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From across the Vapor Gulf.

Today, I fundamentally see that America no longer possesses a memory. Its ability to penetrate past moments thereby extracting from those moments testimony laced with a modicum of perspective no longer exists. In this pseudomorphic capital of the earth the sky has become a sarcophagus of lime eating up moment by moment its deliriously moving population possessed as they are by reverential mirages of speed. Simultaneous with this collective exterior speed exists a deadly inner turgidity which results in those paradoxical apparitions represented by highly vaunted beauty queens of bone, entertainments filled with testimonial ulceration--the result, a cul de sac of ever increasing torment, where the population maniacally gathers, its flesh slowly melting into a steaming vat of sulphurous droplets.

How does one deal with absolute freedom when constantly shouldered by a society of dense statistical mercuries? It seems one's survival depends on practical numerical superiority. But when one lives in a state of constant high samadi how does one cope with the opaqueness of the daily sluggards? Psychic removal? Conjuration of hieratic lavender stars rising in a radiant cinnamon evening?

For now, one must maintain a dynamically charged neutrality which allows the deeper ores to transmute, to fully maturate, as though one were preparing for a more optimum rhythmics of a coming transmundane interior era.
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Title Annotation:excerpt; poem
Author:Alexander, Will
Publication:Chicago Review
Date:Sep 22, 1995
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