You’re done for. There’s one thing, then another, and there’s nothing after that. What does that mean? A cleverly concealed pocket-knife could wiggle me away from a railroad tie-down, and suddenly my sour mid-life expiration could alter to paper-skin ancient, eyes pearled and body bent to occupy chairs that wheel and rock. Or maybe future-me …
begging my brain to let you go and latch on to someone or something else, really this is ridiculous, clogging my own drains. Sick sticking memory of you and your old growth smell and your dance around yourself, this memory i color myself with, that i drape all over. in the dirty remains a single …
Sitting in my own lap, thumbing through messages dispensed from self ankle-deep in almost-sleep. Dreamy awake state summons her most dignified 1940s radio baritone and announces: Present. What about the present? Hakim Bey and Robert Anton Wilson and Carl Jung and Frederik Van Eeden and a thousand philosophers and dreamers and writers and dead white …
Drinking Games of the Future Part 4 – Present Tense Read More »
Waking hours I am conductor, coaxing independent instruments with wandering keys and reeds to crash into passable music. Asleep my head is pure unfiltered noise, now with more pulp. Reckless unarmored, a slow motion owl-masked me stencils the first truth: hell is empty and all the devils are here. No: come on baby light my …
For the past several years I’ve written down my dreams, some of which are conversations that carry on for hours. In the first few minutes following waking I try my best to transcribe these ramblings, but they’re never coherent and weren’t meant to be. This collection of riddles and numbers came from a dialogue with …