Titled

give me my body bag i need my goddamn toe-tag put me in the drawer or sing the answers/ … car-trunk! put me on ice, pull the plug disconnect, desecrate, recreate retrospection is overrated everything happened but not in two words, you only have two words ‘right now’ but not those words not words hahaha you know i am king in the deck of cards hahaha you know i read ecclesiastes hahaha you know i’m dead hahaha you know i’m dead as the universe, posthumous repeating music of the helping hand of hell dispatched to dispense with the matter of all the matters. the ultimate circumstance i am not in the realms of. mind: the gap. is it not apparent. are you not a sleight Ashamed? hahaha, ashamed. you said it not me. ‘you don’t love me.’ you never loved me, i’m a monster of your imagination’s dread reflex impulse inexorable we kept going we said things, ‘hahaha’. thing. what a wonderful all-purpose word to describe the goings-on between us, we were ‘having a thing’. her thing and my thing. the ‘it’. thing. is it you that’s starting to forget, or is it me that has already reminded you to, and you remember with this sentence all alone in the closet of your ideal, in the shadow of your shadow the secret hole inside the hole of every head that’s graying eyes where we expense with our nonexistence yes we’re digging our graves, but from the inside out we’re digging ourselves up. we are going to be exhumed in the aftertime. you will not disagree; you will see it, if you had lived to. but the chances were less than one and two that it will take you to the 2022. bet on the blood of your ancestors. you know the odds of even my generation ever seeing the light. are few. (and even less far between, on the quantum end-Ed.) and thank god we’re for that. this is most decadent and ethically indecent generation yet to live in earth’s recent memory. the most overgrown maladaptive and malign smash and grab scab of benign dissimulation the budding tumor had ever known? it wasn’t due to a partial aphasia. it wasn’t reactive attachment disorder. it wasn’t her answer over yours. and it wasn’t about the color of your lipstick or who she left it on last. there will be no maudlin coda to this i sing the electric dialectic of the embodied mind in the modern day. particularly the pollution of self-conversational dissociation in every circumstance, which i am… born of the kind of headache you almost pity, that would be lost without you. Published March 23rd, 2022 by DON’T SUBMIT. Read on MLC March 25th, 2022