watching doors close from a distance (n3cr0ph0bia0l0gy)

he runs into my apartment,
screaming:
"Tomorrow is here and her name is Agency!"
sonofabitch, get out of here, i say,
i'm working.
i'm trying.
He turns to me and smiles
as if to ask
how deep is a groove
before it's a rut.



are you eating well?
are you speaking and thinking simultaneously?
have you heard about the intermediate states?
have you seen a moth the size of a bat?
have you been so stricken by reality that you find yourself in a city?

with neofreakpower,
there is no hook.
there are no hummingbirds.

nomen nesco is not striving for clear lucidity. or lucid clarity.
clearly, there is no such thing as this!
he's not trying to be obscure, i heard he's trying to think! (trying)

collisions are chaotic!
collisions have no princible,
but they are moralists,
the bastards!

this polemic isn't a spirial

its the beating of the horse by the pig while nietz weeps beside:

i remember the first time i saw a power-point eulogy.
mmm. the modern remembrance.
digital ossification.

i must have been 17 and i was in a small high-school on the eastern boarder of pennsylvania.
i remember the tech kid, before the assembly, asking the speaker - "do you have the cd that it's on?"

now, the school is gathered.  we've just come up from watching a car explode in a mock drunk driving accident. oh there were firetrucks and cops and EMTs and the driver was this over achieving soccer player a grade below me. somehow we are meant to process this.  i remember people crying.
when the kid got out of the car, he was sure to kick out a bunch of the empty beer cans that had been set at his feet.  he's got the starring role.  he's really leaning into the slur when he talks to the cop:  "i don't know what happened, officccsser." the girls were loving it.  i bet he's getting sucked off tonight.

but now we are in the auditorium.  i am watching a woman click through slides of her son who died in a drunk-driving accident three years prior.  there are stock graphics from the turn of the 21st century: angels, crosses, wings flapping, pictures of her son.  he was so promising, and an athlete.  pictures of the accident.
the place is sobbing. i'm looking around.
image after animation after statistic.
every 15 minutes someone dies in a drunk driving accident.
i remember thinking, every 15 seconds someone dies from aids in africa.

i remember saying to a teacher friend, isn't this shit?
i remember him asking, would be shit if your brother died in a drunk driving accident when he was seven and your parents, in some ways, blamed you for living and it fucked up everything.
he gave me a look.
or it's what happened to me.
he looked down.

mothafucker had me.

he was recently fired from his post for asking a rained-on freshman if he had made her that wet.

shit.

i guess he hadn't.







i've come this far.
that's reason enough.
right?