The alienation of labor is almost complete and my trance from it is a feat of candor not dirty and deliberate like machines dirty and deliberate like a woman heroic with carelessness like a worker of a loom moon blind like a municipality and glutathione the antioxidant they take to go white as whales the valve of hope in the almost in the alamo is that it can be stopped that dread can watch desire like its prey and let us out into space I’ve been led out into space lured there like virgin remi braids and endless shadows and there are still roosters here little girls clad in dog masks with fists in their mouths a perfect gay couple whispering about Chekov into the hills chekov soft as roosters while their boy child writhes hips criss crossing with fists at the sun, moving like a gif come to shed its seconds into something eternal and vivid, making it rude to look away and it wouldn’t be the first time the light was winning all mood vanishing in the name of attitude all of us screaming this like matter baths joy seeks eternity are we its good habit or the bad and do we need categories in the invisible where blindness implies wholeness by default they are shaking chubby hands about it now children shackled to the oars of slow boats like the soggy caskets of all your weeping ideas while space songs urge you to remain calm sure that light is faster than disaster birth will split their palms into feed for the broken factories come native suns and nothing resists completion like a lie all any man yearned to do now was believe this and resist it himself and go crazy and tell everyone sell some records about telling everyone
This process alters the contents of happiness The shadow we wished to become is gone now and the famers listed as murders are turning up alive in its place if you reshape desire you will reshape the earth they whisper hitting it with the hoe’s edge frozen in their deepest moment of provocation and okay with it their bodies hoeing together making a maze of guitars the strings and cables and Billy Harper and asking like it’s admit-it-or-be-cursed and forced into another labor camp, what did you make today, show me ? I used to think pimps were evil and lazy. I used to believe the white shade was shedding me in moments of relief and exile we stuffed needles in the blank and I saw my ranking in the compliance my way of of confusing dread with desire my love of looms with my love of workers
