Stowaway in Elysium

I will speak on in a body dusted down by years upon years, prompted so by birth and the meanderings I’ve walked and stumbled and crawled and disappeared into and held in my hand caressing what little events I inherited, what is germane to my having been, future reader, who knows nothing of pages or seeing. I will evoke a scene no brain knows of. The flattery of it is I can. And here we begin with a set-up I expended four million neurons conceiving and stole nothing from and I tell you they shivered behind my eyeballs and I almost heard something, almost engraved a dictionary in the walls for their use I’d make a complex at. What sublimity ever stroked this Earth I first stoked for thinking and laid in, dreaming, never breathing, turning with alchemy into things I stood on once and walked with once and once stopped all my doings and goings? Dead, my brain learned the making of its time, which is a syllable it stored somewhere wrong, and learning of its time my brain strung-out on having been cleared away from my skull and thoughts of egocentricity I wore like a habit of my species, dead as a governing mathematic. In how the newness of our having been developed between the trees eating the Earth and the plagues wanting first our feet, then our pleasures, then our having been, I have evoked a placenta to a vulgar mind, a nothing to another, a forgotten dream to me, a running for the two-legged and reason enough to consider.


~ by Jeremy on June 14, 2012.

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