I read a story about a guy who died And then people saw the work He’d toiled over his whole life. It was some kind of art And people marveled about How this quiet old man Had made such rich things And never told anybody.
It’s a story people like. We’re all clamoring for some recognition That what we do in our respective laboratories Somehow matters. Someday people will know what we made. If not in this life, The next.
Eliot and I were convinced That there was a time vortex To the 1990s At the Target on Ohlen Rd. There was some weird energy In the freezer section That extended out to the street Where you could feel that Just on the other side of Some cosmic membrane Tupac was blasting From low riders.
We went to investigate. For some reason we went to The Arboretum To get money And then we bought booze From the Twin Liquor by the HEB. We bought wedding cake flavored vodka Because it was on sale. We needed the booze to properly Investigate the vortex.
Eliot was going on about gemmatria. He said it was the secret to everything. But it sounded to me Like a way to drive yourself mad.
We found a patch of woods To drink the vodka. It was a beautiful spot Next to a creek.
He was a very sad man. I was not as I used to be. I was living with the woman I live with now. He was battling literal demons In the forest of the green belt Where he lived.
We drank the whole bottle And never made it to The Target That day.
Soon he would accuse me Of conspiring with the spirits In his head To try to kill him. I never heard from him after that.
The problem with epiphanies Is they wear off. By definition Their magic Must dissipate. The overwhelming delight Of understanding Eventually gives way To the dull thrum of living. And you wonder Is it better to know The epiphany’s fleeting ecstasy Knowing the hollowness Once it’s gone? Or is it better To live in ignorance Of that which Now evades you?
Why do I feel the need to commodify my every thought? Why do I seek the validation of likes for my work? I hate this part of myself. I want to create for the sheer joy of creation. What would I make if validation didn’t matter?
The most annoying part Of the pandemic Has to be The cloying Saccharine commercials Speaking in earnest Vocal fry With stock piano Chords Fuzzy montages “We care about you. Don’t get out the guillotine. Buy a Toyota In these hard times.” And then the viewer Presumably damp-eyed From all the corporate love Buys a thing Because “we’re all in this together.”
A communist philosopher storms into A psychoanalyst’s conference… Have you heard this one? He storms in Claiming divine right And claims it is The analysand Not the psychoanalyst Who is the proletarian – The worker – Of psychoanalysis He says The brain is a factory And we its workers And it’s the psychoanalyst Who is the boss He says we must democratize The process He says The workers of the world Must own the means of cognition
Althusser looks to Lacan Expecting the latter to agree. He says nothing. Althusser is rushed out of the building.