(Fart)
When death comes it will be suicide
We seek it
Need it
LIMIT
Each orgasm is a death
We certainly seek them
All deaths are suicides
(Unison fart/belch)
Except deaths of artists
Bugle boys for the race
Martyrs to order and optimism
Sweaty, fear drummed death dancers
(Belch)
Do we not produce art involuntarily?
Profound becomes mundane
Mundane profound
Do we not create ourselves?
At once
Worshiped and worshiper
Are we all artists?
Is no one a suicide?
(Wet fart)
The arrow is:
That last bloody twitch of energy before sleep
The silent meaning of coincident events
The stupid wisdom of sentimental dependence
Infantile suck and cry
The irony of my own cruelty
The aesthetics of fucked human relations
The death dance continues......
One god damned now after another
Colgate shields
Keeping us at safe distances
Where once it was animal urgency
NOW IT'S HUMANISM
(The odor of sweaty stocking feet in close workshop weekend retreats)
(multisyllable fart)
Survival
Working for sustenance
Is reviled as a burden
We haul our energy
down into the mine
And exchange it for just enough
Ego inflation
To keep ourselves fooled
That we have no purpose in life
Mundane mine
Source of sustenance
Deep
Roots
Primitive
Self
Life is trick
The Magician is us
Through slight of mind
We have fooled ourselves
"There is no mystery"
"The mine is evil"
"Mundane is mundane"
Relationships.... suck
Me into places
I want to ignore
While they impose
The pleasure
Of the familiar
They offer
The horror
Of the unknown
I
(Belch)
Need
(Fart)
You