TO MAKE A DADAIST POEM,
DROWN YOUR BRAIN
…the new bride of the golden veil

It was nice to know you when I knew you.

Is this your sole praise from a friend?

Let us begin and carry up this lazy, lonesome monster, this corpse.
Goodbyes always take us half an hour.
For a good time, call 606-4311. Ask for Ken.

So, you gave a score of years; her slave…?

I hoped she would love me: lonely often, and sometimes frightened
…the dream must die!
Now, heaven and she are beyond this ride… it’s only me out there.

 

Please don’t make me run away.

 

Life is a tragedy; ride si sapis

The one or ones who created us for each other ought to have made more of an effort. They could never tell by his face he was starting to feed his flesh to wayward daughters.

Start again at your beginnings – it can’t change; but every time you see it, it seems different
because you’re different.

Nothing I do makes me feel different.

To be able to destroy with good conscience: “It is not I, it is the arrow”.

Bury the man there?
A mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam
Loftily lying, living and dying
Look again at that dot.

This moaning God of Fire keeping money, you’ve got lots of friends amidst the bones and myself. A just universe wouldn’t tolerate my existence.

You’re seeing stars reflected on the surface of the lake at night; the universe is in us. You talk as if you’re a hero in some story; the delusion that we have some privileged position in the universe.

They find it easier to live.
They’re protecting the people on the outside from us.

Even those who are different can survive.

I am on nobody’s side, because nobody is on my side. I felt very still and empty.
Why me?
Why not?
What’s wrong isn’t that I’m sick. It’s that I don’t matter.
Paint the streets red with my decision.

 

Who am I kidding? I’m still standing in the same place
where you left me standing.

You turned back today for the first time. Mistakes are also important to me.
I’m always gonna feel this way.

I searched the whole world for you. Now, please come, take my hand and lead me. My story is wholly and disturbingly ridiculous, and the world would not suffer and it ends too soon.

What, man of music, you’ve grown grey with notes and no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves.

Will your dreams meet you quietly and clearly?
There’s many a crown for who can reach. The more level they have me, the more I cannot stand me. I gave my youth into nothingness; a kind of non-being, sharpened on the bones of their elders.

Who knows what’s fit for us?
And heed well their advice, even though they be turkeys.

And here we are riding, she and I
You don’t have to kill your feelings when dawn hennas her hands with the blood of the horizon. Educate yourself if you’ve got any guts spilling out of somebody’s head like a knife.

That’s the role of poetry, Ciri. To say what others cannot utter.

What does it all mean, poet?

The idea is about to arrive……..
Strive to be happy, hopeful child!
Have a bliss to live with: their finest cosmic muffin
Time to taste life!

 

 

 

 

Whatever you think it means, you’re probably right.

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