You are not what you own.
You are not what you can afford to buy.
You are not a label or a logo.
You are not a clothes mannequin.
You are not a tube for designer drugs.
You are not a target market.
You are not a consumer.
You are not alone.
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Knot
I believe I have written before about the knot. In its entanglements, it resembles the cerebellum, that puffy cushion of fold upon fold of grey matter, a contortionist’s whiplash when confronted with the demand to walk tall and straight against the metaphysical pull of a serpent swallowing its tail. No matter what profits these lips babble, it’s time to scrape the froth from parched parchment and whisk into air confusion from broken down thought. Nonentities fall out of a sealed envelope in the bank vault where lawyers aggregate like black crows in congestive heart failure. Lies sanctified by law betroth edicts generation to generation, until few find a way out of their traps, and that only by opening a window to let germs germinate. Infection disentangles fibers, so that hemp let down, helpless, hopes for rescue. It is a New Year anyway, casuistry rambles among the synapses, so there might be a loophole.
[Disposable Prose January 2, 2010]
Dr. Mike
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