lalah

The Decemberist

This crackled iron rail will feel romantic

fallen on the desktops of old distractions.

Hey you, did you ever intend to reach through ancient perfume

and grasp the fumes as they warbled the lips of rose petals in your room?

These bastard white shirts

in ties with Rolex Roladexes grafted in catacomb circuitry

of soundless offices

These awful plums

these rotten shoes

an art at our disposal

and you never even knew.

Fetid remarks on the blackboards of our sufferings, chalking decay into the form of pain. We've managed to keep straight faces through the moribund tortures, even smiling while performing simple kind acts. But the masters extract too much from us and the world, for theirs is a bottomless greed that feeds on all that is valuable in life. We are too weak to stop them, we are too disorganized and in love with our paltry ways that avoid conflict and confrontation. We don't even respond to people in the supermarket, we have blinders on, we are not a community but a travesty of an act, perpetuating its biology throughout the ages to no purpose.

Drunk Space

While underneath the barest minimum for signification of drunkeness, one idle fop with a lax jaw exclaimed the bounty of the universes resonate in a singularity the size of a cup of ale. Although it be true that this resident slob knew whole heartedly the consequences of inveterate drunkeness when appealed to by the earnest and brimming face of sobriety, let it be said that his notations on the consistency and character of our world held true only when he was soused.

The rectification of early misnomers of curved space was rectified by this obtuse buffoon with the now-obvious statement that the universe exists of both sober and drunk space. Before hand, astronomers and their black sheep astrologer compatriots were attempting to get a handle on the quantum universe of the carried-off observer, and were ill versed to speak on Einstein's physics equations penned in long hand and sans notation during his infamous drinking bouts. It is here that our protagnoist delivered the saintly and decisive academic blow that was tantamount to a rocket launching party's success, filled with live video footage of Exploder One sojourning through the non-explosive heavens. He merely laid the distinction between drunk and sober space out on a cocktail napkin in decisive cursive, thereby adding to astrophysicist's repetoire of language the hence decoded supple notations of Einsteinian pre-quantum three-sheets-to-the-wind relativity. It is hereby announced that the distinction of spaces instantaneously prolgumated the creation of two camps, those who verily habitated the availible drunk space and those who squarely took up residence in designated sober space.

Drunk space constitutes the grey area around the atmosphere of the earth where libidinous beverages may be procured for not under two dollars at any establishment, and be used to forthwith traverse this space in a regalia of bountiful emotions known as levity, good humour, bad humour, and anatagonism. Many a story of these lands ends with a supple disgorgement of the night's dinner into the purse of a young lady, as many a story also ends with fulminous sexual congress taking place between strangers who had not the wits to be tested for AIDS. It should be noted that despite the astronometric perils of drunk space, that it is indeed a lively territory wrought with jubilation, and it is the sole quantum function of an observer to decide whether he is sufficiently wasted or not.

Those that inhabit sober space it may be reasoned nearly always aspire to the normative lifestyle, one with as little conflict for procurement of lifestyle commodities as possible. They generally work in offices, use nose-hair trimmers, and otherwise keep their negligent thoughts to themselves.

Drunk space exhibits a curious and startling disinhibiting effect on those caught with in its physical laws, leading their speech to undulate in pantomimes of adolescent language rife with vernacular enthusiasms pertaining to bodily functions and or sexual congress. It may be witnessed that drunk space is quantum in nature as it is percievable only to the yeast-imbibing individual who by no means is aware of the parallel sober space, whether or not nearby passerbys are inhabiting it cocurrently with the observer's drunk space.

It must be noted that the continum underlying these two types of space constitute different times, as it must further be reasoned that these two space-times may not be occupied at either the same point in space nor at the same point in time, for it would negate the known locutions of either spaces.

It is with joyous heart that I iterate that the findings of drunk space are heavenly and to be aspired to at all bodily costs, and it is with no regret that I henceforth move to occupy it at this current point in time to report its effects upon the formerly sober personage.

Temporarily quiet in the mind,

the lotus offers itself through drifts of concrete.

Portrait of black and white television inside a picture of color television inside a frame of high definition television constructing holograms with our ideals and driving us towards the ceiling in a fit of dispossession of our true selves.

Oscillating frequencies stuck on redundant. Here is the mind-slew of the fetid spectator who forgot how to act.

"I used to hum new languages from music's wealth/which would entrance all the pretty girls/who let their hair down as twilight unfurls its stars/though I have grown older now and forget/that the older women are after bank accounts and new cars/and not for the person that they have met."

Incarcerated in gesture, the spectator yearns after the psuedo magical portrayals of machined values. He sits as stupid as a pisspot, yelling obsenities made for television in knee-jerk reactions cultivated by education in and out of the work force. He yearns for something to please his eye, as opposed to the eye of the mind that appraises substance.

"We were once young and gay on this shore/and thought that the bad days would end/well we grew up and forgot all the more/why we had fought the forces that mend/our betrayals into selfless acts/and our hatreds into gestures signifying amends."

One time we went on a country drive in the winding forests of the Northwest. The air glimmered in fog embued by sunlight and passing sparrows flew in crooked lines low across the road. Everything somehow was just like a picture, only it was a picture we hadn't seen but rather imposed through our knowledge of photographs and films upon the moment. The force of media apparatuses have taken their toll, even amid the solitude of beautiful moments, and yet we lack a countervailing force of media to distance us from our tragedies though it may snatch our wonder. A machine has yet to be invented, whether constituting media technology or not, that soothes the suffering of humanity instead of intensifying it.

On the pathway to alienation, I stuck my rifle in the ground and carried on under a mercurial sky, wondering. Were it fate that would bond brother to brother so tenuously as to rely on socialization of the individual for our every connection, or was it timely tragedy that destroyed our ability to find allies? I think it was our ignorance of class, how it should unite us instead of mystify us falsely by its purported absence. The poor should befriend the poor, as the rich know the rich. But we were divided by nightmare considerations of human nature, we were divided by the unreal aspect of humanity that clouded us over in anxiety when contemplating the unknown of another person's world. Truth be known, people are very similar, and it is only through gesticulation that we pantomime differences, one of those gesticulations being the ownership of commodities that exist in code with social status. Truth be known, the worst of us run the show and the best of us drink water made filthy by factories. Truth be known, nobody ever told you how to deal with the tools offered to you by your own class of people.

I went wandering to the docks, fishing for sharks with a linament of fishing line and an earring hook. All i caught were stares and questions, wondering what my work day was like to afford me the opportunity of dalying in pantomime of true fishermen, the ones with capital invested in boats, and I had not a word to excuse myself beyond the concept of childish imagination, which was what my motions rested upon. I was told to leave one day and wondered aloud what my next activity should be invested in, so I took up gardening and grew potatoes, garlic, and onion so that I might have a supplement to my meals.

The human world is so poor that it exists only in relation to itself, which is why it must destroy the silent criticism offered by the natural world in order to retain its function.

"Where once their was a forest/they put up a one-stop-shop and liquor store/where once there was a tangled garden/they eviscerated the earth of its natural lore/for the sake of some numbers called dollars/for the sake of an economy that makes everyone into a whore."

Ugly Juliet

All the ugly Juliets

culled by form in the patterns of desire

and buying high priced telephones

to stay in touch with their ugly friends.

Social circles engender the notations of hierarchy

and race on the human activity of being-as-such.

And I remain in a place without 401 K or stock

options to salve my ugliness into finance,

my disordered pyramid of status ennobling

only outcasts and the mad with the laurels of friendship,

on this lavender battleship of sociability.

I once had a dream that I was a famous philosopher

who discussed only the motions of the occult

and how it conspired in its invisible forces to fill

us with the auras of our being, to propel spirit

into us with the whirls of a rose's perfume.

It was ok to be solitary,

as long as one thought.

But the herd mentality won't tell us what our nightmares are made of,

with positive thinking strategies used to cleanse the ghosts

out of our metaphysics, to make meetings familiar and jocular,

to enjoy of the social nexus the banalities of conscripted allies and enemies,

to disassemble possible loves for the sake of stolid respectability.