Starving and disgusted. To feel like the buzzard, looking down on Death. The puke eye vieweth all. Pick a card, any card. And then
Do.
Exactly.
What.
It.
Says.
To eat cold vomit, then you shall eat cold vomit. Make a shoe from the corn husks, a horn from yon brittle root. Feel the scratches on the inside of your stomach, walking about, crawling towards the out. It's all going to come up again. Your insides are all going to be on the outside. Someone has named it, The Human Breakdown of Absurdity. This song-poem and a quarter will get you . . . . well, nothing. It will get you nothing.
From the feast of vultures the true cannibal can groom a raw religious experience. First there comes the justification. Only afterwards comes the thing justified. It only makes sense. You look to find a bullet in your heart. You must have needed it there or it would not be.
The devil's feast is always an easy fit in your stomach, this one is no exception. When good air breathes through a truly dead thing, and more good air uplifts its wings, this is what defines the slow wicked innocence of the condor. It's a hole in the good air sky filled with a rotting chill. If you taste it once you shall taste it always. It's like seeing Brother Cain help out with the barn-raising by bringing a really good cold potato pie. Every mouthful makes you deader, makes you hungrier, leaves you more fulfilled and empty. And all the while the walls just keep going up.
Please bring some cold water to sip as you watch me burn.
yow... what was the vow?
ReplyDeletei can't keep saying this, but i don't know what else to say. "you are insanely gifted."
reading you
is like eating the moment of foreboding in the opening scenes of a good horror movie. One hopes to be scared, freaked out, enthralled, transported, smashed to the ground and lifted to dizzying heights just shy of insanity. images of Dennis Hopper, Crispen Glover and zombie claws on white skin.
I can't watch that stuff anymore, but reading you gives me that old thrill -- my head pinches my brain and goose flesh pops out all over me.
i can see the cast and crew in the desert; catering and accounting has gone home for the weekend. the only ones left are the sick writer and director, the gauzy b-list heroin, the emaciated stiff-as-mud leading man, the whiskey bottle and the midget.
have to wait for the light, you know, have to keep trying to get the shot. let's do that scene again.
this post makes my skin crawl - in a most satisfying way.
You crack me up. This comment is better than 90% of my posts. You need to write some new stuff on your blog - sometimes for me when you write something it's like the 90 mph fastball hitting the bat and propelling itself 150 mph back at the source. I get some of my clearest ideas from stuff you just throw out there - like when, as in an earlier comment, you placed the phrase "starving and disgusted" in my ear. OK so it wasn't a vow - but I did resolve to make those 3 words into something of my own. So be it. I wish we could figure out a practical way to write something together - at the very least we would both end up on the no-fly list.
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