Y’all just don’t give
a shit about what
I really admire, when, when
people don’t give a fuck.
Some people would look at
you and say
‘them two? they’re crazy
But I look"
and I think
‘man, y’all just
give a fuck.’
I like candy, do you like candy?
Candy is a thing that I do like.
If you are asked to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth and your the main witness, what if you say "no"?
Maybe they just nag you a little bit.
Like, aw, come on. Are you sure? Please?
at I(dyll)D(andy)A(cres), just before 2011 began.
Finished this cut yesterday. Dedicated to Mik, whose support kept me afloat when I was sure I wanted to sink.
I have been attempting reconstruction. I have been gathering those materials, forcibly separated, of which the self in my memory was composed. I have been finding those materials suddenly incompatible, inconsistent with the form they so recently and collectively assumed. I have been wondering how an identity could be so quickly decomposed.
If these pieces no longer form a whole, if the garment to which they belonged can no longer be persuaded to exist, is their value then in being integrated into new clothes? In catabolically evolving into improvised remedies or gaudy ornaments until they are individually unrecognizable? Or are they irrevocably inadequate? Can they only burn, only rot, only be replaced?