ORACLE III

we kissed by the oil refinery—thusly stars bore their children—there’s two ways we could go about this—jump off—or hover there, as seamen approach a building—that aside, the cadence of my voice stays appealing to my friends—so we should act soon, lest others emerge—how does one know which direction to propel oneself toward?—despite chances of heavy thunder—played is what we did—down in the great species of image lies the lowercase “e”—meaning coordination of moving parts to a whole—is for sure possible—I’m leaving out the “ripple” in meaning these days—we are either schizophrenics or melancholics, and everything rests upon our notion of the party—I’ve always said socialists need to be social—because I’m ante-festum, I like to call this boy “partner”—I stand in liquid light, like everyone—one fine day—in harmonium—we will fill pails with little crabs—rightly—though today, there are are tasks to attend to—like, back to the business of getting down—the spelling of “embarassment” being indicative of one’s character—like, the signature sound of frogs—multiplicitous in non-meaning—I’ll be institutionalized and see the truth, yeah—I forgot—forgot to say—saw you yesterday—in the middle of the game, you disappeared to chase fire trucks—you bore a striking resemblance to my dog

CONVERSATIONAL

I’m jealous
of the “now of
recognizability.”
There’s always
an allegory
to be mined from
the bottle cap
on the floor.
Rather than
string something
together, I promise
to attempt to
rethink the same
thought over
and over.
Who’s
that. I say
at the party.
Who’s that.
I say at
the party.
Who’s—The
merely
temporal
has nothing
to do with
truth! Consider
the stank
in here how
it grows
like roads.
I find her
at the party feeling
“shoresy.” She’s
a friend of
Amy’s. Likes
a clip-on tie. Got
the purity of one
red balloon
in the sky. Time,
I lied, behaves
worm-ish, so no
use in discussing
further. A fact
I’d like to
share tonight
is that I like
to have fun.
Well, I like it some. She
likes to look
at me, but I’ve
been looked
all I care for
this eve. We agree
that the building holds
the simultaneity
of nerd rock. The
potential for lawyers
from Winnipeg.
The image,
as you know,
only becomes
accessible
to legibility
at a particular
moment in time,
different from
the moment
in time that Germans
translate as ‘now.’
Eloquent noise
of her shuffling.
I’m left
looking down.
I apologize for doubting
the historicity of
the one-shoulder
crop top. Only sometimes
does mortification
come to me
in the mass
romanticism of stuff
like that there.
Checking an email
for its essence.
The potential
for lust on the teevee.
My favorite song
devolves into some
lame sculpture
of another song,
like a punishment
wherein I’m
relegated
to seeing
the world from
a dog-cone.
I pray from
now on to always
hear the chatter
of everyone I
love. There’s
rooms and
many others, with us
standing
in ‘em. At
some point
the sounds all
converge into one.

LIFE WITHOUT BUILDINGS

I was fated to drink a lot of coffee today, says a baby
who would like to be named Angel of the Blue Morning.

It’s impossible to hold onto the visual field this way, says our artist.

This is a collective unconsciousness, so the systems in charge of determining our health and
wellbeing are on hold.

The “on” switch lies motionless like one captured by a perfectly circular toy.

We’re having our artist draw up renditions of what may be Angel’s most newly desired rattle.
This may or may not differ from that which is currently in use up above.

The “off” switch would like to say “I love you” to someone
on the radio, but can not, out of a crippling and childlike fear of rejection.

We, on the other hand, would like to say “hello” and move like crazy to our favorite song.

The problem is we are not yet aware of our favorite song.

Our artist creates a data visualization of all the possible songs that may or may not exist.

I just fell down and cried, says the baby, upon confronting
the visual field which stakes claim to his body and mind.

This baby is not named Angel of the Blue Morning.

Whether he would like to be named Angel of the Blue Morning remains unclear.