we know that people die, but not whether we are mortal. the first we read in a book, on a screen or on our eye screens, but not the second. we only read or saw that someone else was mortal, but that just means that people die.
we do not know if we are mortal, we know that one person can kill another, that one person can be killed by another. i ask myself is this knowledge prior to my own dying, and another’s. is the one knowledge while the other is just a pretend kind actually dependent on the first. does it matter if things depend. does anything not depend. is it only death that doesn’t depend and do all things that supposedly don’t depend depend on death. can we not know it because it doesn’t depend. death is the ur-myth. monotheism says that god is the ur-myth behind all polytheism, but death is the ur-myth behind all monotheism. doesn’t death depend on what dies not the other way around. whos to say.
and do we ever talk about this, and do we ever stop talking about this. whos to say.
someone has tied your hands behind your back and is pushing you by the feet like a wheelbarrow, driving you wheeless driving your chest shoulders and cheeks into the gravel, forwards. the drag drags your face open into a kind of smile made out of not having enough skin left to cover your teeth, and after a time you understand that that smile, yours, is for you, and real, and so you smile.
we were on the kitchen floor so excited about how we were gonna do the wrong thing and all the innumerable ineluctable consequences that would branch and flow from it, all the ones we would know about and all the ones we wouldnt, would have no idea of all of their ineluctable radiating, would know only that they were there and that we wouldnt know about them, and how we couldnt not do it even though we wanted to not do it or were supposed to want to not do it but also secretly wanted to do it as both what we werent supposed to want to do and as what was gonna happen anyway even if it was the wrong thing so we might as well be like lovers of fate.
“what a blood”, you said to me, sounding genuinely impressed.
“western europe, the other south korea”, i replied, “but at least i have not abandoned my study of alcohol the molecule which i mostly continue in my sleep or at least my tracksuit, the tracksuit i sleep in, would sleep in if i slept.”
a carpet of wasps woke up, their rear ends pulsing like fast-forward lungs.
we were vibing unstoppable down industry street.
our jaws sprouting rhubarb shat on by hooded crow.
pass film studios in ruins.
long golden violet grass swept over.
bowel city, intestine city, cloaca town.
munter and munted
in the bloated gassy bowels of it.
drowning in fast-rising day.
we are all gonna live
weve been out in the while,
down openings, in the
foresworn rootstock moist with life.
, as seen from neurosis.
everythings staysising along nicely
the lot of it just show and tell,
burnt into these softnesses somewhere in us.
, as seen from neurosis.
welcome to the madness
of trying say what we are
it goes along really pretty well
with trying to be what we say we are
im sure youll get on fine
of collapsing load-bearing structures
billows out of the blasted-out windows
of the world building,
some shards of which some
times abrade some of our red cheeks
out here somewhere in the phensomenon.
, doesnt it.