Event
Shit on your whole mortifying, imaginary, and symbolic theater! – Gilles Deleuze
Night of Orientalist fever,
Saw them all,
saw them all.
Wo weilest du pierces
and shrieks lands
where Homeland does not stay.
You, a text, a tome, a transcendental
transparency – one corner
of the claustrophobic cosmic room;
It, there for reasons intangible,
unmapped, a suitor's investment
inter-dispersed through knobs
automatically switched, flown open,
mocktail drinks, sauvignon flowers.
He, so many – the he that buys
your way in, chips the cards in
a certain favour, and
the other he, the shield knob
turner, hand gesturer.
Chinese eyes turn and twinkle
as strings of dental floss.
Now they invite you.
Blood bled from games of
unspeakable irrevocable foot
fetish, tapestry torn to the gaudy
ground. Bourgeois femdom
gone strong. Why kiss
feet when group game stronger,
twinkling saucers of crystal drink,
that he drunk as he washed the
twelve submissive feet.
Twelve a reminder to find one's
Homeland. But home at an event
is a trace teased away
by yellow twinkling stars and green.
Registration, a necessary stage
that even necessity's own remembrance
pioneers. As the momentum swirling
governance of semblance of order.
As the decorum of stage dancers.
You go do so for the quality
of seduction beckons. Just a quality
but Epicurus is an ethos himself
not to be missed. As the buffet spread
(a cold turkey and spinach salad, vegetables
and cheeses your imaginations spread,
then a drink salted with the migraines of
common men as they plan for their first
head using their second)
imaginations turned. Food fetish,
all fetishes exposed, exhibited
artefact under artefact, treasures
within slimy saxophone sleaze.
The heads turn. A sensing
of verisimilitude – acquaintance
banter, can't drop eclairs following
gay hats inflexed jolly, Koolkid
linguistically mechanical, nostalgic,
overused. Perhaps quiet resounds
safer, till You very wisely axe your
zip. The ABCs of eventful logic.
Blaze your peacock tail eternal!
The loo is vacant unless one
were to count the individual strands
and sands of heavenly smelling
excrement, or having to utilize
it as a term of address. They
banned Pynchon from the Poo-
Litzer after accusations
of deranged coprophilia.
Hahaha geddit
I'm so funny.
Go to the loo!
Be gone, banished henceforth!
Excrement out of a channel
just what you think it is when
You're toxic spinning round and round
Outside the event's centre.
Out get out get out get out get
out get out get out get out get
out get out
out out out.
Before the rain
and gold showers
it is vacant. Procession into
the Event, mother nature's
womb and worshipping clitoris,
Mary had a lamb on the cross
and when they fed him to the de
generates you know they kind of
came. Sweet Jesus they came.
为什么are the anuses so sweet
and the honeys dripping so torrential
为什么 did it leave
为什么 did you leave
You the other you who actually
reads shrieks Narrator is no more.
Brace your lips and cheeks
for a wide elastic stretch. Thy
thigh gaps will too as your ass
cheeks depart a solid event
into a third set of lips.
爱是恨是死亡 und morgen
stirbst du ins Bett, the comfy
tensions resolved. Event
at a night house a ballet and masked
orgy. Tom Cruise. Nicole Kidman.
Stanley Kubrick. Fantasies are never
realized by us.
The traitor that agony is. Some day
you'll realize du bist satt tust du weh
leck mich im Arsch
and on that day it will storm cocoa.
And they did say Italians were kinky.
Maybe it was the cocoa.
Stolen from the Indies and the Southern
Dogs. A memoriam in memory of
the event. What? The colony,
or the planting of a state flag?
Cancer's flagellum flies persistent, strokes
nutrient medium up down as the event's
pumps work it. You vomit
essays of raw, sick salmonella. You
don't know.
The gut wrench it takes to spill,
to confess, to cut oneself.
You don't.
This is a service in memory.
He reads the eulogy as now-wife
stands silent in a veil of black
whose silent guilt remains inked,
the guilt that those feet hands
mouth once fondled another
traitorous cock. The words
that one types into a generator
of words, yielding results
for dog death, cat death, hell,
even authorial death. The body
that lies among the congregation
or in a silent boneyard reddens,
both in head and in head.
The second for raw painful
tingling. The first
of a guilt so nauseous to be spoken.
Pray, epitaphs are said. He leaves,
she in his wake.
Someday they will join you.