Wednesday, December 31, 2014
Tuesday, December 30, 2014
What kind of knowledge will be possible ?
When the impostors woke up nodding with authenticity
we did not blame them for listening to our music at the crucifixion oblivious to irony we can
all hang out
in a disco
quote the rack of lamb with sluggish gluttony I see you resent the women you admire — the black entertainer's admirable blues — what kind of knowledge will be possible when you can no longer horde a rhythm against the will of its substance and desire is no longer a minefield occupied by nihilists and there is no longer any dilemma in the shy watermelon which shows up as an analog for contrived shame every time I'm saying I love you sugar loose as spooks on ballots How evangelical!
we did not blame them for listening to our music at the crucifixion oblivious to irony we can
all hang out
in a disco
quote the rack of lamb with sluggish gluttony I see you resent the women you admire — the black entertainer's admirable blues — what kind of knowledge will be possible when you can no longer horde a rhythm against the will of its substance and desire is no longer a minefield occupied by nihilists and there is no longer any dilemma in the shy watermelon which shows up as an analog for contrived shame every time I'm saying I love you sugar loose as spooks on ballots How evangelical!
Sunday, December 28, 2014
Friday, December 26, 2014
The house of the damsel
Well as I watched and listened to where sound went I didn't get closer to god
I became God
You have to be a hero my mother warned and then how do blacks show fear with love she asked I just laughed by example all the revolutionaries are perverts an excess of skill spent on imagination and sex is a million different demons clutching their shadows on the folk invisible a prolapsed dream
In the script they have me waiting at the top of the staircase in a red dress that is some days, green
for some punk who expects to impress me with diamonds when I love him for his demons
finally the way they
shine
I became God
You have to be a hero my mother warned and then how do blacks show fear with love she asked I just laughed by example all the revolutionaries are perverts an excess of skill spent on imagination and sex is a million different demons clutching their shadows on the folk invisible a prolapsed dream
In the script they have me waiting at the top of the staircase in a red dress that is some days, green
for some punk who expects to impress me with diamonds when I love him for his demons
finally the way they
shine
Thursday, December 25, 2014
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
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