“L’insu que sait de l’une bévue s’aile à mourre –“
From Lacan (at lacan.com) On Surrealism article by Josefina Ayerza. Also, to Slavoj Zizek.
V5 still soaking couple more lines need work.
1.
Thousand folds
of napkin
tears itself apart.
Sniffles whispers
blunders! blunders?
gotta wonder —
Suddenly Parker shows up
from down the block.
Not blunders? curses?
beauty is damned
beauty is clam
beauty is relative.
Only reason
get drunk like that
is to rake a haul
and make a fall,
into nullahs
of love and death.
.
It’s not one dead pie
it’s a thousand dead pie
cup runneth over
up to my neck —
Shakespeare rakes
the house music
for sarcasm
and tippy Camus la rue
attacks
attacks —
revise revise
exoticism, mystique
absurd lies —
& yet
cupid poe crow
vies
cries: arise.
And pull that ring
from pantywaist, thing.
2,
Three card
mounty, third eyes —
emergency supplies —
as phoenix dies —
to obtain.
3,
Drums beat
slow slow
methodical
row row row
bang on.
Skiddish graveolent reversals
folly and tip
the heart would rip
and burn
like a prisoner of war.
4,
Wings over
rushing gushing
absurd abyss
made pall
my floating island
heart.
Scribbles into screams
“doing better
much better now —
it seems –“
promises
promises.
Gas lights got me
just one look
whips round neck
at every deck.
Mauls for beauty
insists it’s a duty
apophatic bets — hmm think more on
One two, three
banked
against air in spasms
and spans
fed the drip —
got a grip.
And that all
made a difference.
5,
Sun where dizzies
in margins
absurd is god without sin
absurd is sin without god
prod squab
swab and
daub
carnation
fetches cruces —
a thousand cuts
by hour
by yard.
Passions
force per units
burns with radiant heat
yellow and red
and blue
makes a fire.
Makes me into
a crazy liar.
6,
Sanctimony is hard
to trust.
Something mettled
and blew
its rise and cries
and loss and grotty oceanic doss
lit up like news
an infernal fuse
bounding rent
where lifes unpent —
brewed wayward
virulent — biblical —
signs of gnashing
comes out flashing
lions den
lions den
or
heads on roman fields
for wack the ball.
It was a hidden
thing
hid in hide in hearts
had no name
only graces magnitude
magnetic heats
feels like angelolatry —
and repeaters pounce on
sweet renewals.
7,
Absurd misses
a tension for kisses
a holy hotbed
skyway to bridge
skyway to bridge…
The End
is a sign — for cineastes.
To know
when to talk again
gather up your trash
get up,
all about, file out.
Leave behind
audiovisual share
in mortal snare
birds pile up
under chair
in colors forlorn
that mourn on porn.
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