Dear Brother
Hope this finds you well. Myself, not particularly.
It would seem the 9 to 5 has sodomised my spirit,
fucked it royally, with glee, on viagra. Only yesterday
I found my little angel of inspiration (you know the one
I keep secreted) had suicided, perhaps weeks ago,
her corpse rotting in my pocket. I awoke, torn from
a dream in which I had stomped to death this boring
frog from a telephone commercial, about 4am.
I have this feeling that all these medical forensic shows
will kill a lot of people, perhaps subliminally.
So here I sit, smoking a cigarette, test pattern on the
television (can’t find the remote) 4:15 in the morning,
thinking about the body with no organs and the
electronic revolution. I have developed an allergic
reaction to these vestiges of authority, protocol,
system, rules and regulation, control through fear
and intimidation: it’s a race you know, a silent war
with quiet weapons, hurricanes in the kitchen ripping
up the laminate, newlyweds stockpiling tins, H5N1
in the headlines again.
Sometimes it is good to leave off, put on some old
records, go over your early texts, notice that it’s
like an ugly jumper made from nice threads, not at
all dissimilar to that voice coming out of Serge
Gainsborough’s head. Damn Brother! If only we could
take down the bridge between us. You have to admit
that the river beneath has calmed these last few
years; we owe it to one another, lets get out the
weapons again, polish our insignia, let the dancing
Nietzsche live.
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>A Dark Samadhi 1st Edition buy direct from the Author $15.00 incl. postage - email for details
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