Chick
Revelstoke was a Hercules among men. He would pretzel inch bore steel tubes as
idly as yours truly would snap spaghetti strands.
Laughter
distant slid closer and closer. From around the streetcorner appeared Chick
Revelstoke who was the source of the laughter. We watched him laughing. It was
amusing to us that Chick Revelstoke was laughing so much. The laughter became
infectious. Chick Revelstoke kept walking past us, with a worried look on his
face. We kept laughing though we knew there was something terrifying in the
air. Chick Revelstoke disappeared around a streetcorner. Still we laughed,
terrified.
We
were still on the street four days later, still laughing, and still terrified.
We wanted Chick Revelstoke to return. How could he abandon us in our time of
need? Televisions were on in shop windows but we could not hear what they were
reporting about Chick Revelstoke. It was top story, but we couldn't hear the
reporter.
The
sidewalk was slick with the blood we were coughing up as we laughed in terror. Fear. Whatever happened to Chick Revelstoke? Was he dead?
That seemed certain.
We
all passed out and awoke some hours later. We started crying, tears on blood.
*
‑I
saw a very beautiful woman the day before yesterday.
‑Oh yeah? Where?
‑In
‑I
don't remember anyone.
‑Don't
you remember? We had to get off her step so she could get out her door.
‑Did we? I don't remember that.
‑I
would give up remembering everything else if I was promised I would remember
her alone.
‑Oh really? Tell me about her.
‑First
thing I noticed was her teeth. One of them looked black and rotten. She was
much too thin, wearing a red shirt and sloppy slacks. She didn't even notice
us. She had seen the guy waiting for the bus with us and she rushed to him. He
greeted her and she kind of grunted out an answer.
‑Grunted out an answer?
‑That's
when I realized she was deaf, and she'd probably been deaf since birth. Her
thin arms kept getting close to him. A couple minutes later he said, "No,
I don't have a phone." Her hair didn't look none
too clean either. That's when the bus came.
‑Okay. So. I don't
get why you're calling her so beautiful.
‑It's
because she was so completely, completely, in love.
*
Time Lost of Search In
When time and
I were young, when George C. Scott,
When Bette
Davis, Burton-Taylor, filled the sky,
When every
other Saturday we'd see a Fred
MacMurray
Disney picture, and we thought
We'd never
have to ever wonder why
There'd come a
day when all we dream is dead.
I had a dream and
in it
(My cat) down
to the cellar, to the grime
To play quite
kittenish and coy, had fled;
Awake I
realized with touching woe
The cellar was
destroyed ago some time,
(There'll come
a day when all we dream is dead),
And
December last,
and thus I'd dreamed about
A
pet and place, both gone to me, in bed.
Each day that
passes passes on some great
Old actor
who's replaced by some young lout:
There'll come
a day when all we dream is dead.
Tonight
there's little chance that I will dream
About this
I'll dream of
boyhood
That for some
twenty years I haven't seen.
The world is
dying slow, I know this best:
There comes a
day when all we dream is dead.
*
The
sudden death of David Cronenberg, after I screened a good dozen of his movies,
interviewed him and stabbed him, lowered me into a morass of nostalgia that
begins, naturally enough, at the Nostalgic Cinema that was once located above
the Kingsway Theatre on Bloor Street West, with the small library of film books
that were on a shelf off the lobby in a little room built for the Thursday
orgies.
And
who can ever forget the four-floor Cinerama Cinema at Yonge just south of
Bloor, with its five-dollar entrance fee and unlimited access to its continuous
showings of the famous and the obscure on nine screens of various dimensions
all on show without schedules to be had, even by or for the projectionists?
I
remember being there one evening when, after stumbling into a room wherein was
being projected the third reel of Long Day's Journey into Night (1962) followed
by the first reel of Alice in Wonderland (1976), I witnessed Alan Thicke
pitching to
It
is indeed a small--head-sized--world.
*
At
the Don jail, sometime in the late 1940s or early 1950s, a counsellor named
Grant counselled robbers and killers alienated by the post-war peace. Where
were they to go, what were they to do? Grant counselled one such bank robber,
plus his friends, who went by the name of Boyd.
"Boyd,"
said Grant, "Get out of the city. Small communities are much more
welcoming. You could adjust to life there. For example, I have a cottage in
Boyd
thanked Grant for the advice.
A
few weeks or a few months later, Boyd and his new friends, using a hacksaw
hidden inside one friend's artificial leg, managed to escape the Don jail in
the dead of night. They went north, along the river.
It
was at that moment that Boyd remembered his counsellor's advice.
Obtaining
an automobile, the Boyd "Gang" (as they came to be known), arrived in
The
bullet holes in the walls are today a popular tourist destination.
Grant's
son, John Grant, told me this story.
*
My Perversions
My
alarm went off at
I
took a shower, made my lunch (sandwich + banana), and got dressed. Then it was
time to go.
On
my way to work I realized I could use what John Brock had told me about his
father and the Boyd Gang as one of my stories. (I also want to write something
about a dog, but it's simply not in my head yet.)
Work
was busy, but I managed to write about the Boyd Gang anyway.
At
The
afternoon was busy.
It
was raining when I left work so I changed my route so I got least wet.
Mary
cooked up some chicken + string beans for dinner. The chicken was especially
good.
We
sat on the couch to watch some television: some more
Mary
has gone to bed. I'm listening to Otello and writing this.
Maybe
it's time for some Civilization V. Hey ho!
*
In
the saloon's backroom, Edgar and Louie were filling Jacob in on the plan.
Edgar
said, "Plan starts with us leaving for the airport at
Jacob
was making a face. "Problem there is ... I'm not really a morning person."
Louie
nodded. "I guess we can make it nine. The loot'll be being held in
storage. It ain't going anywhere. Okay."
Edgar
said to Jacob, "You'll be in a security guard's uniform. You'll....
What?"
Jacob
said, "Ehh, I'm not really a uniform
person. Not my style."
Louie
said, "We can deal with that somehow."
Edgar
continued, "Once inside, you put the bags on the baggage car....
What?"
Jacob:
"Mmm, I'm not really a lifting
person."
"The
next bit's crucial. At the hideout, we have hide out
for two weeks."
"Indoors
you mean?"
"Um, yes."
"Gee,
I'm not really an indoors person."
"I
see. Jacob, can you go fetch us some coffee?"
"I'm
not really a fetching person."
"Can
you do it anyway?"
Jacob
sighed. "Okay."
He
left.
Edgar
and Louie were quiet for a bit. Edgar shifted some papers. Louie checked out
the ceiling. Then Edgar said, "I really think we should consider switching
temp agencies."
*
‑You
have to tell me what's wrong, I said as Mike dumped twenty or so of his compact
disks off the side of the boat.
He
reached around for more, from the box, saying, It's
not something you'll ever be able to understand.
I
didn't dare approach him. The dishes were gone, the cutlery was gone, all the
glasses were gone, but he hadn't touched the lifeboat yet. Are you going to
throw everything in the drink?
He
took the box into the navigation room. I could hear metal clattering and glass
breaking. He came out with the emergency radio and the big-deal compass he was
so proud of.
‑It's
all gotta go, he muttered.
I
went aft to the lifeboat. The discussion was over. I pulled the cord and tied
it up. I went into the mess to put whatever food and stuff I could find into a
bag.
He
was throwing out sheets and blankets when I shoved off and started rowing. From
a distance I saw him knocking down the mast and dumping it. I'll never know
why. Then the boat appeared to sink. Maybe it disappeared below the horizon. It
looked like it sank. Maybe not.
*
Dewey Class 519 Applied Mathematics
"It
is a dark and stormy night," said Ned to Jones, "and kind of
cold."
Jones
pounded his desk. "It's not cold enough!" Having not received a
response immediately enough, Jones pounded his desk some more.
"Boss,
what's up?"
"Need
I remind you we are employed by the Global Cooling Initiative? And if we can't
manufacture some science saying the world is cooling we'll be back to turning
tricks in Keswick?"
Ned
thought about it. "I'll be right back."
Ned
was right back, with a bed-sheet spread-sheet.
"Look.
According to this chart, there's no
cooling. But look at my chart. It's
clearly cooling!"
"How'd
ye do that?"
"I
extrapolated measurements minute-by-minute for this year."
"And
compared them to minute-by-minute for the past hundred years?"
Ned
shook his head. "That data doesn't exist. So I had to ... wait for it ... make estimates!"
Jones
clapped his hands. "I fucking love science!"
Ned
pointed to his chart. "Look at this downward trend!"
"It's
like I'm ... I'm literally speechless! Hello,
Ned
touched his nose. "Granularity, Jones. It's all in the granularity."
"Excellent.
You've saved my bacon mightily. And then some."
"All
in a day's worky."
*
The Border Collies
Nash,
blue merle, went from the kennel into Control at 2000. He logged on and checked
the infrared metrics for the border. Something was unusual in sector 229-GA9.
As he started his granulation, Suttie, a brown and white with one blue and one
brown eye, barked, "You missed all the fun."
Nash
barked, "What happened?"
"The
rakshasas sent out a troop of reconnoitre. Never seen so many
eyes and limbs in my life. We send out a squad to let them know what's
what."
"Stupid rakshasas. Anyplace around
sector 229-GA9?"
"Not
even close. Why?"
Nash
pawed the mouse. "Rakshasas might have been a ruse. What's the word on the
manitous?"
"What've
the manitous got to do with anything?"
Nash
and Suttie were suddenly plunged into darkness as the alarm went crazy. Over
the intercom Admiral Schwartzel, Australian red, barked, "Attention!
Massive force approaching!" as the red lights
lit.
Suttie
brought up some visuals. "Leaping Lassie, it's the manitous! Thousands of
'em! How did you know?"
As
he raced for the door Nash said, "I'm a student of probabilities."
Is
it the end of our world? Tune in tomorrow for the next episode of ... The
Border Collies!
*
Distractions from the Ten Directions
From
the north, not-distant-enough construction work with long low grinders with no
intestinal control and a legume love
From
the east, bright non-incandescent lights burning for no reason, on because
someone wants them on and will blow if you shut them off
From
the southwest, a hot breeze that won't let these pages stay where they want to
stay, i.e. under my pen
From
the south, thoughts of what never came to be and who I never became and how
I've failed everyone I know
From
the northwest, something slightly acrid like bacon on
the edge having its enzymes ripped to shreds
From
down, disgusting people sneezing - and shouting before they sneeze because
they're not self-important enough already
From
the west, worries about what's happening inside me these days and the idea of
death everywhere
From
the northeast, the guy who can't eat grapes without making disgusting sounds
and licking his fingers every twenty seconds
From
above, tree garbage falling from the trees every month except for dormant
January and February
From
the southeast, candy music rollercoasters funfairs sex steaks comedy
conversation electricity chocolate epics sleep coffee alcohol poker movies
politics barbecue and wine
*
For All Eternity
Around
the campfire drinking beer we were telling stories. Our Indian guide said,
"My people say that when a good man dies he awakens amongst all the women
he's ever loved."
Nick
asked, "Are they as they were when he loved them?"
"That's
what they say."
Pete
nodded. "That would be a lot of women, as far as I'm concerned."
Nick
nudged him. "But you have to be a good man. Leaves you
out."
Pete
laughed. Then, looking at me, he said, "But John there. He's Mr. Goody
Goody. He'd have lots of women."
I
looked at the fire and said, "The hundreds I never touched, and the one I
did."
Nick
muttered, "Goody goody."
Our
Indian guide said, "Our people also say a good man may be a hypocrite, and
cheap."
Pete
asked, "What does that
mean?"
Our
Indian guide got up. "Goodnight, boys. My bedroll
is calling me."
I
died later that night and I awoke amongst all the women I'd ever loved,
hundreds of them. They were begging for me. I died of fright, then and there.
Then, I woke up amongst them again, and died again, of fright, over and over
and over....
*
b/w Cities (Live Version)
The cats are
training us
The dogs are
training us
The robots are
training us
The terraces
are training us
Monday pizza
and beer hooray
Tuesday pizza
and beer hooray
Wednesday
pizza and beer hooray
Thursday pizza
and beer hooray
Friday pizza
and beer hooray
Saturday day
pizza and beer hooray
Sunday pizza
and beer hooray
The cats are
training us
The dogs are
training us
The robots are
training us
The terraces
are training us
We move like
we should
(We know it,
we know it)
We act like we
should
(We know it,
we know it)
We think like
we should
(We know it,
we know it)
We move like
we should
(We know it,
we know it)
Practice? Perfect! Practice?
Perfect! Practice? Perfect! Practice?
Perfect! Practice? Perfect! Practice?
Perfect!
I always
thought growing up would be different
I always
thought my wounds would never heal
I always
thought I'd think computers were interesting
I always
thought my wounds would always heal
The cats are
training us
The dogs are
training us
The robots are
training us
The terraces
are training us
On and on
And on and
On and on
And on and
*
Dear sirs:
I was a
participant at your 2016 'Fan Expo' as held at the Metro Toronto Convention
Centre on September second to fifth of 2016. I paid for a booth and a space
well ahead of the registration date of
I have never
felt so under-served in all my life. No-one stopped at my booth except to ask
for directions to the nearest lavatory. My banner was prominent‑Hello
Fans of 17th Century Restoration Drama‑and many
I think‑disregarding
the principle of caveat emptor‑that
I was somewhat fleeced. The customers of the expo all appeared to be devotees
of Græco-Roman epic mythologies and in some cases the Mahabharata, so were they
dressed. If I had known that I would be out-of-place to the order of some 2400
years, I may have made other plans!
So, as for you
'Fan Expo,' I must say you are advertising falsely. If I do not receive
compensation, the MLA will be informed.
*
You've
had this experience even if you attached no importance to it at the time.
You've had this experience ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen
times.
There
she is. You have noticed her. For a moment, you're thinking about her. You do
not go gaga for her, but you do notice her, whatever she looks like. It may be
the movement of a hand that you notice. It may be a particular comment she
makes. It may be that look on her face. For whatever reason you noticed that
there was a person there, a person with the ability to make you notice how
unexpected she is. You notice her, but you do not notice that you could easily
spend the rest of your life looking at her.
That
is the last time you ever see her. Perhaps it's because she moves away, perhaps
it's because you move away, perhaps it's simply because you move in different
circles. The point is you never see her again. She vanishes from your life and
you'll never know. You don't even notice she's gone really. She meant the world
to you and you didn't know it.
What
was the way she smiled? Name?
*
"The
long statement. The long quotation. It used to be everywhere, right? Check out
the first book of the Iliad. Long statements. Not
conversations. The purpose was to lay out a formal argument for a position.
They're out of fashion, and that's unfortunate. There's a pleasure to them, a
definite aesthetic pleasure. Another example, what I'm reading now, what I
think I'm reading now, the Mahabharata. The characters all make very long
speeches. One of them, in the Bhagavad Gita Parva, runs to a hundred pages.
Now, considering that the Bhagavad Gita is one of the big-deals in world literature
and religion, how can a long speech be bad? Should it be cast off? What about
the huge speeches in Job? Buh-bye Job! It's a compositional skill that's
underutilized because everyone's bought into the cult of realism. David Lynch‑who
I believe is heavily into Sanskrit‑is using long speeches these days.
Also in Hitler A Film From Germany there's a forty
minute monologue. In both cases, see: anti-realism. But how real can art be
anyway? Quotation marks: what are they? You can't hear them. All punctuation:
all anti-real. So why not utilize some long quotations?"
"If you
say so," she smoothly said.
*
In
the year of seventy two
In
the coats and the boots
Of
an
During
something like recess
(I
don't recall details)
James
Deakin tugged my sleeve
Saying,
"You got to see."
We
were both seven then.
There
was excitement in him
As
he led me to the can
The
can us younger boys used.
(The
older boys had theirs
On the other side of school.)
"You
ready for it?" he asked.
"It's
pretty incredible."
He
pointed to the last stall.
"Go.
Check it out. Amazing."
Excitedly
curious
I
pushed open the door
And
there I saw a wonder.
For
there, in the toilet,
Was
a giant wonder of nature.
"Oh
wow!" I shouted.
"It's
like two feet long!"
Do
you remember back when
You
couldn't read poems
As
you (kinda) are now?
Do
you remember how every
Day
brought new marvels
And miracles of the natural?
I've
never forgotten that day.
We
said, "Must be eight pounds!"
We
said, "The body's a marvel!"
In
the year of seventy two
Which mattered to most Oshawans
But
I was more impressed
By the everyday marvels in cans.
What
a world. What a wonderful world.
*
‑So,
you're applying for a job here.
‑Yes, I
am.
‑The
job's very specialized.
‑Yes.
‑A
headline writer.
‑Yes.
‑Let's
go through your work experience. It's very spotty.
‑I'm
hard to please.
‑You
list here first that you were a trampoline salesman.
‑I got
out of that.
‑Why?
‑Too
many ups and downs.
‑I see.
Then you tried manufacturing nuts.
‑Yes.
‑You
left because?
‑Not all
it's cracked up to be.
‑Ah. Next, you tried your hand at
theatrical management.
‑Yes, that almost worked.
‑Why'd
you leave?
‑Too
much role-playing.
‑It's a
tough market, I'm sure.
‑I'll
say! Nobody was real.
‑Then in
October 2013 you went into telemarketing.
‑And
surveys.
‑You
didn't put that down.
‑Well, I
did it.
‑And
what went wrong there?
‑I felt
I was just phoning it in.
‑Next,
you ran a chess circuit, sort of a charity.
‑Yes I
did.
‑So what
happened there? Don't tell me‑
‑You
guessed it. I got sick of all the games.
‑Next‑of
course‑you vended dirigibles.
‑That I
did.
‑Too
full of hot air?
‑You
guessed it.
‑Astonishing. You have just what we're looking for.
Welcome aboard. Consider yourself employed.
‑Well‑colour
me black and white and red all over!
*
Hello.
Good morning, Monday. This is Miss Lesser, of room hunderd and seven. And now for the news for today about the last weekend.
Yesterday president to be Hillary Clinton was fallen ill yesterday on account
of her big sympathy for the sailors that were killed long ago in
*
Things
were awful quiet when one rolled around.
I figured it was about time to weigh anchor and snooze. Bare feet
approached and the voice of Daisy said, "Hey."
I
turned around to look. I could describe her naked body here, but that's not
polite where I come from. Nevertheless I can judge it lovely for you. I nodded.
"You lose?"
"No.
Actually I won." She wasn't all that drunk. She kept getting closer till
she touched me. "Wanna do something?"
"You
should be with your friends."
She
laughed dismissively. "They're not serious. Not mature. How's the
boat?"
"She's
good."
"So,
you don't want to do anything?"
"Too old for that."
"Impossible."
"That's
done now. G'night."
I
anchored and went to my cot. I looked at my souvenirs of
*
[tutorial]
You've made it
through training, and you're ready for a fight. Your claim to the throne, you
are well aware, is legitimate. But who says you can't have some fun as you
climb to the top of the heap?
CHAPTER
The political
alliances are falling into place, and, having formed solid allegiances, your
spouse can now blaze the trail for you. No-one will ever
find the bodies, nor shall the Troll Boss rise again. After a good night's
rest, you receive an important message from the Capital....
CHAPTER TWO
You've made
it: but it's still not enough. Your spouse wields the sceptre of the kingdom,
but isn't there much more to be done?
CHAPTER THREE
The contracts
and the contacts you've accumulated let you defeat the Terrans handily, though
with plenty of blood spilled. But this does not bother you one bit, for there's
more to do....
CHAPTER FOUR
All is ready
for the final battle. Soon will come
[epilogue]
Is this a
disappointing ending? All this way up, to be felled by some minute invisible
bacteria? Were you expecting a sequel? There's no sequel. Such is real life....
*
There
is only one fact of any value. I killed someone. For most other people,
subsequent events have stolen attention from this fact. Most other people, if
they knew how and under what circumstances I did my killing, would condemn me
strongly if not for the subsequent events. I killed someone. If I end up in
court, the prosecution will surround an absence shaped like the person I
killed. I am awake and walking amongst living people. I killed someone: how can
they not know this? How can my victim have been so insignificant that vengeance
is not being actively sought? I can't think of anything else, while the world
rolls on slowly through space indifferently. I need ask no more questions. I
killed someone. Everything fades in significance. If I go to a lawyer, he or
she will explain to me how I was not responsible for my actions. If I go to
police, I will be told to go see a lawyer. No-one on earth can see it properly.
I killed someone. There is no changing that. My soul will carry it forever.
There is no place for me anymore. I'll be amongst people, sure, but forever
alone.
*
Key
Simple, really. It's all about the distance between
liberty and destiny. It's also known as the distance between good works and
faith.
"What
is going to happen to me? Can I know what is going to know what is going to
happen to me? Can I change what is going to happen to me? By how much can I
change what is going to happen to me? Why does the future feel entirely
undecided yet the past feel entirely determined? Or is it as clear-cut as that?
What is going to happen tomorrow? Will it feel inevitable in twenty-four hours?
What is this razor's edge I am upon? What is this present but that? How can I
make something of tomorrow without determining to make something of tomorrow?
How can we take it easy when this is known to us? Can I ever know if I am free
or not? When I look into your eyes, am I seeing these questions? Am I seeing
eyes asking the same questions? Are the eyes visibly frightened by this? Is
this what we want to see in eyes? Is the proof of non-solipsism that ghastly
look we catch with all our questions?"
*
His & Hers
This
afternoon I saw an older man standing on the sidewalk out front. Mary, upstairs, called down, "There's someone on the sidewalk."
So I had to do something about it.
I
went outside. "Hello." The man said, "You live here?" I
said, "Yes." He nodded. "This house is very special to me."
"Did
you live here?"
"No.
But a special someone did."
I
let him inside. "The hallway's been painted. It's been fifty years. Fifty
years. Basement door." He opened it and went
downstairs. We followed.
He
pointed to where my record shelves are. "There was a couch there." He
crossed his arms. "Ahh. Her parents were away for
the night. We had some beer. We necked. I put my hand on her woman and she put
her hand on my man. Then she opened my pants. It was like something from a
book. She put my man in her mouth. She took off her pants and I saw a woman for
the first time. She climbed on me, and put my man in her woman. I don't
remember much else."
We
were silent. Then he said, "Her name was Lee-Anne or something. What was her name?"
*
On a bus running from
We're
both dozing at books.
Behind
us, unseen, a man asking a woman if she'd like some conversation.
She
doesn't agree to go to the back of the bus, so he moves up‑two seats
behind us.
He
compliments her repeatedly. Ah, she's a
He
was a roofer, married three times. Two daughters he never sees.
Maybe
he's drunk.
Maybe
he's very drunk.
Then
it comes. Six years in prison for manslaughter. Sure, we need to hear the
story. He came home from work and found his wife in bed with a [black man]. So,
naturally, our hero struck the [black man]. "I yelled at him, 'Get the
[dickens] up! But he didn't get up.
"Six
years! They ruined my life!"
"Oh,
ha-ha, yes," she said.
Later
in the conversation he told her about his circumcised penis. "None of the
wives ever complained."
She
didn't ask to see!
In
Port Perry he got off the bus. Went into the woods. Came back.
Mary
a bit later said, "His pants were wet."
Mary
a big later said, "The bottom of my purse is wet."
What
a charmer!
*
Here's
the first contestant, it's a 1981 Pontiac Firebird, ready to eat or be eaten,
bashed and smashed, green in hue with the number 51 on the side, he's feeling
taken advantage of.
Our
next beauty is also a 1981, make and model Ford Thunderbird, listen to her rev,
big blue 45 on top and sides, on a field of pink. Overworked
and underappreciated, itching to bitch.
Third
now, a 1981 Buick Skylark, number number number number 18, he doesn't look too
enthusiastic about this thunder battle, I expect him to check out first, he's
the orange car, there's no other.
Look
here, here's our fourth, rrready to rrrumble, 1981 all over again! a Chevy El Camino, what a beaut, 14's its name, yellow, and
boy he looks angry! Seems to have an issue with number 51.
What a show!
A
black 1981 Dodge Omni, number 12 I see, getting into position. Wow, that's a
loud engine! She's got four on the floor. She's out for blood.
Last
most least, it's an '81 'Vette, black and blacker,
numberino 10. To smash or be smashed? The money's on
the former, and I'm never wrong. Will he conquer or
crash? Who knows?
*
How
long, lord, how long? There is a great darkness all around. I cannot see the
ten directions. I so cannot see my hand in front of my face I somehow doubt I
have a hand in the first place. It is all darkness, all around. The past is
shrouded in darkness. Did I eat what I ate? The future is shrouded in darkness.
Does it exist already? Will it be filled in as time allows? Will I ever know if
somewhere beyond the reach of the elements and the senses there exists some
other soul or is the stretch of space truly infinite, infinite and empty? This
inky blackness wants to seep into my bones and veins and swim up like a pregger
salmon into my heart and soul, to increase the blackness it calls its own. Am I
mistaken thinking there must be at least one other, like me or not like me, out
in the dark? I am the most tiny spot infinitesimal.
The Ace runs to another
Ace
The Wheel rolls to
another Wheel
The Ruler cannot measure
the Ruler
How far, lord,
how far? Where are the other suns, or am I the only
one?
*
The Literature of Exhaustion
The cosmos ate the uni-
Verse
And the universe ate the galax-
Y
And the galaxy ate the sol-
Ar system
And the solar system ate the Plan-
Et Earth
And planet Earth ate the cont-
Inent
And the continent ate the riv-
Er mouth
And the river mouth ate the set
Tlement
And the settlement ate the neigh-
Bourhood
And the neighbourhood ate the Fer-
Ris wheel
And the Ferris wheel ate the pass-
Enger
And the passenger ate the ear.
The ear consumed the Inner
Ear
And the inner eat ate the cer-
Umen
And the cerumen ate the kera-
Tin
And the keratin ate the ami-
No acid
And the amino acid ate the ox-
Ygen
And the oxygen ate the nu-
Cleus
The nucleus then ate the part-
Icle
And the particle ate the quark.
Quark ate particle ate nucleus ate
oxygen ate amino acid ate keratin ate cerumen ate inner ear ate ear ate
passenger ate Ferris wheel ate neighbourhood ate settlement ate river mouth ate
continent ate planet Earth ate solar system ate galaxy ate universe ate cosmos.
And that's what it's all about.
And that's what it's all about.
