ARKANSAS
In
Arkansas there is nothing more massive than an egg & nothing can
be imagined that is not real. Schoolchildren flinch as bombs explode
& wonder how to want to see all the paintings in the world. Identity
is cross, though, & at home the schoolchildren return to their
eggs & glue up from within their shells' fissures. And yes, we
are all, of course, in Arkansas, geometrical objects tilting space,
but all the paintings in the world cannot make the blood go back into
the wound. Youth is better remembered as the larval stage, the beauty
of an egg as an aptitude. Choked in gold-gilt & egg-tempura, Arkansas
is dying slowly like a playground. And before you know it you are
on your knees with your lips to the black-top, arms full of plastic
gallons of milk, whitewash still wet on your fingertips, trying to
recall something not real. Sometimes you must fall to your knees to
truly go balls deep. Sometimes details revert you to a human real
& all the silences of violence. We are all in Arkansas, sleeping
inside stones. Beauty does save the world. But there is nothing but
beauty.
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CONNECTICUT
In
Connecticut they'll fuck you up for licking a truck. You're never
forgiven for taking a beating. It's like Dude, dude seriously,
all week long & then Sunday comes. The whole state wanders away
in the rain, a dozen super big gulp cups in the back seat. In Connecticut
I like the people who copied the people who copied the people who
copied the people who copied the people who copied Duchamp but that
don't make any of us not a moat. You must smoke through your trachea
hole, must find your antiquarian heart, must every day crawl from
the ocean to the coffin. |