subjunctive rearticulation project

With a hollow ribcage, my throbbing skeleton continues on a tourist outside, headlong into an apex of pity, and anger. A parable strewn with corpses on cash register trail. But first, I must tell you of the million dead children, the amazing fast food nation of shrinking bodies, eyes burnt for the privileged and let us not forget, forced fed through metal pipes, fattened Pate de foie gras, beast called geese. But that is another story, another register and I must pass onto more plausible explanations by the text, where plausibility is plural in triplicate, with surrender to customs for approval, paid off government officials for expedience and turning a blind eye from the shifting wall of living subjects. The throbbing continues, there is a morning call to prayer, an encasement of a village by sound waves, and all this could explain the sequence in various ways; the quest, the novelty, the island episodes with its three part mini series, or for the semi-cultured, girl Friday volunteer opportunities.

We all occupy an indeterminate space between human, animal and space. The earth is a temporary dwelling with no foundational name. Words are loosing there mode of existence. The next day is dress-up day, each day the performance goes on. There is the guardian of walking eyes, hieroglyphs, ideograms, or is there a secret that they hold no secret at all? Each a scrupulous effort at decoding or deciphering, being its own structural possibility of nothing, putting the past in tupperware sealability, writing whose test is whose; the national hero or the European cannon, the saint or the demi-god, the myth on the alter or a plastic jesus postcard, or a fixed floating nightmare of conscious existence, which can neither be classed as an illusion or existence, but reality throwing itself into mutable forms. A neither is and the many, another throbbing dawn pale blue sky.