I got to remember John Cages Ive nothing to say and Im saying it mantra when Im editing this shit. I used to live by that. I wrote this a year ago. I got about another 800 words to go. what are words for but to work on killing people one way or another: When the Milkweed Blows You were trying to disappear somewhere, Harrar, Bolivia with the footwear of saints and a pair of six guns. My shadow followed your haymaker sky like a chariot of mistletoe, like a half-moon of pink card games, like a Magna Carta of freaks right out of Hieronymus Bosch. It couldn’t stop collecting the debris of Lucha Libre. It was a barber shop quartet of teratorns. And that’s why it’s a shadow and not a commodore of Christmas carols. There was no civilization from which to borrow sugar. There were no bad apple orchards in the attic, no catenae with wings, no Chinese lanterns sketched by the wind. The strings of the guitar were just ghost beneath the mimosas struggling to remember the taste of peaches. The girl was a kind of exotic glass. The sort you can never keep safe.
Posted on: Fri, 25 Jul 2014 04:22:10 +0000
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