(1.) I Position
Myself throughout this continual “Speaking in the Present” in which, I am Fixed
(2.) On The
Other Hand: I’m Affixed into this
Place, yet, I’m only Rehearsing how I
will Wiggle out of this Skin, when she Emerges, just to the Left, of my House
(3.) Into the Short Story came the long Production of
Chicago’s Masterpiece, of what some call, Winter
(4.) “Oh, there-there,
it’s really going to be OK”
(5.) The Scratch that Began to Begin to a possible Act
(6.) OXß----------------------------------------------------------------------àOX
(7.) “Wait…”
she Said; perhaps Pertaining to the
Silence slumped into our Bed
(8.) What we find, is the Phenomenon of the Absence of an Audience, which Grasps the specifically Human Experience
of seemingly “Wasting Time” in which,
my Reflective Capacity is next to nil; that is: offering
my own experience, of Life, as an Object of Dying in Thought, and thus an
Object which therefore makes my Dying, all
the more Rare, but also, makes my Life all the more in the Thrōs of an Economy.
However: whether the Drive is
of Desire or Excess or Raging-Against
my own Judgment, depends, I Suppose, on Whether
or Not, I End up “Coming Early.”
(9.) “Aye—[!]
Here Comes the Dumbshit that is
always Rambling-On about fucking “Economy”
(10.) In Other Words:------------àI’m Extending a Foreclosure on Possible Meanings
(11.) There is a Great Providence in the wop of my Marrow
(12.) The
more Open an Intimacy, the more likely it is to become Lazy. The more Closed
(-Off) an Intimacy, the more likely it is to Fail to notice its own being
Lazing, even when, Confronted with
its own blū Face, somberly, out of Breath.
(13.) In
Other Words: I have such Grave Doubts as to the Veracity of my own Desires
(14.) The Story that Begins: “My Life was Beginning to get Shorter just as my Hair was
Beginning to Recede”
(15.) And
This was a Lie, for:------àif this (it) were to begin to Recede, then the Speculation, would be,
that there was an Emergence, of a Notion,
that this Sequence was Nearing the Edge of----à“Baby Girl, this be
Over.”
(16.) Oh:-------à“There is still
Tomorrow” She Said: “There is still
Tomorrow” She Said: “There is still
Tomorrow” She Said: “There is still
Tomorrow” She Said: “There is still
Tomorrow” She Said: “There is still
Tomorrow” She Said: “There is still
Tomorrow” She Said: “There is still
Tomorrow” She Said: “There is still
Tomorrow” She Said: “There is still
Tomorrow” She Said: “There is still
Tomorrow” She Said: “There is still
Tomorrow” She Said: “There is still a
Still.”
(17.) And When does, that become, “Called-Out”
as a Lie, or at the very least, a
Fib—[?]
(18.) On
Sunday, Turn to Me, when you Feel, you will Find, as you See, me Here, reading
Genet, yet thinking, about the Spring, the Sun, the Skin and “Opening Day, in Chicago,
The White Sox, 2013.”
(19.) And Although: We Might not Make It: I Must still,
Figure out a Way, to Carry you, to your Birthday
(20.) I
Will one Day Lose Sight of this and so much More
