You could argue
that God is the
penultimate rebel without a cause—
They, parlaying gambit into form,
creating and begetting, just because,
the purest call and freest range
of zoobreak bop
recalled on the B-sides of human experience
to incite reckoning
and spiritual turn-on.
Next up: a vinyl listening party, poetic happening, and film screening of a live performance of tracks from Morphic Trespass (taking place in Sault St. Marie, Ontario). Hosted by Lost Telegram Press.
Post-record-launch event, I have several vinyl albums left for anyone who might be in the market for one. This edition features the exquisite, street-song, urban-flava photography of the NY photographer, Anthony Distefano. If interested, message me. Cheers and salutations!
Record launch and live performance at the Wildflower Playhouse
Breathe deeply in a crowd of people. Continue breathing. Realize that breathing is an orgy of threaded respirations. If the notion of orgy disgusts you, stop breathing.
Pretend to be dead at your own funeral. Bask in the unparalleled theater of your ending. When the audience leaves, stop pretending. Plan a comeback, understanding that previous perceptions will be dismissed, and the cast of characters, including you, will look a lot different.
Write an affectionate letter to six-year-old you who imagined you as the sort of person who would one day write an affectionate letter to six-year-old you. In advance preparation for what you might one day say to yourself, the envelope in which the letter is sealed is marked Do Not Open Until Eternity. Laugh at this conundrum, as you would a six-year-old child playing marbles, and set the letter aside, wondering not only about the contents of the letter but also if you’d ever find time for eternity.
Paint your fingernails in the way you imagine your daughter would paint your fingernails. Have a daughter to paint your fingernails. Paint your daughter’s fingernails into tiny moons. Blow on the moons until they are dry and without worry. Compare your painted fingernails to your daughter’s painted fingernails. Afterwards, remove your fingers, one by one, and place them around your daughter’s throat in the form of a necklace. If your daughter complains that she can’t breathe, explain to her that you’ve been wearing your mother’s, her grandmother’s fingers around your throat for a long time and couldn’t imagine not having them there. Be sure not to mention words like stranglehold or asphyxiation when talking about your past.
Name your child End of Days. When your child is throwing a tantrum, say—End of Days, I need you to stop this instant. When your child goes to sleep at night, tell them—Sweet dreams, End of Days, I love you. When your child gets suspended from school for aberrant behavior, throw up your hands and say—End of Days, I don’t know what to do with you. When your child become a teenager and the very thought of your existence repels them, ask yourself—End of Days, what happened to us? When your child is no longer a child and they leave home, write in your diary—My life feels empty without End of Days.
