Poetry: Andrew Levy

Elephant Surveillance To Thought

by Andrew Levy

Molars are born into them under consideration of too many
options to separate them into homogenous groups of people.
If she's reading Nietzsche, I'm reading Stephen King.
Who cares whether or not the people who do not read
don't know how to spell. The highest levels of the state
have underminded the central authority. The central
authority of the body begins to take its residence in low
intensity hallways with a wide variety of grassroots.
Peasants may refuse to produce so shoot them. Or, better
yet, export them to another democracy. Western civilisation
needs only to empty its self-nature to the extent that
it wishes, at which point dogs react to strangers like foolish
men. Nevertheless, the people who approach and depart
remind the rest of the civic body that it had better
recognize this universe can also lead to death, and so on
in backward sequence. Several possibilities converge
in sense of direction one hardly feels -- cosmopolitan
saturation with a personal guide is harmonious impunity
against misfortune. Over the top enthusiasts consider
such travel like a pram in the snow, and gather quotes
from their favorite authors to prove it. It's natural,
some argue, that these new organizations of control
escape their own logic merely to become spines in a
spiritual prose. Cynicism of this kind, that Paul McCartney
tendency, like the novel of ideas, one may link and
cooperate with to drive tourists into compassion with
syntax unlocked and rolling over the ice. In the winter,
it's often best to narrow one's own efforts. Further,
any idiot can call it cold, but those who refuse to lie
down in the sun of corn will scorn those who walk on.
Perusing such literatures is not under anyone's wing.
That carcass of talk vs. walk emerged out of quite ex-
plicit rejections of subsequent attempts to remedy
the supermaternal as it was felt to sleep too late in
the day. Hey, Mom... wake up, for Christ's sake!
Andrew is running in the field, etc., to look up the
home addresses of the dead. You've got to stop him!
The future is suffering and we're caught smack dab
in the widesprread. Since the poem and the world of
things seem to swim at the contact of acid, you will
slide between my fingers, starting from this curve,
like no other human construction. Until that day,
the external world, a plague of darkness, or mistaken
identity (the audience's evening) had a wonderful
time. Ejaculation gets rid of that tension, but it doesn't
necessarily follow or generate more clouds in my mind.
In fact, quote the kind of people who never think
twice and you'll have a pretty accurate idea of what
this landscape looks like. Still numb from that
contemplation look over your shoulder and see what's
going to disappear now. "Poetry isn't beauty, it's
inquiry." The sight of Medusa's head makes the spectator
sniff the terror permanently fixed in the bitch's anus.
I'm not the only one who smelled these things. To be
stuck (in a rut) of literary tradition is both important
and amusing. The need to dominate and control it,
on the other hand, is not. The ideal place for the joining
and fusing of these solutions is again stupidity and
knowing how to profit by it. Maybe that is the most
successful aspect of capitalism. To get the entirely
expected out of each one. Successful hostages
and hostage taking. Microsoft vs. whoever likes it.
Freedom has lost its glamour, its time for cyberspace
to be acknowledged as the triumph of readings.
The suggestiveness fo software buying and selling
confines one's activity to the aphorism of terminal
authority. The form of the sentence is transience,
however, instead of going under (as it once did), it
now is taken out of circulation. In this scenario to see
is to see verbal materials themselves as so much
poopoo. In fact, I'd go farther and call seeing a dewey
decimal clogged with swine shit. What are we going
to do with all that bacterial matter? Swim in it?
The waters of our stinking rivers are fouled beyond
belief, the shit makes it so. Its predication is not
an adjunct root of Heidegger's archaism. Strenuous
loss of blood a philosophy's forgetfulness duplicates
no world worth the ambiguity of Being. Others
not yet ripe for freedom hold on to something,
usually the poopoo alluded to above, for much
too long -- this is unsuccessful transmission. The
elephant remembers and "cannot act otherwise
than," hence I propose the surveillance of thought
via the model of the elephant as the political conclusion
to ivory exportation as the most promising solution
to Kant's rigorism. One body, under God. Atlas
in an ocean of definitions resembling affirmation

The body says, enough's enough. Give that
elephant a break. In this scenario now is taken
out of verbal circulation. In its stead, strangers
like foolish democracy consider misfortune
hostage to their own illogic. Their dewey decimals,
in fact, make loss of blood an adjunct root
ripe for reform. The shifting terrain continues to
shift nostalgia of a more horizontal intelligence.
A homeopathic concoction, Arnica, both orally
and as a gel, is very good for muscle trauma,
bruising, swelling. In the dream his parents home
rested upon a foundation of water, or the entire first
floor was water at the same level inside as that
of the pond or lake the house was built next to.
And all of the homes built around the lake were
constructed the same way, so everyone
shared the same body of water, and took care
to keep the filters clean and the mind clear.