out of Context;
‘we leap through loopholes in our systemic infection showing off how jumping through a loop on fire won’t phase us at all… the vampires within all of us suckling parasitic in the soul as our shadow stirs underneath the skin when the light of day has flown away home to await the next, and as those left here resemble statues in the rain oxidizing in the open space wondering for what reason we have to chase these things we do in vague and subtle ways that escape even the poet’s powerful potential for saying as the memory a page resurrecting itself to cause the lips to enunciate with the proper precision as an artistry beyond the artist who displays the right sequence of talent and learning as watermark left and made the standard…’
out of Context;
‘the contrast of ideas berating quality of depth to which finding myself irresponsibly throwing around terms half-strewn of the brain like ‘beating a bum rap’ that’s been hanging loose around my neck for years now like the well-framed critic whose near-untouchable intimidation to be used in mocking me, and a furious audience taunting my subtlety of technique as at first we seem to enjoy each other’s presence in the short times we have Here soon erased by tiny bit as the tension melting our second opinions into formative opponents combating us internally in the urge to face this social reality figuring we might ride the waves or weather the storms together on this friendship…’
‘There was nothing particularly odd about him. No facial veins or clumps of bristly warts. I told him about the motel woman’s description and he seemed puzzled. “Don’t let it bother you,” I said. “Just keep in mind for the next few days that we’re in Louisville, Kentucky. Not London. Not even New York. This is a weird place. You’re lucky that mental defective at the motel didn’t jerk a pistol out of the cash register and blow a big hole through you.” I laughed, but he looked worried.
“Just pretend you’re visiting a huge outdoor loony bin,” I said…’
out of Context;
‘something animated through the detritus we conceive of to produce to somehow tuck us into the place where this space/ time riddle conflicts in distracted path, and can the altered fates this animal of Man whose protrusive curious demeanor means curiosity in urge to conquer ridiculous fears and those apprehensions that try to eat the solo self taken as granted in a universe as full of fellow conquests debated and razed through the ages paid in the wages of sin and a lust for life and terror for mistakes made wading waste-deep in the excrement of the past…’
‘In the air-conditioned lounge i met a man from Houston who said his name was something or other– “but just call me Jimbo” — and he was here to get it on. “I’m ready for anything, by God! Anything at all. Yeah, what are you drinkin’?” I ordered a Margarita with ice, but he wouldn’t hear of it: “Naw, naw… what the hell kind of drink is that for Kentucky Derby time? What’s wrong with you, boy?” He grinned and winked at the bartender. “Goddam, we gotta educate this boy. Get him some good whiskey…”‘
out of Context;
‘generations moved forward whether truly ready or not… unwittingly aiding whole corruption of vital components with an aching appraisal for the systems as surging and surrounding all of us all the time all within a culture of building digital testaments, trying to supplement some of the negative and devastating aura of a dying blind eye with some ravenous renewed hunger for a youth and sacrificial pulling the willing into the damnation game perceived to be real only as for themselves the price paid for the condemnable actions committed…’
out of Context;
‘a bullet in the head as more complex communication of catastrophe to each remote viewer in the distance witnessing the waste collecting as though dead flakes in the dust shed and blowing with boring winds carving caves from mistaken veneer of merely rocks and surface terrain that humans would have as beings as paved of a skin and blood, and frightening the massive that pulses with raving frenzy to shock and cause harm to this vapid system that carries us and our souls as sour parasitic eggs on its back trying to crawl away with the cursed obligation to whatever this spastic machine attempting an unwieldy fusion of time and space for all of us to inhabit as we would somehow find loyalty for our family or any other relation…’
out of Context;
‘these awful complications, we take as granted techniques that meet our needs in this convenience state laid to waste by a sedative fate that takes humanity into its cold clinical hands to treat them as experimental objective in testing the high demand of Mankind, and it surges through us like a wave our own controls leaving us as we become broken and sewn back together again as a doll our system would like us to be tamed and domesticated and taught to act as all the other organic portals…’
out of Context;
‘i stand up to rant my heart out with words cultivated from the mental dirt we all dig into facing an audience without fear, it is a temporary catharsis against the backdropping sounds and dim atmosphere of the places we fit as the design or location may hint with its’ own symbols and grounds as foundation for the drama unfolding, but this is how we create art that seems as to pull right off the pages before these very eyes that decide to see it all scattered in the pattern-seeking brain informing…’
~Anthony Burgess on the Logos and that potential in others.