Guitaro the salamander alchemist


jackpot the sound bursts into the charge flowing from the fingers brushed, pressed down the strings, vibrating textures echoing, resound hollow into the porches of ears accepting, filtering. the body knows so much more than the mind. the mind, after all, is the body. so what do you think? you are what you eat. there is something we’ve been forgetting, lost in history. remembered sensations, emotions, churning butter snap image data into universal meaning, incorporating everything. but remember the sun? turning into a reflection in its hiding, memory laden moon, pulling up the waves. here it comes again. and what is what i see the same, here, quiet violence against my skin? shed. shedding. embracing. streaming forward in order to remain ready for never. everyday preparation for eternity. soldiers of an army that is not. the next instance steady, balanced, pot on head. that moment not yet happened beaming through, forebrained into the pavement. solid. objectified into living form. empty mask glancing two ways at once. light dark. the god rising infinite out of the middle. pupil eye. taking in. the body responding. the understanding that flows back, out, spurting, finger strumming. the waves of death billowing external. heard whispering, repeating, swirling, moving around itself, detaching off, melting into the air refracting. taken into your ear, your eye, your mouth. moving in between everything and nothing. i will repeat this always and it will never be the same. growing, parallax. i think today is different? it is we who are different. and so how can i think of being read, watched, broken, tasted? when it is i who am watching. i who am blinded? i who am devouring. i who is you? i who am i? further to fly. go to the middle, where you are two, one, attached. and let go. water spilling blood scream dividing into pairs of eyes looking away into future and back into past and not being able to speak this transformation this newness this void. feeling. terror. ecstasy. pain. the body knows. the body knowing.
we are happening. no bother buying the box seats. on the floor our feet pulsing with blood filled with air we share. and take. and destroy.
and renew.
gold making ain’t science, wilson.
it’s nature.

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Author: manderson

I live in NYC.

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