understanding is conclusion’s john.
language is the hormone of the hustle.
events tickle our fancy.
we only have sensory still cameras
for the ongoing shoot
and then reconstruct the images
to invent memorable movies.
we should all have trench-coats
filled with reality self-pornos
and work the exchange,
mine for yours
as if having meaningful lives to share
then be duped by linearity’s plea for interpretation.
how thoughtful of us as if mental groupies,
living on from one concert to the next
with selfies indulged, headphones blasting
and lyrics as mesmerisms of stillborn performances.
each gig is a kind of framing for thoughtfulness.
hard to get out of the momentum of one’s own way.
to have breathless afterthoughts
that would challenge the whole process
as seductive but deeply without merit,
from the beneath, the behind
and the beyond . . .
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