For. C.
I may not have had a blowjob by 13
but I sure as hell knew what one was;
seen it on TV, in magazines
I believe the world these days
is making babies out of all of us
but making a baby of yourself
is a whole other matter
Besides
every revolution of Nostalgia
is a false promise
There are no returns in change
only fresh new ground
There is no resistance in the Past
only one thing passing away into another
We are not haunting ourselves
not the lingering
of all our past lives
What's it matter if we remember anything?
The Past knows nothing of its Future
It can only lie about the Present
So
Maybe it aint your fault
saying you was Baby Huey as a teenage
Maybe that's just what looking back is:
not seeing the Present
not seeing the Truth
Maybe he looked like a monkey
Lots of people look like lots of things
My beard's grown so long
that my face looks long and brown
like a Horse
It don't mean nothing
if you say I look like an Ass
If I do
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A voice speaks out to an echo's encyclopedic entreating. echoes respond candidly while combing the reserve to say nothing at all.
ReplyDeleteFirst thought, best thought.
Each manhole you don't fall in is a narcissist.
Each shared expression
confucias says some stuff
What I look is to a vibration,
sonic as the word hedgehog,
but these hands follow loud things,
and sounds that carry 'cross asphalt.
What i knew as a small thing;
wait up,
i see wut i did there.
see theres an ass in the room
If i never loved Barney back,
or just wish that I didn't,
what's it mean to scribble that jam?
What's it mean to make do with a rhyme, my man?
Mice to the flute to the best laid plan.
A dry yellow carpet rubbed the feet on a desk
and an old black woman with skin like a trash bag
said I said some shit.
But what was the vibration;
What was the tremor in that voice?
that tried to harmonize some lines when it knew
the stacking of it all was wrong
in the gut.
Like Curious George
in a yellow book
I told you I didn't think it didn't mean nothing,
And the ambiguity split wide open!
An Emphatic Double Negative.
The Jagged Double You
in the clamorous classroom
begging for a constant consonant work.
An affirmative babyism
in a Horse-mouth.
There are no returns in change
only fresh new ground
and receipts are hummed out on a wind
and fingertips pencil an old woman's forehead
as she eats her thoughts
like rations of a food that tastes
strange.
A false promise
is the revolution.
Dependant fuckers
all like mother fuckers.
Before you can trust a first thought
ReplyDeleteyou have to be able to trust
the senses and the mind
To make matters worse
the mind contemplating the self
is an insane, brutish, act
a contradiction in terms
the objectification of subjectification
Lets not forget the stickiness of
expressions of the self
the mind reeling against the social totality
Every manhole you fall in is its own world
A false promise
is a failed revolution
waiting to happen
If the first thought is false
twisted
mangled by memory
screened by slippery self-perception
what does its conclusion promise?
Perhaps this is the problem with all revolutions
Nostalgia
the past promised in the future
The revolution doesn't need
idealized visions of some bygone age
but plans for what follows the fall
Something strange happens
when we look at the past at all
We assume the Past has worked itself out
that what has occurred has inserted itself
within some conceivable, rational, continuum
that the present is thus a product of the Past
thereby
the Past gains significance
in light of its assumed unfolding
We
in assuming the Past's significance
likewise
assume the significance of our own past
in the unfolding of our present self
Accordingly
Our past incarnations of self
appear significant to the present age
by our assumption of a rational continuum
Problem is
there is no rational continuum
but the belief in it
is so powerfully embedded
in the western consciousness
The Messianic Promise
that we can no longer question its legitimacy
And so
much to my dismay
every revolutionary moment
carries with it
the seeds of its own demise
in promising what cannot be promised
the Past
The Past makes no promises at all
but reflection
ay,
there's the rub
Gott ist tot. Gott bliebt tot. Und wir haben Gott gotötet.
ReplyDeleteAber nur des Versprechen des Junges der Gott
singt durch des Geistes die Zeit.
Duh duh duh
duh duh duh
Even the number three overwhelms me
and crops up every time I bring up
some Judeo-Christian stuff.
How many times did I "s" that last line?
Patterns patterns patterns,
and I'm told it's a gift,
and I thought it was an accident,
cause I was thinking I was modest,
but it's just the way I talk about myself
all the time
and people keep talking about time and,
'living in the present,'
but I can't help but see the sun's reflection off the moon
and ask if the sun would reflect on itself if it could.
In assuming the self's significance
I project it on a red wheelbarrow,
and an arrangement of words,
and the word arrangement,
and a dude named Derrida,
and a vibrating cell phone,
and the convenience that I can assume
that I assume the self's significance,
that I has a cord to plug into
that first thought and assume more
and break it down like Katrina
and fall apart at the horror of a reference
and the horror of reflecting on the reference
that referenced a reflection when they alliterated,
like two dogs fucking.
Enjoying it.
Some might say thinking about the past
is like walking backwards.
I fell into a manhole today,
and the repressed homos giggled or grimaced,
and the open ones smiled.
I see what I did there.
And I would like to go back
and change the way I spelled that line
but that would be breaking a rule
I really want to break:
The "mistake" is screaming for significance
and the gambler wants to own his own mistake
like the Christian wants to go to heaven
and own death
like ownership could ever make up for being dead,
like time could ever be money.
Valuable.
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteso much depends
ReplyDeleteupon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens.
WCWFTW