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moving blind
03:41
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5. |
cultish mourning
04:44
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In cults they say language adopts an obscure style. As if each word carries a secret cause. And so signification contorts and twists, and equivocates. And so it all lacks stability, a spiraling duration.
And in cults they say bodies become dependent. Not on each other, but upon a motion or some spun metaphysic. So it isn’t so much a sacrifice or a suicide...He said to the woman in mourning.
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I’m naked in the rain
Atop that ruined pyramid
You talked about from dreams
That comedy of death
With the hermit huddling in the cave
Shivering isolation
Enshrouded in the piling bones
Divine Light descending
Arrow Heads and Ugarit.
Blood rhyton. Pessoa dances and drinks
You heard the triplicated prayer of the Sandhyas,
In that waking salvocean.
the protomartyr’s blood spilt and the stonethrower’s arms fatigued;
You could feel the decomposition: dying breath’s of world made self.
And the northward poet stood inkstained,
His body wet, his lips motionless
Blood rose from his eyes to his forehead
That one madman dancing at the center of the verse.
And soon the hunting will clear the forest.
A culling force
And soon the hunting will clear the forest.
A culling force
And hidden life will forget itself.
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9. |
florid time & caryatids
06:55
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And I can’t escape those sighs
And the black wooden enclouding
And dark mystic lies
Of pure inconceiving
The self-effacing night
Long long long long long long long long
Sun flushed with blood
And a globe eating nothing
Devour time and space
And man is still nothing
There’s a flower on the mountain
Long long long long long long long long
Sun flushed with blood
And a globe eating nothing
Devour time and space
And man is still nothing
There’s a flower on the mountain
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