subtitle. Auto mobile bio {geo} graphie typed thing...
She didn't have a name that she found important.
She would be "she."
She wrote it on a tag.
Dropping it in boxes.
sHe made sense as long as she possibly could.
Or so she felt.
Today.
she walked
Early in the day, dragging feet on sidewalk
and without attackable plan.
Everything shrunk
the closer she got the more distant it became
By the time the sun was straight up in the sky, she had begun to walk in the road.
that machine that she imagined was her life chewed furiously as she walked
everything substantial... pulled, pitted, and pulped . . . left with sour juices, a few small words,
and nowhere to go.
she stopped.
Nowhere left to go except everywhere.
and so she waited.
in the middle of the road.
Objects swerved to miss other objects, colliding with other objects.
Words dangled underneath and above and inside and around him.
Ideas, worldviews, opinions, and religions lay strewn about with bloated nerves.
Paralysis.
She looked around. Where to begin cleaning up the mess?
Paralysis.
Changing the mess would just be another reorganization.
Clean to her, but possibly a mess to anyone else.
It began to crawl.
the mess.
So many religions, warped histories, concocted concepts and unbalanced power-relationships stared up at her,
down at her,
stood half-cocked,
loaded with imaginations and throwing out ultimatums.
she could not choose.
or chose not to choose.
she could not decide.
someone shouted out possibilities: to help, to move, or to help move
but she could not formulate.
could not move.
could not see any difference in anything.
from where she stood.
so she sat down, in the smiling wreckage.
it was warm.
she was comfortable and thought about eating.
she took duality and doubt from her pocket.
and stared at them.
she was hungry.
duality was huge.
she took a bite.
she ate and ate and the noise around her turned to humming.
she ate and ate and thought little of thinking or anything else
when she was finally done eating,
she looked at what she held.
It was a slimy, half-sized, one-sided Duality.
it looked ridiculous . . . and a little sad, dark, & ominous, as well.
She remembered thinking that there was much more to Duality than what she was holding in her hand
something about baby bunnies, rainbows, dancing, laughing, startling eye contact and a smile, sex.
Something about an infinite number of possible details spewing from unions of opposites and parallels.
But she was left - in mind - with little more than the surrounding physical wreckage, the dark half of duality,
and some ever-present doubt.
Forever debilitated, sad and socially useless, she just sat. there. like that.
She later found a box to drop herself in, she was cold, and
Eventually,
The monsters of bad metaphor ate her work.
The monsters of bad health ate her body.
The monsters of bad culture ate everything else.
They couldn't stomach her and left her, slimy and half digested at the United States Military base in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba.
Gitmo says the papers.
And everything lived the same as it is now for ever and ever and ever.
A few things felt good about it.
Most did not.
They did their best not to think too much about it,
when they did it filled them with
doubt.
A legacy left to eat.
Her cell was small but inviting.
Scratched on the wall with a plastic spork,
"Opposite the drudge is the dream
And vice versa"
also...
"our lives like dark mazes through bombed-out places, that once
were bright without hope. but the fatter for comfort, the harder you fall.
i want to hold your hand.
hand hand. piracy. foam. schtick."
and not present was...
"because rocket science is more fun when you actually have rockets."
(from a USA Navy recruiting commercial, 08.2005)