Articulating the Fragmentary

Anti-social trans-political lip service has exposed the secret of the dark symbolic reality that we share connected without contact swimming in our parodied tautologies so involuted and juxtaposed that we hardly know our ass' from a hole in the ground.

Life, the Event conceived without precedent, wipes a tear from the eye of the collective puppet, tragedy decodes existence while death obliges us time for implications and the illusion of restraint-- All we manage is opposition, violence, and seduction–we become an obscene transparency of selves, a peculiar equilibrium of flesh, something less than our dreams, something more than our fictionalized history.

Blood casts its aspersions like black shadows that rise in the distance, a storm of apprehension breeds instinctual dread, encourages the bleak phenomena of pleasure in pain, coldness in love, absence of conscience. The abandonment of substance brings false bravado, faith distilled and compressed by ignorance, the dialectic becomes an objectification by thought. The broken language of the heart dies in sublime opposition to our ruin. There is no escape from the internal fracture.

You bark sensibilities while slashing at your wrists with your invisible blade of hopelessness. Finally, you lash yourself to the burning tree until your absence becomes the point. Oh, you fools! You don't know what suffering will come!!