Gorgono (turning): the city. it floods me veins with broken light. my blood cuts across my vision and sometimes all i can see is cells, chaotic, strewn throughout my body fighting.
Jana (skipping): i would like to love it, i would like to feel good sucking in the brown air like a vacuum, wrapping my eyes around the passerbys. i’m even easy to use. and all you got to do around here is plug in, lay back, and play.
Gorgono (dancing): but somewhere deep the drum keeps the language running. the television could talk to me forever and never tell me anything i didn’t already know.
Jana (stripping): i’ve got a double mask. i’m breaking ahead, waiting around the corners, ensnaring every divorced movement of my radiation-glazed skin. i’ve got a double mask. i’m watching myself appear like a screen in the scenario. i’m nobody you can get in touch with. the only currency i take is sacrifice.
Gorgono (pumping): i’m watching myself. i want to fill every slot in the channel of time. i’m breaking apart. i’m flooding. i’m a thousand faces reflecting light shining in from nowhere.
Together (collapsing): i the city. i-and-i, we the system. how far we go before we come back?
\\\jurisdiction. coming off of the royal poop deck like a king of some mystic, ancient world. biting into a corn dog, dribbling Squirt down my chin. i look out upon my precinct, the corner of 64th and Krinkle. good. i pull at my crotch authoritatively. ain’t noone gonna tell me what i got, cause i KNOW what i got. my secretary tells me i look like David Hasselhoff. It’s not really my face exactly, but that presence of domination, of a manly blandness. that makes sense to me, cuz i remember back when i was a kid, watching Star Trek and eating Mom’s meatloaf, how i could relate to Captain Kirk, his potbellied assurance, the suave way he moved in his futuristic 70s uniform, as if it were a second skin. I think I’d be popular in Germany.
1053L: jacob told meto to sit. it was a foggy night. sandwiches in the dark. i sniffed hopefully, alert.
1054[input]: i was the lettuce. i was still crispy then.
1055224yg: jacob was coughing, nostrils flaring, watering eyes. when he finished, he chugged me down; i quenched his thirst. gatorade: more efficient than water, and better tasting.
108652:L there is an intense concentration in the gut that takes place in the act of consumption. a brutal silence accentuated by smacks and swallows.
19057hrlo”: marlboro reds. 1 every hour, two after a meal. surgeon general advises: when you give away your mental freedom, you poison your body to survive.
1hru90: i am a teapot, short and stout.
1060gy89: none of it mattered. but it was complete somehow, harmonized by the chipping of the white paint on the side of the window.
signing my name, i suddenly feel like i’m drowning. there’s a part of me here that i can’t see that’s flowing from me and coagulating into a larger system, something symbolic, invisible, representative of a certain quantity of moments i’ve sold of myself, exchanging my time for a shell, for a brand that i can exchange with anybody. i sell my freedom, my boundlessness so i can be defined, so that i can be represented, seen, and experienced. i become an image, i become a dead thing to be resurrected in others eyes.
drowning feels like breathing fire, a shredding ecstasy that consumes whatever i held as my own, whatever i held back as distinct and separate from the rest of the world. at first it’s blinding, painful, frenzied–but soon it’s filling every cell, incorporating every space with maximum efficiency into a purposeful stillness, a frozen potential, a waiting that knows completion.
i break apart then into the ocean of energy.
and somewhere, in some darkened room at some certain time i smile down upon a somnolent form and fill their current dream with light.
past the obvious, there is, of course, the not-so-obvious–and beyond that there is Captain Cream. but irregardless of the endless stream of permutations that a helix could create, there is an ultimate sense of, how else to say it, BLUENESS. like the energy that you can see manifested when you stare at a white wall and stop focusing on the wall–maybe it’s different to you: jimi must have seen it purple. i’ll say blue because i feel it as blue–when it flows, it’s all heavy, all beautiful in a distant sort of way the way a blue sky can be. minds me of a dream i had when I was like 9. i would run and turn into a dragon and fly up into the sky and through a trapdoor in the sky that would take me to a place that was wonderful, mysterious, secret, inhabited by a motherly female–it was like an apartment in an alternate universe, everything was black and white and objects kept moving around and changing into something else and it was like that strange perverse universe that children enter into when they play the role games that adults wistfully and somewhat sheepishly emulate in hollywood movies. and when i woke up i was real sad because it was so real, because damn it felt right and it would never come back, i would never fly. took me a decade to figure out that all that is real, all the dreams, all the gossip, all the stories and myths that people jizz out like sprinklers in their mind and all the sentences you stop and cross out and throw in the can. now i know i’ve got it, all the time, the trapdoor in my head, the dragon in my spine. it’s always there, blue, waiting.
-There’s a kind of semi-formalism going on here. I can tell right off the bat with these kinds of things. Look at the way she’s pulling off the lines; not enough faith to make her fearful, but just that bit of herself, just a small little lick, like snapping a snare to a funk beat. all the rest of the energy seems to go on down behind her face, go on down and
then come on up, breathing, snaking, circular, infinite. I think she knows I’m watching–but it’s not me exactly, it’s that effect that she knows she’s gonna cause in me–that everyone within me who is watching, that distant, silent everyone, all the nameless eyes that scatter across her body in aimless, fleeting moments on the street, when she passes like a dragon across windshield views, stepping gazelle down the sidewalk out the intersection like a dream, floating out of the stopped stream of cars like a symbol. it’s that shuttering moment when you know that both of you are watching, expressionless, divine, somewhere deep within you that burrows down into a hole of nothing suddenly becoming everything, everyone, coating the walls of my mind in alien yet familiar landscapes in some terrible, grotesque vision that breaks then into light, wavering, spitting out flashes of heat.
when i come out, i take a shit and brush my teeth. i go to bed and dream about babies that you can buy and grow in a bottle.
the whole problem seems to lie in thinking that there is something you could do that would be considered wrong. that there’s some space youre not supposed to fall into, its like a pop beat–if you dont hit the snare at that one beat, youve fucked up the whole thing. so youre walking around avoiding certain things where you think you might do something wrong. and its superstitious, like avoiding cracks on the sidewalk and shit. theres normal and theres abnormal. theres right and theres wrong. youre on and youre off, sometimes you win and sometimes you lose. really youre just losing all the time, youre always losing cuz theres that certain something that youre not getting that you need to get in order to be safe, in order to feel that youre something. like pussy, or money, or the new moby cd. our culture has kind of built up a nice myth to cover up this dilemma–the myth of the true love–that there is someone out there who will complete you, the missing rib from your body. so were always running after something that we dont have, because theres something wrong with us, theres something missing. theres emptiness inside, when youre alone you dont know what to do with yourself so you watch tv. but of course theres really nothing, noone that can ever make you more than you already can be, so eventually you run yourself down. but theres always little things there for us to fill ourselves up on before we hit empty again: nice little things like cigarettes, movies, video games, parties, sex. were scared that if we stop, if we dont feel like were going somewhere, if there isnt that snare right there when we want it to be, then were gonna fall flat on our faces, well be just another faceless part of the dead masses. and we will, because weve set ourselves up for it, because weve built our lives so much away from ourselves that when we fall back into ourselves we suddenly realize just how much none of it means anything anyway. we set ourselves up to fall the minute that we assume that there is the potential to fall, and this comes from the decision that we want to climb. but theres nowhere to climb if theres nowhere to fall. theres only one place to get to–and that’s where we are.