He asked if I had gone any further. How far do you want me to go? What do you think I should find? Is it something particular?
I try to measure every word and I realize it is not enough, because then I am not me, but trying to please someone else.
poem
Precious things
Puta madre conceptual garden sub specie aeternitatis, where every deed happens.
out-of-place, naturally dislocated
Nymphaea looked for her earring on living room floor carpet. She said she has bad eyes. Great Horned Owl in her, in her bra was tightly pressured against her skin. Wanted to study her pressure marks, sunken bloodless steps on her, leaps of red. I thought it must have hurt to wear such bra. To wear underwear she did shaping her form. She always had a nightgown for me with a cartoon figure. I loved her furniture. She hung her jewelry on corners of her dressing table with oval shape mirror. Smelling her bottles. Her sheets, her plastic pearls, her things, her and valuables, details, piles of magazines. Hers, language of her. I looked for it through her hanging clothes sitting on the floor. I poured everything that was in the box on the floor. language of clichés
language of beauty
language of trauma
language of banality
language of architecture language of aggression
language of being a child
language of being alive
language of acting out
language of close
language of an old woman
language of dust
language of turquoise
I had a thought, couple of words. It was perfect couple of words.
Is he just playing or what is he doing? Why do you want to play with me? I am not a toy.
breathe, in order to have faith to this interrogation of present of delinquency
Fear guides me, that is what I trust. Battle that cannot be won, but it has to be fought. Deliberate subversion unraveled with such speed. Enraged, cloudy, earthly, muddy, dark, behind and under, in
experiencing historical ontology of me, of ourselves, of that other I see and don’t, verifying existence via cruelty, inner must of terror which drives me. Fear that keeps me going. Abomination, afraid when
afraid always, keeping me alert, a pulled string, pulling
ReificationQ Xhyperreality
Oh there is so much I don’t know. Tame landscape making all places alike.
Disposition
Infinitude and a day
speculations on eternity and nothing
a frozen girl at one corner of a busy street. There is never enough one can do.
My heart was as if someone was pounding the front door. I checked.
There was no one there but a bloody dog.
the trigger wire for the bomb that had exploded earlier in the day a place like N
Many of the men who disappeared recited verses, sand on and under, in and all over,
They never saw them again, they never heard of them again, no need to find hidden meanings in there
Of course some knew what was happening,
It was as if the men had vanished. blown away. it is like some people are more valuable than others. Who is to decide? Whose task it is to know?
they searched for,
had been searching for the DHM,
deep hidden meaning, to look for
fingerprints of the men with explosives
bullet-riddled body
demolished
the orchard’s walls,
the trigger wire for the bomb that had exploded earlier
here the shooting of a child is unremarkable for everyone
here brain stains on the wall is normal
decaying body, human jaw on the ground
after America’s 13-year war in Afghanistan officially comes to an end.
http://www.rollingstone.com/feature/a-team-killings-afghanistan-special-forces#ixzz2juNTE6jx
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