WAHRHEIT I

God how I love the pale...
and every time I laid eyes on the skin of the doll and the scientific jugdments of the gnostic there I say like a crystalline world of concepts sliding and moving in clear lines but not so clear enough as to
have their ends recognizable by the naked eye
yes
there was a thought that brought me in, i was fish-like and this was at the beijing biennale
and you my friend Ernest or so I call you--
you were there
with glasses and the vainspoken beard
and thought and taught me
before your will ill spent vanished and crumbled and left nothing but a streak of dust
i was there too remember
but you said to me the NAMES like some underground book of the dead sycamore trees welcoming youto the river and me reciting the names to catch a whiff of the beyond
but the beyond was not here dark:
it was pale

god the illusion of a couple of years
the architectonics of a set of truths and its method
there was the disassembly of human soul at the operating table
the diagrams
the spaces

and a vague spirit perhaps a demon though let
us not be optimistic too much
and so i admired the shapes without colour o so fresh
o so transparent
o so water-like and still
but no emotion can do justice
and it is the annihilation of poetry itself
and there was a scape path but... narrowed down and so i failed and chained myself to the shitter planet
they call earth
they call earth to the solar system
what africa is to the earth
all so sad

all these hieratic planets looking down at us with despondence from the sky from above
with their own magnetic souls polished into spheres
and our world is still flat...

returning:
like a woman made of thought
extracting my words
not you, but what you showed to me:
they were the names
they were the memes
and i for one second some times some days felt
it "clicked" and drew the patterns and i "saw"
the "art"...

(to be continued)