By | 1 July 1998

You go to a restaurant and you eat a meal and you choke and die. It happens like
that. You feel horny and you visit a sauna, get careless, and you catch AIDS and die.
You open a
present while straphanging on a tram, miss your stop, get off in a hurry, don’t notice
a truck, get hit and die. Or you breathe the mould of your own body for a lifetime,
day after silent day, and you turn white and die. Or you open your hand and the
lines suddenly go walking off in different directions over the edges of the world and
this puzzles you and you can’t understand it and out of such perplexity you die.
One day the face of the sunflower deity is splattered on the bedsheets and you
grow prickly and are never visited by the bees that carry sweetness in their thighs
and from the hunger for their soft release you die.You construct a house of stone
underneath a well of pure skywater and there you bring the pillars of every deity
and the offerings for every cult and you crush flowers and the tiny hands of the
newborn dead and, forgetting how substanceless is sacred food and ritual water,
you reincarnate as gesture without body and die.

On a Saturday during the football on an airplane over Antarctica in galoshes in a
business suit on the holiday of a lifetime tomorrow and yesterday after five minutes
of thinking and a decade of acceptance passionlessly as oxygen from a mask in
this room which has grown as small as a child’s crib you open your mouth to all that
exits and all that rushes in and wanting so much to speak you start to mime the
opening of a word
and you begin to understand
how the silence that fills you and the passion for words that overflows
is your own private and chaotic death.

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