Surrealist gesture

The death of an actor (sad or pathetic clown?)

Prop my bones up in a cage and push it out onto the stage.

Place a top-hat atop my pile of skin and pontificate about my dreary end.

Feed my meat to the starving priests who only got one little boy last week.

Communion wafers fill the seats… watching and waiting for tongues with which to meet

My audience is ferociously deceased and not afraid to laugh in between syncopated beats.

Every final line repeatedly spoken through exquisite whines and cries.

A prison full of holocausts and criminals absolved of their crimes.

And herein lies the rub. Herein lies it all.

Stub your cigarette out on the horse’s ankle; the one that violent, red conquistador is riding in your dream.

The apes of god will eat the plump and juicy grubs dancing through our hair. The apes of god will pick our heads clean. So please, proselytize to the paralyzed amongst you. Grab every cripple by their withered limbs and dance on top of them while inventing medicines sworn to cure their life-long ailments.

One of many Beatrice’s in one of many infernos…

Ferdinand enveloped in his night, Barbusse’s nameless narrator peering through his crack.

Allusions to literary metaphor.

Silent, scarlet picking though this grand new year, an optimistic premise promised with sickening cheer. So please, pull up a chair and take a stand for all grand intentions. List your resolutions then kindly re-arrange them. Departmentalize your wicked wonton ways, tell me all about yourself but spend the most time on the things you hate. Pull out all your inefficacious and ridiculous disguises; put on a simple act but perform it with abandon. Put your heart and your soul into the fire. Burn your thoughts before you think them, burn them up and take their stink in. But also, please help to convince me that I’ve not quite dried up; started to whither and wilt away, sinking into dust, the ground, any biological unbecoming that proves I’ve built and retained nothing. The pacific coast out there glitters like a sea of bitter diamonds, you’ll gladly cut yourself to shreds attempting to swim through it… yet we limply sit along its banks as it laps at our backs and only damply disappoints them.

Oh, this tragic search for the infinite…

A new year begins. So what have we done and where exactly are we going? What have we done and where are our allegiances. Will we stop running through the night, naked and vomiting? When can we stop pretending and simply live the way we want to? If action is desired then action must be taken, led as a lamb to slaughter to purify us heathens.