I feel as if in the presence of divinity
Around girls who are kind,
Friendly,
Laugh at things sympathetically
And love animals.
.
I feel their hearts
As they traverse majestic space
Like a transcendent multiplicity of identity
That is exciting for its aesthetic beauty
And soothing for its lack of ambition
.
As well-behaved women rarely make history
Or whatever.
I am dispatching to you today from the celestial, eternal glacier of foolishness, whereupon I will forever keep changing my direction, my motives, my disposition, color and shape, and will marvel, always, about how somebody managed to get those creatures so obsessed with sex. They swam around in a circular motion within a closed course of struggle, conflict, harshness and vituperation, constantly putting on airs, constantly infusing false meaning into the unimportant, and all the while, taking off ever more clothing, as a tautological guidance into a base-two existence, an animalistic quagmire. Obsessed with the idea of an unstoppable force moving an inanimate object, they made an orchestration against progress, blinded themselves to truth and deliberately worshipped an act that was frustrating, even in itself, for its intrinsic functional interface of giving, of tiring, of sacrifice and overwhelming sensation. In their eyes was a stupefying stagnancy, passing in and out of tabernacles and fortresses alike, like a still, sordid waste matter the essence of which it was their objective to give away, rather than to harness and perfect. And now I sit watching this watery ball hurling through space, as they might put it, and they are so small they could fit under my fingernails or refuse the soul of another being as a rudimentary defense of their own existences.
There was this girl today in Whole Foods
Issuing an ear-piercing, vitriolic
Peal of screaming for
About seven minutes or so.
.
The dad was standing there
Not really doing much of anything,
Just attempting to reprimand the girl,
Basically.
.
It just made it worse.
.
I heard something she uttered
During the din
And it was
“They’re going to kill me.”
.
All day,
Grown men
Had been ambulating around me
With gaits which I thought indicated
Homicidal essences, like
Grasping for the satisfaction
Of the finality
Of killing,
The transcendence
.
Rampant
In sending somebody
Into the transformation
Of
.
Entrance into the next life.
.
The incident with the girl
Seems to be isolated
For now
But I’d been seeing the same thing
All day
On May 23rd of 2024.
She took the low road
Full of sand and mud
And now her face is but a mask.
.
The camera never really flashes to her
And when it does
It’s like it still didn’t flash to her.
.
She is a walking indication
Of what it’s like to give up,
To set the exclamation point
Malevolently,
In upon the self,
.
To tell the world she’s worthless,
To tell herself she’s worthless,
And
.
She is an entity wholly unapproachable,
Like the end of life,
Like the end of an oblong,
Sun-scorched ordeal.
Birth plus ennui
Equals classical music.
.
Globalization
Plus economic depletion
Equals jazz.
.
Globalization plus
Economic depletion
Plus defunding of public schools’
Music programs in New York
Equals hip-hop.
.
Slavery
Equals
Gospel.
.
Slavery
Plus globalization
Equals rock and roll.
.
Globalization
Plus something
Equals country…
.
I’m not sure what or where it is
But I’m pretty sure I can smell it.
I saw this post
I like on Facebook
But I’m not sure if I should like the page.
.
They might think I’m creepy.
.
And they might be the benefactor of my will.
.
And they might be
The party that decides
Whether or not my life insurance plan
Kicks in
After I die.
And they might be the person who
Turns on the sun,
Maddens the headlights,
Butters the yams and
Flaps the jacks,
Pinches the pennies and
Causes any number
Of nuisances
To fall like
Neutron bombs and
Encumbered patrons
Of the know-how blow-now.
Over the glaze of
An abyss of country plain
I glide, the look
In the eye
Of the bald eagle
Napalmed
Into my disposition
As he seems to say,
“Don’t think about me.”
Was it the boarded-up Hollywood Video,
The pi**-stained train car,
The string of six-degree days
Or the giant,
Phallic downtown skyscraper
Poking the sky…
.
We reach
Far
.
Into the
Night
.
And
We reach
Far into ourselves
To kill ourselves
To drone ourselves of
The crushing din of
Everyday life as
.
I cradle the malady
At arm’s length
Singing a funeral dirge and
Smiling in my pink, metal distance.
Driving back through Indiana
At the end of February, 2024
I notice a vast, exhaustive expanse
Of aridness, an eerie,
Brown cloak of desolation
Befallen our planet on
Which we
.
Have taken to monitoring
Everything with video
Surveillance, have
Advertised marijuana
In states where it is illegal and have
Sped to the end of the
Movie
.
To see
The naked body,
Now dead, with
He** not a crashing,
Thunderous storm but an
.
Eternity of a withered abyss
Tailoring staring at oneself and
Confusing oneself with something.