Today is the fifth day of the rest of my wife. If I were to sit across from you in the board room, meeting room, interview and say read me, fine, tell me all the things, you could say, card shark, first, then blond card shark, then trickster, muffin, potato acer, ship runner, overland comer, movie longer, Garbo hoarder, with a wrinkle under your so’s your uncle for your favorite rock. I am looking forward to a time when I can compete. Until then, I am slavering in the mix and no I don’t know what that means but it won’t stop me from translasting it. I was born for it, you say, this movie is great, it’s got a crazy lady, you say, you’re not a turnip. I like that very much.
"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.