by D.A. Królak
i have sunk so low into despair that it is no longer necessary for me to care about anything or anyone. I sincerely hope you are following this and have not given over to a critical evaluation of this exercise.
no indeed if you are to enjoy it you must let loose your imagination and pretend these are your thoughts
Yes you have had many questions.
Not so many lately
That is because you have something
to preoccupy your life.
your soul, your mind, your body.
my body has known everything; and not one bit of it has soothed my aching, tired, and restless
key word: PRETEND
cornerstone to my nothingness.
My uselessBANALtrite existence…
Oh that I could wail at a funeral
for all that I could have been.
that i could scratch my name on the
inside of that coffin.
(as i was inhaling my last breath)
AN EXERCISE IN NOTHINGNESS: say you have aids.
they look through you into the
future wasteland they imagine will
riddle your body.
and See a carcass so carefully preserved
withthe height of technology and see
only sorry and empty sympathy.
*wishing* that it never happens to them.
Dreading somehow that it might have (already).
To the point of absolute oblivion
of your remaining
fact. your legacy.
OH! if there was a chant and mantra
i could hold so high above my
head as to be the perfect reading
height for those celestial bodies
that this is
not the answer!
answer to a greedy
death is their answer.
more the merrier
and moans sound like songs that
i have yet to put to paper.
my only salvation is the drumming noise of progress that is certain to bury me. it keeps on, through deaths, births, and whathaveyou.
Through love life and nothingness.
i am writing from my catacomb of mortality
From the wretched and pulpy flesh i occupy.
no solace, no hope, nothing save a few
I scream and it echoes back off my walls and noone hears it.
Isn’t that the way it should be.
I hate therefore I am.
i love therefore i’ll be.
Something let loose these tumultuous lines that i have no idea how to subvert. I have no way of knowing how to keep it in check anymore. i don’t care to either. I just want to scream and go on screaming for the rest of my life.
i scream therefore I am.
i cry therefore I’ll BE.
Let’s maintain a certain amount of decorum to this shouting party tho’ i’ll only do it when i am lonely and the world has no answers to this madness inflicted or affecting me.
I scoff at the idea that any of the responsibility lies with me *of course—why else would we have tv movies and the news except to remind me that I am not in control and therefore not in the least responsible for the mayhemviolencemadness that has surrounded me and looks to lay my soul to waste.
it was just my dream.
The one of the ghetto.
The one i live in.
the dream i can not wake up from, because like
a whirlpool it is dragging me down.
I have always been one to fight the fight against the *normal*
*the obvious* and that is what will be the end
of me. one more battle i don’t feel like i need to fight. One
more set of rules without meaning.
One more trophy or scar to tell that i have endeared,
yes endeared, yet another
when does it all end .?.
dare i say
that this not what i have planned for myself. Well i was wrong.
I choose to want things and strive towards them aimlessly hoping
that a faith in i n d i v i d u a l i t y would separate me from
the normal. Well i have been forced to kneel before the concession that i am n o t h i n g n e s s incarnate.
If it ever had a face it surely wore mine.
Everything is false; therefore everything is permitted.
Truth has a horrendous way of messing things up.
if the consequences or reactions to everything could just be
suspended to produce time enough for the collecting
of one’s thoughts and was not inherently based on
Mystique may be induced when on is blatantly ambiguous.
Ambiguosity. What a great concpt and one i take tremendous
Why? you ask. well i think it should be very obvious why people choose
this method. *why ask why?*
in d i vi d ual ity is only part of the reason for
delu sion ar y tactics. in these generalities i find that it is almost
Socratic in its wisdom, provoking realizations about the subject. My
capacity for these insidious little experiences astounds me frequently.
I find a need to *expunge* my self from time to time.
Somehow i have painted myself into an
intellectual argument which sounds like a blatant attempt to carry
sophistry to absurd and sublime heights.
This is just an insecurity of mine
beause it was something i worried about as a child.
Somehow i always manage to concentrate on the beginnings of behaviour as if
it would reveal something to me regarding the essence.
Spiritual and othrwise.
get used to it,
that is if
Note on Formatting: This was a hard poem to transcribe or translate to digital media. It was originally composed on a precursor to the computer, a typewriter that had software built in to make it a “word-processor” and that accounts for the use of the Title Case & UPPERCASE as they were unlike normal typewriter in that it actually had more like a dot-matrix quality. You shouldn’t read them as if they were shouting as we do in our text/internet culture today. Instead they were meant to visually represent ‘digital cut-outs’ in keeping with the text smashing beatnik poets of days gone by. This was then used with a series of xerox art to make one-of-a-kind copies for dearest friends. On Page 2 you can see the PDF version of my original copy, presented as images, or you can download the document.
Am currently trying to get the original scanned, of which the cover photo on this is a portion of the cover, which you can see in better detail on the second page. I’ll try to make this & the previous ones available in a PDF soon! Let me know what you think in the comments below.
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