“And
how then, to get Rid of the Memory of *this that Barrels up out of the Distance
of your Face? It is Night, in the City, again it is the City, that without an
Iota of doubt, I must Bury, or Smother, or at the very least: Conceal;
shoving it up your Ass, or shoving it under our Bed. So, I Dug very deep in the Earth, when I was
up North in Wisconsin, alone, in a Field, whose Corn was just Harvested for
Fall; and in Digging, the deeper I went, the more I realized, that I could not,
that I would not let anyone know what I was set to put in the Ground; for: all
the more Ignorant, all the more Wiser, or so I think; and when I was done Digging,
I Shoved it, I Shoved it all, right into the Earth, and I proceeded to fill the
Hole, the Earth, once again; and without knowing *this, I knew that *this was
Forever, the City again, or the Distance of your Face; and the Rampant
possibilities that began to Rise within me: those of Vulgarity, of Violence,
and even those of a little Bit of Tenderness, so fucking Delighted me so. And
so now, you Know.”
-Boris
Izsus, 1978
