"A gun is fired in tonight's performance"
I take this pool cue from the program
Each propped up and
alone on the slippery slope
10 minutes? Yes, an intermission
but the entire play releases us
It's all transitional space
rich layers of intransigent scrim
The object is to initiate prehensions
subject to recognitions that track us
We browse and swallow cookies
that haunt and track what we repeat
But before memory, Days activate affects
which cognition can never control
"Non-conscious experience is not an oxymoron...
more things are felt than are known"
The mediated landscape of tank tops and youtubes
Tutorials for the tattoos that linger over overlapping screens
Characteristics of the postman
The entrepreneur who delivers the dream
Laughing his way to the bank
To the embankment, the precipice where he falls & falls again
It is a script that whispers into your ear
no escaping the description of the con
Seduced by transgression
Two dwarfs go into a bar where they pick up a prostitute
Who takes them to separate hotel rooms
The sugar rush ends at a gum-ball machine
No accounting for the sales pitch
For accumulation by dispossession
The theater becomes a tavern, a place for disclosure
A machine corrupted and easily broken
Where shadows and lights of the days
Foreground this omnipresent dark
Where rage haunts the unconnectable
those unknown even to themselves
They can only dance in vectors
that look forward and back
Pursuing trophies of the future or the past
Sharpened images of how to get there, or how to get back
Or else one becomes that trophy, dust in the eyes
Vodka in the veins
The darkness beyond days is what directs her
To the present moment -- to become what allures
The eye, lubricated for the endless
unrolling -- this is what draws and quarters
Each propped up and
alone on the slippery slope
10 minutes? Yes, an intermission
but the entire play releases us
It's all transitional space
rich layers of intransigent scrim
The object is to initiate prehensions
subject to recognitions that track us
We browse and swallow cookies
that haunt and track what we repeat
But before memory, Days activate affects
which cognition can never control
"Non-conscious experience is not an oxymoron...
more things are felt than are known"
The mediated landscape of tank tops and youtubes
Tutorials for the tattoos that linger over overlapping screens
Characteristics of the postman
The entrepreneur who delivers the dream
Laughing his way to the bank
To the embankment, the precipice where he falls & falls again
It is a script that whispers into your ear
no escaping the description of the con
Seduced by transgression
Two dwarfs go into a bar where they pick up a prostitute
Who takes them to separate hotel rooms
The sugar rush ends at a gum-ball machine
No accounting for the sales pitch
For accumulation by dispossession
The theater becomes a tavern, a place for disclosure
A machine corrupted and easily broken
Where shadows and lights of the days
Foreground this omnipresent dark
Where rage haunts the unconnectable
those unknown even to themselves
They can only dance in vectors
that look forward and back
Pursuing trophies of the future or the past
Sharpened images of how to get there, or how to get back
Or else one becomes that trophy, dust in the eyes
Vodka in the veins
The darkness beyond days is what directs her
To the present moment -- to become what allures
The eye, lubricated for the endless
unrolling -- this is what draws and quarters
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