Or, On What There Is.
By J H Prynne.
[...] No dream
all hunger in the mouth get the fuck out of joy and beauty come on
be direct for a change truth to tell not even war but abject misery
the nothing to not have not eat, feel your mouth lost for words
and minimum fluid intake. Dry is not a sound dwindling beyond
utterance because in the very internal being of the nothing that
is not there, empty. What language is this unable to be spoken
tongue cracked I saw no need nor use for the dialect beyond all
that so is self-being implicit as a luxury good, fancy handbag
for what you’ll never put in it or snap its glitzy closure void
at heart and brain where mouth unoccupied not even known, even
or not, masticate on words of the species unquoted on the ex-
change so far below par. Keep very calm since excess along the
indigent/indignant border is the radiant bonus paid out against
Rule One. The calmness is a special kind of final joy even at
deep unkindness, because it is the truth of things and this
truth shall not make you free, to sit still or not it is for
sure necessitous but man-made and not by necessity this limpet
contradiction faces the void and is the truth of captivity, to
know this is the joy of ruin and needfulness feel these words
in the feral mouth of separation this too no lick no spittle,
freedom too costly even at the top end or especially there (Rule
Four) our bonds are our sure bondage already in manifest plain
view I saw this too. [...]
