"Each dog pretends to Grovel like me, linking the Cold Gruel to Amnesia’s Indifferent Shrug on your Mug" - Boris Izsus
The Form of this, moves to a Man, sitting on an EL, reading The Chicago Sun Times. He is called The Inspector. He is Handsome of which, is an acquired Taste. Folding the newspaper in his Lap, he looks out the Window watching the Cityscape roll past his Eyes & he wonders how he would feel, if he awoke one morning, got out of Bed, parted his Blinds & saw it All had been Bombed out. The Form of this, moves in a Band of Light across his Face. This Morning, he had a Dream about Him. He awoke muttering a List of Cities. You get to a certain age & you no longer have a Choice. The Form of this, moves to his Hand that is writing that Begins------------------->“The Form of this, no longer Works.” His Eyes turn to a Woman, alone across the Aisle, who is laughing so hard that she is Crying. There is a Pause in the Writing. What was had been Written, was about
1.The Kisses numbering on the Lips, that crust in a Manner more Sensitive than a Man should be.
2.The Dying Flint of Human Architecture.
3.A Picture of what would be a picture of the Real World.
4.The Knees Aching, from working under a Side Street.
5.Weather Reports from the Angle of a Primate
6.The Cruelty of a Personal Victory when it makes “Solid”—“Sense”
7.The Suit is the Difference, the Final Aim towards Validity
8.The Horror of which was The Whiching the whichwhich------------->which he is unable to Maneuver
around.
The Form of this, moves to a Man, sitting in a Car, in the Rain. His eyes move from the Woman, to the Window & back to his Hands in his Lap, one of which, is covered in Filth thinks “I need to Construct a Filter for The Body.” Which is more reassuring than needing a Filler for The Body. The Man never had much Stomach for Sadsacks of Shit. He isn’t sure where he is going/is going to a Tiny Neighborhood just a bit South, where every Movement is Magnified & Named. The Form of this moves, to the Rumbling of a Noise, on the Fringe looping over his Anxiety. The Repeated Movement of The Body contorting itself to move right Over the Head. To carry this out, is possibly non/in Movement. He wonders what The Tune of the Inspector’s Face shall Unveil the Secret to the secret Answer is The Inspector’s secret. He exits the Car.
1. In the Sum of The Emergence is the Versify in effect
2. Then the alliance of elegies.
3. To make an equal pruning, while everyone sleeps
4. Roaming masked in black, back.
5.There are Despairs that Dissipate Horizons
6. I see, everything in close/is
7. Closing in/to the Body/is or,--------------------------------------->
8. as if a Frozen Globe, bulging towards a proposition marking Space or---------------->
The Form of this, moves to Him walking into a Building. He sees no Sign of The Inspector. Focusing in/on a Room, he slowly turns the Handle. The Door in slo/mo moves to reveal The Form of this, moves in an Onslaught & breaks his Diction. So little to Little is his Finger to Trigger. A Margin of Margin & what is—[?] or The When to know if it is all just an Absence or truly an Abstraction. This he found to be a Suitable response. So Little by Little, he Squeezes the Trigger. The Body falls. Repetition of the phrase, The Body Falls. And The Body Falls. Now is too much Time to consider the Consideration of an “am” or “a Whom” or “You” when there are so many Exits that he has to attend to. The Room is filled with Smoke too. His Body doubling over tells more than this Story can hold onto. He often felt Paragraphed in Sweat from the Clothing down to The Body through. So Early, he thought, to be in an Uncomfortable position stumbling upon a Position Opposing this Supposing. The Details of the Thud of the Body falling come in a Devastating Tune. 8 Devastating Tunes where a Shush should occur, but doesn’t Shush. Nothing ever Shushing when you want it to Shush, Shush. So shushshush You.He really wishes The Body hadn’t Fallen for in that Position it is nearly imposable to Pose. And if he was Found & The Body found was because because TheBecause. This demonstrates a relative Calm in which the emphasis is to leave Quickly & the Early in calm. He often complained of his own recursive Disposition & ran back to The Whole of the Night which would soften this Man. It is hard to Direct his own Face, when every Direction is Relative. He is here, yet where is He—[?] He thinks just if he could Divide the Self, is an act of Grammar. A Correction of Voice, that relates to the Correlation of The Body to the Position in the Room & where the Exit is in juxtaposition to his Face, directs towards The Figures that Enter. Entering was to be to The Exit as to Enter the Escape/ But mownow, he knew The Inspector was close.
1. No one can predict a Crowd but surely there will be a Crowd.
2. Which will lead someone to somebody who had done something to somebody or to someone else.
3. But maybe to just lie down & scrub & scrub & scrub
4. To change The Body into a Person at such a Quantity to Person to be Consumed.
5. Clearly, this does not represent the Desired Surface
6. In a handful I stone the Folds & the Lips of Purpose to Vault.
7. “I agree, not even Rage could help that Man”
8. The Passage of which, is a Rot in the Belly I got
The Form of this, moves to Him being led into The Entrance through The Structure, smelling of Rubbing Alcohol. From Surface to Surfeit. The Phone is ringing off The Hook. Cordless Skeleton. Everyone’s at a different Table. The Air, yellow with filled Light. This means Nothing. “We know where all of them are, Property & Affects.” Yes, Siree. “You can remove The Body if you like, otherwise, Shut the Fuck Up.” He pulled out a Pocket Watch. I think, he was, The Inspector. Peering through the Blinds & Strained, it’s getting Dark out There. Someone loaded onto a Voice, welling up with Rhetorical Energy. More & more I’m irritated with Every Scratch. It is not clear, why The Inspector is so Grim, hand over Chin covers Face, down. Pants are far too Tight. Snap Head, back. “This is no longer Chicago…the Problem” The Inspector began “is no one knows how to Suffer with Dignity anymore.” Metal Clamp sealed over Mouth, in the Corner, leaving a Sighed Imprint. Snap Head, Back. Someone smells like Semen. Maybe a little more Prominent. Leading the Way to her Eyes was the glass of Whiskey, was a crafty Organizational Tool. A Simple Phone Call, might Resuscitate his Ache. The evening is Soft, with bad Turns the Bone in the Gut. The Room is Vibrating. “A Face is a thing best overlooked” explained The Inspector. Slaps, The Face, back. The Bodies respond immediately to the Shots, although they were here the entire Time. Left it all totally Confused. Then again, moreso over her Body. Snap Head, Back. Grab the bottle of Ajax & spray them in the Face. “Mymymy, don’t Forget about my Eyes.” Beautiful Creatures. Can’t see too Clear the View can you—[?] The People in this Room makes my Eyes, sick. He screamed before it plunged through The Lung. Left me breathing, Shallow. By, the now The Body had to be fully laid out on the EL Tracks above Fullerton. Red Line emerges from The Tunnel. The Sparks of the Train filter through my Eyes, as The Body lays still, Waiting. He closed his Eyes & thought, The Form of this Moves to the notion, that I could use a Drink. He wanted to Pray but all Directions at this point seemed Meaningless. All excuses fly out of The Story. No one was trying to be a Self-Stylized Hero. The Sound was excruciating. The Form of this Moves again to, I could really use a Drink. Scratching Dry Skin now, knuckles White & so on. Too many lists in his Head. He Climbed down the Pole from the EL platform, tore his leg. It was raining out Here but the Windows were still boarded up. The Inspector shifted his Weight towards The Body. The Muzzle of the Gun, against Temple. The Steps were thundering. Mainly, we get a Sense of this Story just by who is Stepping in/on it. The Inspector stuck a Cigarette in his Mouth, clenched Teeth. “I warned you before to Section it Off.” Then everything went Limp.
1.I went out, looking for Thee where the Grass still covers the Dead
2.& it only makes Sense when we Point the Body in the Southbound,
3.I section myself as to Fall & Rise as if, to Feign my Internal Surprise.
4.Or this Amounts to Forms of Gesture, in which to Vaguely sense what her Posture is conveying to me.
5.This is the Special Condition of a Landscape-------------------------------------------------------->
6. The Poor Moral Mass we’re Feeling, is truly a Mess
7. A raucous Action that calluses at the Skin
8. The Conception of our Hidden Desire yields through to a Low Voice
The Form of this, moves to The Action, complete. “Operator” He said “This is The Inspector.” He decided he needed a Role Model, preferable someone who would Die soon. “I am Perfect” thought The Inspector. After the call, The Inspector sat down, calmly on a Bench with his Back to The Loop. With one Hand, dirtied, he took off his Sunglasses & with the Clean Hand that was always Clean, he brushed The past The Face The Sweat & The Day’s tale. The Inspector put his Sunglasses back on & Smiled. Smiled because, the Because was The Because. The Inspector reached into his inner Suit Coat Pocket & took out a Paper Bag. He reached his Hand in.
1.I begin eating my Peanut Butter & Jelly Sandwich
2. A Thump in Time to identify with the goop to enact an anti—land
3. & Thus to Swoop above the Skyline or to smack/up against the Double-Vision of a Widow
4.This I might-------------------------------------->
5. In which was always, The Purely Accidental
6.“Peeled”—“Eaten”
7.The Brooming of The Body, was always The Answer.
8.& remember----------------->To The Camera, A Posthumous Wink.
