I See In The Act Of Throwing

Admittedly Or Not, Conscious Or Unconscious, The Poetic State, A Transcendent Experience Of Life, Is What The Public Is Fundamentally Seeking Through Love, Crime, Drugs, War, Or Insurrection.

Not Once More Will/i Be Found With Beings/who Swallowed The Rail Of Life//and One Day I Found Myself With Beings/who Swallowed The Nail Of Life/-as Soon As I Lost My Matrix Mamma,//and The Being Twisted Under Him,/and God Poured Me Back To Her/(the Motherfucker).

Theater Of Cruelty Means A Theater Difficult And Cruel For Myself First Of All. And, On The Level Of Performance, It Is Not The Cruelty We Can Exercise Upon Each Other By Hacking At Each Other’s Bodies, Carving Up Our Personal Anatomies, Or, Like Assyrian Emperors, Sending Parcels Of Human Ears, Noses, Or Neatly Detached Nostrils Through The Mail, But The Much More Terrible And Necessary Cruelty Which Things Can Exercise Against Us. We Are Not Free. And The Sky Can Still Fall On Our Heads. And The Theater Has Been Created To Teach Us That First Of All.

The Idea Of A Detached Art, Of Poetry As A Charm Which Exists Only To Distract Our Leisure, Is A Decadent Idea And An Unmistakable Symptom Of Our Power To Castrate.

It Is Thus That The Few Rare Lucid Well-disposed People Who Have Had To Struggle On The Earth Find Themselves At Certain Hours Of The Day Or Night In The Depth Of Certain Authentic And Waking Nightmare States, Surrounded By The Formidable Suction, The Formidable Oppression Of A Kind Of Civic Magic Which Will Soon Be Seen Appearing Openly In Social Behavior.