So. Here we go. Round two.
High Art met the Low Art. Three drinks later...nine months later...a brand new postmodern baby boy (already socially acceptable and customized since he entered creation as a boy, not a girl, not a girl, not a g-i-i-i-irl, but a boyhe. A boye. A boy.
Dear Moriarty of the 21st Century,
(An Open Letter)
Where the hell are you! You left about, what, 9 months ago? Did you leave your bastard children for a carton of eggs? Tell Sal he left a void. Did his genius murder him? Is it a disease the erodes from the inside, from the silent recesses, from the curves, gestures, guttural reactions that escape through open pores reaching for the light when all the lights have been turned out and you lie on your back and dream of the sodomized manslayers of yesteryear who believed and spoke for someone to say and spew jissom and Cock for the sake of ART?
I've never felt so clothed...and never so cloistered.
I'm sorry that I kept you away.
The Dyadic Sleepwalkers
May i be spontaneous may i mey? explain to me the ex nihil nihil fit argument for evil did evil derive from your mouth naysayers and yeasayers and paysayers and lovesayers and hypicosayers and addictosayers where did you go did you go to Saulpaul why did you say funny things not like the laughing fish in the sea that perhaps you caught but rather curse a tree for not being in season why does hell exist why do people believe you why aren't you Muhommad why didn't you prepare a plan what about the masses why is their opiate finally running dry is it because the hope of a new day is brought forth from the loins of intellectualism and reason and no more propaganda of well intentioned home sayers stay at home you created the intellect only to curse those who live and die by its impulses did you love him her them me apollo buddha said hello to you wise and lovely bertrand russell no likey U so much logical fallacy no moral no moral no moral no moral no moral no moral no moral no moral no moral fallacy of the existentialist in the zazarutha dawn here we go looking for long lost poor castrated mothers seeking their penal sons in the phallic pricks of their fathers another new day another old day of symptoms