your arrival was a kind of heliography you came with the sunrise: a seven hour process that set the platetone you, the lavender oil laid down to wipe away the steely toned posterior of my ambivalence now turned gooey.
the scientific sensation of a chemical process meant to cure the image in time taken here as the blood and scat that enveloped your body in protective bitumen to deflect the world’s input turned over to sunlight; your image—angel of history.
face turned oblique in your mother’s channel you don’t physically look to/like my past as in, he never gave you your bio/features, but he gave you your name; or rather i rudely interrupted the etiquette of evolution and inheritance to say: ‘here kid, have this but not this.’
genderless is everyone’s first experience, a narrow canal— head long and nameless —through which the world passes and then truly distorts: both thiiin and thennn. sibilant: a hissing speech sound made by forming a small gap between the tongue and the back of the upper row of teeth.
where once ‘it’ was derogatory for ‘infant’ new forms of address as ‘they’ render subjects as p-l-u-r-a-l. the impression of multiple scenes onto celluloid where metaphor means transportation; birth carrying one domain of experience towards the other so that we walk around as hot cases DIY build-at-home-drones —talking ourselves into motion.
fruitful when applied to
doesn’t mean only physical reproduction; it refers to the process of mental conception which i take to mean my cocreation of you inside another’s womb.
how would saint augustine of hippo have felt in the fourth-hundred year after christ’s demise that by adding one-thousand- and-six-hundred more we arrive at a place where his word is dreamed up in sin’s common currency.
children are mentally conceived of daily coined through cordoned cash flows that quip subjective substances, inheritances self- insemination in bedrooms; rewritings of ‘fruitful’ from fruity as in nutty as in mad to ‘fruitful’ as in elected vagrant —a bird straying from its migratory route, fecund.
i played you mozart once while in utero— does the fact of all the exposure to feminist folk lore undo the intellect you were due if mozart were more heavily rotated? spin another crumpled sucker punch.
music selection is a matter of compromise in this house micro-organism of
rearranging our feelings towards the past ;
do what you wanna dooo
be who you wanna beeee
discipline plays like a continuous record, we stick to the score where it counts. where poets were the early internet, we carry boundaries of the plot manually little soldier crabs crumbs of bread scattered throughout the house rearranging your temperament— seasonally.
your intuition plays out like a chorus your defiance repeats in choreography we play into dynamic movement patterns of frustration bump into prolonged affection; we embrace to meet through sound and heat—heartbeat pulses.
just like a poem is a machine made out of sounds, pronouns human subjects are born through the detection of sonars; rangings of sneakers their squeaks on linoleum next to the tipping point of stilettos: écriture féminine.
you are a blueprint: a variant of nilak bluish pansy of psychogeography rewrit.
Sonar for Conception
By Abbra Kotlarczyk | 16 August 2019