The Mountain View Dishwasher Society
of the Dead
is the only place where I can,
someone told me in a dream, relax.
It’s a scam for the sake of invisible giants
that relentlessly forget the beginning of a sentence
before reaching the end of it. Living in a time
devoid of zeitgeist might be both liberating and boring.
Famous child molesters, necrophiles and scatologists
bury themselves in bottomless heaven.
The shreds of tiny, bamboozled eyes float in unsavory liquids.
The eyes of the four horses and riders,
turned inside out, burn like neglected toys.

yuletide movies

She used to hitchhike on hydrofoils down the canals, teeming
with the bones of those who built them, beautiful bones
of Venusians, Martians and other incredible species,
the enemies of the human race, as they called them, down the canals,
teeming with junk and rubbish and wooden masks, which you could
pick up and sell for the price of your precious sneezes.
She used to heal June beetles with her precious breath,
she used to own the universe and a ramshackle mansion in Prague to boot,
a grave in Andorra, a boa constrictor in Calgary,
a butterfly in Arkhangelsk, all the HIV in Tikal,
a watermelon in Paris which was bigger than the Eiffel Tower,
and a lousy dog on the outskirts of Harappa, which couldn’t
wake her up while she was sleeping replete with shining shards of hammers
and sickles and silent black-and-white dreams on a cast-iron couch.
She used to, but never wanted it to last forever.


I enjoy talking to centaurs and sphinxes and walking totem poles
equipped with surveillance cameras, as much as Linus
and Orpheus were satisfied singing to cabbages, fig trees
and lopsided eggs laid by Thracian birds. I am always happy
to discover their hair in my daily bread. These creatures
spy on humans, follow garbage trucks and notice every smell and broken breath.
They scrutinize, they gaze, they count fallen leaves and wet footprints
and cigarette butts on the pavement and apply specific meanings to their shapes,
meanings charged with who knows what kinky ideas.

{after the comments on behind}

on the surface

Freaks, impostors and charlatans found religions.
Later the squarest of the square become zealots, martyrs and saints.
It goes on, it seems, like a clockwork for a while.
Eventually you end up with a situation when all the population are saints
aside from a few freaks who are trying to found a few new religions.
However, it is hardly possible to preach to a crowd of saints.
Of course, every saint keeps a freak buried deep inside,
and that freak in turn cherishes a saint, and so on.
But those buried freaks, when they do surface,
they are too violent for any possible religion.