Space Between

I live for long stretches of tundra time in Zombieville - sleepwalking down the commuter highway - I want I want - I need I need - there is no conclusion until whatever ends - ends - the highway seductive in its glissando anomie - numb voiceless and errant - the errors proclaim - emptiness triumphs like stacked sheets of paper waiting to be Xeroxed - it’s all being copied and recopied replication DNA and RNA sexual couplings in test tubes there is no fertility in the fertility rites the children are murdered before they can be conceived - we are - what we are - what are we but cannibals - feeding off the lost souls who wander through our offices - who wander thru our selves who do not wander but plod mercilessly - the human realm reduced to machine robotics hyper cyber spaces that don’t exist anywhere we have entered the mind of electronic quanta - we are herded by shepherds of awesome technology - we have been handed platitudes and hunch - we are nowhere not even here - the person fictive I believe I am is not anything but illusion a shimmering conception like conceptions of space as Space - it doesn’t exist there is no there there or here here where it all falls in on itself and collapses into maudlin sentimentalities of oh poor me self pity and racking tensions in my neck and throat - I speak in platitudes - in monotones - I speak in echoes in reverberations like a shadow cast by the voice of my interlocutor - I do not exist as Rimbaud said I is other - I am not my self or A Self I am fiction the pain is real is momentary passes like a truck on the highway to cyberspace information is a tidal wave consuming the whole civilization like a giant garbage dump there is no difference between one thing and another plug in tune on tune out the real is a fiction nowhere is here where we are and we can’t grasp it it is our own condition we can’t see it because we are lost in a woods of words and images reconstructions of the machinery of repression of manufacturing ideologies and mass entertainment the big land grab has transformed itself into a media pyramid the pharaohs sit at the apex with their blind A-seeing eye and gorge themselves with the wishes and aspirations of all the children to be just like them to grow up to be Cindy Crawford or Michael Jordan or Madonna of the crossroads there is no way out of the madness we are all possessed by and mostly deluded into the worst madness of all believing we are not crazy that nothing is wrong that suicides happen because of chemical imbalances that the brain is the seat of the mind and there is no difference my headache has moved into my neck and my whole body is about to vomit out civilization I don’t believe in anything anymore there is no hope there is no illusion there is no such thing as human understanding or love is just a four letter word my teenage dreams die hard I’m fifty years old and still trying to grow up to see things the way they really are and it seems impossible because it just keeps changing mutating and getting appropriated by media moguls so we stand on shifting sand for a limited time and wonder when and if there’s any more to it than what we see thru veils of illusion the webs of Maya the Maya of iconic sadness music masterpieces of ecstatic longing pain and unbearable grief the colors of paintings we gaze at for a few minutes before lapsing back onto the highway of living death thru Zombieville

Notes

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