substack
(p.s. drag me!!!!!)
To Self-Disturbance
In honor of you, and all
that you’ve done for us, we’ve erected a 50-foot statue
of you, of this loopage, of this continuous continuum
of drive-through hysteria, of an interior disturbia,
of a sense of utter restlessness, a restlessness
where even cats can’t settle, where cats refuse
to arch backs, where cats stand on hind legs and march,
where cats eat full-course meals, where cats giggle
over engagement photos, where cats read bedtime stories
to children and pat their heads, where those bedtime stories
tell of other cats on hind legs, of other continuous
continuums, of other loopages like infinity-shaped racetracks
or circular catwalks or highways that are meant
for lollygagging, highways created for the sake of going,
“I’m heading out, and won’t be back for long!” And then
one gets in their car, puts it into drive, accelerates forward,
takes the exit for said highway, glides onto
said highway, and coasts, and even speeds, speeds
because if one speeds, then one can make more rounds,
more rounds on said highway because said highway is circular,
said highway is a circular lollygag, it’s circular strategy
is time-killing, it’s point is escape, it’s main goal
is to make one forget where home is, to make one forget
who the goodbye was half-handedly said to, and to forget
what that person smells like. This statue will be pungent.
It will reek of something sticky, a smell that will stick. You
are something abrasive, something long-lasting, something
continuous, a kind of continuum you are. You are cruel,
and forever. You are a kind of pain that refuses to ease,
and a kind of pain that has to be made huge so that it can then,
maybe and finally, be diminished.
that you’ve done for us, we’ve erected a 50-foot statue
of you, of this loopage, of this continuous continuum
of drive-through hysteria, of an interior disturbia,
of a sense of utter restlessness, a restlessness
where even cats can’t settle, where cats refuse
to arch backs, where cats stand on hind legs and march,
where cats eat full-course meals, where cats giggle
over engagement photos, where cats read bedtime stories
to children and pat their heads, where those bedtime stories
tell of other cats on hind legs, of other continuous
continuums, of other loopages like infinity-shaped racetracks
or circular catwalks or highways that are meant
for lollygagging, highways created for the sake of going,
“I’m heading out, and won’t be back for long!” And then
one gets in their car, puts it into drive, accelerates forward,
takes the exit for said highway, glides onto
said highway, and coasts, and even speeds, speeds
because if one speeds, then one can make more rounds,
more rounds on said highway because said highway is circular,
said highway is a circular lollygag, it’s circular strategy
is time-killing, it’s point is escape, it’s main goal
is to make one forget where home is, to make one forget
who the goodbye was half-handedly said to, and to forget
what that person smells like. This statue will be pungent.
It will reek of something sticky, a smell that will stick. You
are something abrasive, something long-lasting, something
continuous, a kind of continuum you are. You are cruel,
and forever. You are a kind of pain that refuses to ease,
and a kind of pain that has to be made huge so that it can then,
maybe and finally, be diminished.