Bad Writing


Power


Shaman pipe.  Kilo of coke.  Tea party cell.  Woodstock.  Chinese despot.  Tibetan popinjay.  Audacity of hope.  Ring of the pope. Gabriel read the word.  Father’s only son.  Nihilism.  Punk Rock. The American Flag.  The Mexican Flag.  Culture.  Identity.  Voter Registration Card.  Lexus.  Rogaine.  Dick pills.  Gucci.  Prada. Scalpel clocks.  Timeshares.  Servants.  Haitian orphans.  Afghani orphans.  Afghani opium.  Opium palace.  MNE.  “Do it now.” “ASAP.”  Stoploss.  Draft.  Hegemony.  Irony.  History.  Corea. Death drive.  Love of life.  Narcissus.  Ahab. 

Should I continue with the delusion?  Detail more implements of this thing we call power?  I always find new ways to describe the invisible hand.  The hand that guides.  The hand that slaps.  The hand that speaks. The hand holds the eye.  Apotropaism.  Fist shoved deep in pocket.  Jerked out as beacon.  So we can’t see that the only power that exists is that which we exert upon ourselves.       

WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 17, 2010

Strawberry sentence.


Strawberry on a continent in a state, county, farm in a field on a plant hanging from a vine the berry grown so large the vast land of red flesh vinyl you couldn’t walk across it to connect the seeds size of planets, solar systems, ideas some covered momentarily some forever and if you were a grub who sat down cross legged thinking you might make love to that strawberry and stuff your inner grubness with the white pulp center stalactites you might not know what your fill was or what a stomach full of strawberry might do to such a fat little grub a grub like that might get to thinking he owned a piece of that strawberry that the berry and he were not separate but legally owned (the freehold of red space to the grub, squatters rights on grub's belly to the strawberry) and that grub might buy a car and race it around town letting the white vinyl top down but that's stupid really strawberries are serious business and they don't reproduce with grubs they have seeds with asex and wind to get them juicen to feel the breeze strawberries sleep with their greens in curlers and wake up early to go to zoomba and taibo and fuck their personal trainers behind the golds gym in a kia serrento.