LACANIAN INC.

      aw hell I am

      at a such a great

      distance from

      this conflict

      in the halfawake

      uninvolvement

      I couldn’t even

      pretend to read,

      see, I have

      amassed this

      massive inaccessible

      intelligence, better,

      knowledge, eminently

      translatable in

      vocab-sense yet

      the syntax

      I consider hostile

      as it I cannot

      occupy, like

      walking on a historical

      flood—THE—

      westernspeaking

      (what starts the west up?),

      where the guy put

      the beastcouples

      on the boat, all aboard

      the mythosphere,

      right?, & what

      about all the lonesome

      creatures, what about

      the poor wet plants?

      God was god

      mean. Now

      we have the imperceptible

      cloud, but remember

      when your hard-

      drive crashed

      & all you had

      was, like, blasted

      into the nowhere

      from which

      Already this thing

      is exhausting, the mere

      weak endeavor alone:

      packaged in this eyeball

      trimeter whatever,

      if I were you

      I wouldn’t have

      come this far. Maybe

      bathysphere would

      have been funnier.

      Should it instruct

      or delight. Brrr.

      I’m a little chilly—

      let’s do this

      in the sun. Not

      bad, though I have

      to squint. So that

      shall be my platinum

      leash. And that

      shall make me free

      to articulate my business

      in a practicable manner.

      All I am

      is early into

      the obviousness

      of my 3rd trimester,

      squinting, autobio-

      graphically. Wouldn’t it

      be nicer to upgrade

      the interface?

      A lighter legtop?

      Artists like apples

      because they restrict

      creativity, thus allowing

      more. Can’t beat that.

      Give me small

      holes to blow through.

      Also, the matter of the sexy

      titanium compact. The matter

      of matter being “sexy.”

      The matter we call matter

      but is not what is the matter

      with what is. I am

      not an artist,

      I just like to type.

      Kidney dialysis/dream analysis.

      Urges, negations,

      substitutions:

      One word

      for another: that is

      the formula

      for the metaphor,

      but I prefer failure

      in all its

      dangling

      permanent permutations,

      prefer saltwater

      to water, the way

      it goes liable

      for life, yet it cannot

      solve this global

      drought. Yet it cannot

      solve its steady rise,

      the effacement of all

      beyond taxonomy.

      I prefer it molecularly,

      this H₂O, this NaCl, not the drought itself,

      not what this human

      blood has done & does do.