Tuesday, August 22, 2006

mETEMPSYCHOSIS*

I awoke scribbling in the stockyard of my thoughts, a binary of tropisms and gabble. I await the final metempsychosis, the transcendent lollygag that will send me careening into the next millennium, perhaps further: Quantum mechanics, or a good sturdy slide-rule, or a loose wheel on a child’s bicycle, or tinkering with a splashguard, or chewing Black Cat gum until your jaw hurts.

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"Poetry is the short-circuiting of meaning between words, the impetuous regeneration of primordial myth". Bruno Schulz