( via / via )

Out-onions the Onion.

  "My chest wants and does not want its color,
through whose rough paths I am going, I cry with stick,
I try to be happy, I cry in my hand,
I remember, I write
and rivet a tear into my cheekbone.

  Evil wants its red, good its redness reddened
by the suspended ax,
by the trot of the wing flying on foot,
and man does not want, sensitively
does not want this;
he does not want to be lying down
in his soul, with horn throbs in his temples,
the bimanous one, the extreme brute, the extreme philosopher.

  Thus, almost I am not, I fall down
from the plow on which I help my soul
and almost, in proportion, I almost exalt myself.
To know why life is such an utter bitch
why I cry, why,
browbig, unfit, fickle, I was born
shouting;
to know this, to comprehend it
to the sound of a competent alphabet
would be to suffer for an ingrate.

  And no! No! No! Neither trick, nor ornament!
Anguish, yes, with a firm and frenetic yes,
coriaceous, rapacious, want and no want, sky and bird;
anguish, yes, with all my pants' fly.
Struggle between two cries, theft of a single chance,
painless path on which I endure in clogs
the velocity of walking around blindly."

--Eshleman & Rubia Barcia's Vallejo

Wish You Were Here.

"...isn't accelerationism precisely this, the currency of partially deployed virtualities?" --Cute Accelerationism

Una matica de ruda.