what do the stars write all day while the sun
keeps us from reciprocating
I imagine
let’s imagine
they’re sirens
of an emergency that’s time
and though they have taken the solemn
aspect of mute
facts interrupted
at best by dust
it is possible to shift into a faith
that they are blaring
that there is something to be said
intermittently as best
to fuck with mandatory forward
and be ourselves
and by us let’s mean the universe
"The poet is of no party." BaudelaireOur manifesto is an act of substantiation.
We reject all forms of futilitarianism, in whatever disguise.
We believe that comedy is the song of the village and tragedy the song of the goat.
We believe what is written in the books, but now we want to see for ourselves.
The single idea, beating on the same doors in vain.
The analogue and the invention.
The death cell.
The first permission.
Though we watch the stage for things to happen, though our minds wander.
By ourselves in the green field, playing our diversion.
Though the story begins with the loss of a home.
Out of the machine, we shift restlessly in our seats.