"Let these now be para-noetic strategies to restore a sense of self, transfigure destinies emergent through psychic and somatic experience of architectonic place, space,time, and heighten sensitivity to the liquidity of surface and kinesthetic non-locality withideas that engage theses of the Cosmos, to espouse a thriving socius/polity; still somewhat of a mirage perhaps, but an audacious shimmering bridge between wave and particle, by far the two august languages of reciprocity." --Lissa Wolsak
"The miserable
The day is about to come; wind
up your arm, look for yourself under
the mattress, stand again
on your head, to walk straight.
The day is about to come, put on your coat.
The day is about to come; grip
your large intestine tight in your hand, reflect,
before you meditate, for it is horrible
when misfortune falls on one
and one's tooth falls thoroughly.
You have to eat, but, I tell myself,
do not grieve, for grief and graveside
sobbing do not belong to the poor;
mend yourself, remember,
trust your white thread, smoke, call roll
on your chain and keep it behind your portrait.
The day is about to come, put on your soul.
The day is about to come; they go by,
they have pened an eye in the hotel,
lashing it, beating it with one of your mirrors...
are you trembling? It is the remote state of your forehead
and the recent nation of your stomach.
They're still snoring... What a universe is carried away by this snore!
And in what state your pores are left, on judging it!
With so many twos, my god! how alone you are!
The day is about to come, put on your dream.
The day is about to come, I repeat
through the oral organ of your silence
and it is urgent to take the left with your hunger
and to take the right with your thirst; in any case,
abstain from being poor with the rich,
stir
your cold, for my warmth becomes part of it, beloved victim.
The day is about to come, put on your body.
The day is about to come;
the morning,the sea, the meteor, go
after your weariness, with banners,
and, because of your classic pride, the hyenas
count their steps to the beat of the jackass,
the baker's wife thinks about you,
the butcher thinks about you, groping
the ax in which the steel
and the iron and the metal are imprisoned; never forget
tht during Mass there are no friends.
The day is about to come, put on your sun.
The day is now coming; double
your breath, triple
your rancorous goodness
and scorn fear, nexus and emphasis,
for you, as one can observe in your crotch, the evil man
being, god! immortal,
have dreamed tonight that you were living
on nothing and dying from everything..."
--Eshleman & Barcia's Vallejo
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