Aught, no. 11/12 (2003)

Noah Eli Gordon / from Jaywalking the Is

« Back

Expectation week wounds the suggestion box, makes the indefinite duration the great knowers of Suchness play in seem less a continual present than a constant clock sparring. It’s the unconceptualized event I’m after; it’s pens, springs, transistors; it’s rallies, dirt oxen, noise doves; it’s lemon grass, wires, physical proximity; it’s culling the lap sack, rain, carbohydrate formulation; it’s exposure to sun light, decking the always, lifts, bottles & the blinding ray of light in the casket. If you have a headache, drink water. If you remember nightclubs, shuffle your hatchet. It could hack through a phone book in half the time.

I’m all Camelot when the cognition folders do their thing. Rain in their outfits or reign in their outfits. It’s a fitting underling I’m after as the day splays like a scalp-lock, a tuft of hair left to challenge the contrast of light & shade. Okay, the Dutch painter’s a shoe-in, but how many bulbs charge in the winter, sprout in the weaves? Lecture me a terrible Asian stew, I’m ready to learn more than semantic drills, looking for some bells in my realism gear. A destitute plagiarizer along the spelling breakout? an occasional fine cook? Enough about me, when are the red hotels coming home?

I don’t think in shredder games or sound jumps, putting a plow out front to give a little clearance to the tango plantation. How do you prove you’re a hired hand when they’ve mangled your in, synthesized your as? It’s a mother-dear dilemma for a fifteen-minute browser to palm the commonwealth in such a chilling tea set. Behind the facts, a faceless whistle. What’s Turkish for volume control, for the voice boiling without a fire net, without a frame for the malleable June nail? I cut the tendon in my pinky once & now harbor an actual fear of knives. It’s not surprising. Everyone reads on the subway. Take my briefcase, I’m done evicting the border patrol. Dynamite, dynamism, or dinosaur? The skeletons are a paper lie & the news browns the necklace when what I wear is an echo of where I am.