Wednesday, March 22, 2006

but I must live live, though I have died twice

Personal acts of resistance is the word I wanted to use. Turn the flesh inside out, ripped apart to remains a damp clods of earth, laid well away from the overworked, well groomed furniture store’s breeding multiples. Let immovable resolve implode on bended knees while the millions sharpen their hearing of slaughter and decay get covered by the fattened crust of neglect. Hear the fertile black silence mourn dead. Know there is no trumpet finally, only the struggle to remember to struggle, discarding the utopian ideal, that died begging for release into placebos alter ego’s alter, begging for respect in the symbolic horizons florescent glow.


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