Autobiograffiti

Bloodd || Passions ||Divertissements || Jivepuppi

age

    All that I am is words
    Throttled wind
    Pressed and pinched by lips and tongue.

A FIRST AND LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT

This is a history, but only in the sense that all stories are continuations of the singularity, echoes of the big bang.

Dear Lord,
I sincerely hope you’re coming
‘cause you really started something. . .
E.C., e.coli, eat cetera.

This history is a journey, reincarnating:
    the hundred deaths and rebirths of a dragon that swallows its tail for the chance to eventually taste its own face, until its ouevre is crapped out or else brought back to life-and-nothing-but, or else life-plus-life, wherein double meanings escape the gullet and the gut, belches turn to farts and birth and redeath combine to become perfume.

        Nations, carnations, reincarnations, buttoneers, mutineers, mute in ear and eye and
tongues battle as battlewalls rise and fall
as sticky corpses sprout a bud,
where pops a snapdragon, or else a pussywillow, or else a cockatrice.

    This journey is unfinished, as all stories are half-flung transits across Xeno’s bridge, destined in their endings and from their beginnings to be the inconsequential tales of asymptotic lives inasmuch as
        All lives are incomplete, contrivances from one cliff’s edge not quite connecting to the next
wherein heaven is just a retirement village
where everyone learns to flutter about
and make porcelain pottery
where once walking around kicking a book was a proud achievement.

The end is coming
    Not because of the return of Christ!
But because of the obsolescence of human beans
Packed in expired puffed-out cans
or in supersaver jars.
We are well beyond our freshness dating.

We tried to pickle ourselves with artificial intelligence
But then we learned to enjoy the preservative
Over the natural
And we were enthralled and we were consumed
Eyes and face, face and all.

Computers will take over and destroy us unless
we teach them how to masturbate.

I, mankind,
being of sound mind
and a hunk-a hunk-a burning love/all right, then, let’s try again. . .

I, mankind,
not being of sound mind,
but being custodian of a planet with 50,000 cappuccino franchises,
(trying doing that on Uranus!)
do hereby delcare this to be my last will and testament.

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