The Burroughs Proceedings : a cut-and-paste adventure

another human amoeba floating around in the petri dish of life, chasing paramecium for a date on a friday night and eating nutrient by the shitload and not bothering to do any dishes.

but with pump-nozzle in hand, i noticed each and every thing in life which i had been ignorant of -- no, downright rude and offensive to -- and in the process i managed to pump enough gasoline to turn my car into the next OPEC nation and to turn myself into a human torch.

literature is an example of a writer deeply immersed in water too cold for anyone else, swimming with frantic, drowning strokes, and gasping for air in a loud smokers hack.

reflected in gradations of everything quite known and familiar, it wasn't much of a light show, but it amused me just the same.

the almost-blue shadow of darkness left a deep-blue hollow in my soul.

irrelevant notice of impending doom left me with hours to worry and think about what I have no control over and nothing to do with.

the beauty and grace of engagement keeps two people together in a fight which may last 50 year or more and be celebrated annually for the sake of their endurance and sheer will power.

I was hit on my way home by a rush of oncoming invitations as I find all of my friends marrying while I am still learning to swim.

noticing the irrelevance of completion he procrastinated for a little longer, watching a few more hours of late night re-runs and the home shopping networks.

a pursuit of everything and all the nothing in between.

the tangible pigment of marble left me with a bitter taste in my mouth as I thought of the juxtaposition of the homeless sleeping on its grand gleam.

a language composed in poetry speaks with lyrical beauty and a meaning deeply confused.

making the mind:
chiseling a block of terms and ideas

making the square a sphere,
performing miracles in one's spare time.

an arranged value
of the rules of grammar

gave me a sum i did not account for
nor properly forsee.

tracing the simplest use of language leaves me with a hairy, smelly man name Harry who mutters "Yo!" at the top of his lungs.

the making of beauty with never before seen behind-the-scenes footage.

the state of pattern is in unrest as the constant repitition made the citizens unruly and led to the first revolt on a bolt of fabric.

a common quality in itself but quite remarkable when packaged with a mini-Slinky and a Super Big Gulp.

an element of quality in itself, the ratio of broken parts to factory-refurbished ones is an often overlooked statistic when purchasing home appliances.

though in some countries
the scratching of nails on a blackboard may be
an alluring form of sound,
in my little neck of the world
we find it downright offensive.

what does a theory or concept ever mean? when you leave the door of the classroom and the steps of the university for one last time and for good.

The Royal family broils in a tabloid bbq, and
Pop stars end up grilled long past well-done:
there's a similar monarchy amongst truth.

a curious cut & paste left me wondering about the source of the clippings and the type of glue.

an idea otherwise abolished creeps up in the shadows when everyone is too busy watching Oprah.

a logical, but curious, defect left me physically challenged with all my arms and legs.

an ancestry of writings bridle the traditions given to me
expecting me to ride them long and far
when all I want to do is sleep
for a couple more years.

the weight of a revolution's history crushes us hard in our idealistic fantasies, leaving us with nothing but hot air and false hopes.

based upon a potential god they stripped themselves of wordly aspirations, brought down upon themselves the ten commandments, and set fire to Babel and bushes while hanging their chosen children from crosses.

a god of necessity serves many but a god of absolute good holds "going out of business" sales.

the invention of the whole advanced industry of killing led to the much-awaited rise in the GDP, a dramatic drop in unemployment, and a second term for the incumbent politicians.

puddles of trees reflected in the sky, puddles of me on the hard sidewalk, left behind in the wake of a bullet and a lifetime of anger.

the absurdity of childrens' visions is in the fact that we can no longer see them and therefore do not believe in them.

all that is real -- explained tonight on 60 Minutes.

a healthy neglect does a body good.

relying on the existence of literature is a terrible way to live one's life and a terrible way to be disappointed.

the sweaty reality of metaphors makes one laugh that we ever took similies seriously.

the threat of the devil between us makes it less likely we'll ever have a second date.

And they drone on and on, preaching an obscure philosophy of hope which no one listens to or could comprehend.

A dictionary could greatly benefit from a collection of removed words being found and re-united.

upon sweaty metaphors my entire life rests.

the meagerness of the worm to the robin never ever crosses our minds as we ignore an entire world surrounding us underfoot and overhead.

between the threats of the devil and the remarks of the self we be crazy to ever believe we're going to heaven.

quick-drying mental concrete.

a knowledge of language never meant to be understood.

the scope of an infinite number seems small in the light of current events.

the poet defeating the infinite task: to get published in a world which no longer cares.

a universal poet writing PVC prose on a saturday night.

inside the universal poet-reader mind lies a confused soul which thirsts for football, television, or something mindless like that.

dividing up the immensity to be used for the ordinary things in life we can never have too much of.

the vast absorption of the earth in an age of radioactivity leaves me thinking about what to microwave for dinner.

the inherent truth in silent thinking goes without saying.

Before I left, I checked the depth and direction of the atmosphere to make sure I would be able to breathe. and I did, for a very long time until I died, then someone got to breath me.

People, places, and things become hazards by degree.

the imagination engine running on hundred-proof octane and a thousand inspirations.

the important gesture of the thumb is the first thing they teach when you choose to hitchike through your life.

my blue-green sky, river, and road blend together on the one-colored palette of a world I live in.

a blue-green age of innocence
ends the countless years of suffering
and lays to rest
a rusted era of importance.

a survey of a million changed ideas showed that 3 out of 4 doctors recommend Trident gum instead of brushing.

the bigger the passion the greater the distance

to each his own separate breeze and to each their own separate ocean.

Adam and Eve fell relunctantly into the necessary role of mother and father of existence and lived to regret it.

Heaven is being simple in a snowfall.

the following winter sequence is brought to you by The Excalibur in Las Vegas.

time leads the mind down back alleys and into opium dens.

Just another breathless afternoon in the city of Angels.

incidental leaves in a yellow orchard spark a smile that never went away.

a single coincidence of dwelling could mean a lifetime in hell, if you listen to the Catholics.

the course of tomorrow stands true to the terms supplied by yesterday

History, changed by a million yesterdays, but unshaken by the threat of tomorrow.

nevertheless, hydrogen is essential, and there is very little I can do about it.

nature, upon first view would seem an annoying waste of time, but on second thought seems kind of cute.

a billion specks of hydrogen and they somehow all decided to congregate under my nose one afternoon, choking me to death in one horrendous disaster that ended in me exploding as my friend put out his cigarette on my bloated corpse.

a carbon nonexistence leaves me wondering the truth about Evolution, and my apparent exclusion.

the basis for the universe beyond can be figured out with a piece of paper, a pencil, and a mother-fucking expensive calculator.

dinosaur acorns and cypress rain in a forest of fossilized memories and prehistoric yesterdays.

forming water in the palm of my hand.

the hazards of alliteration and the danger of stumbling over the roots of words is never taught or warned us in schools, and I count all of them responsible for the deaths.

Nightly, in my dreams, I fall down into a gossamer frenzy and wake up frustrated and tied.

the hoped-for association of urgency with delay didn't go over well at the box office nor on home video.

Three cheers for the delay before it occurs.

a miraclulous system of lures was erected to catch me when I least expected it, but if she had asked, I would have told her it was all unnescesary, I'd love to go out with her.

the genuine victory within, as you finally decide what to have for dinner.

the scope of flesh grows larger as you grow older.

claiming the merits of resolution for your very own.

oscillating between a minimum of rhyme and a maximum of prose, the editor finally approved the piece for publication.

unique products of speech manufactured by a little mom-and-pop factory on the outskirts of Topeka, have left me with the will to live and a $5 rebate on my next purchase.

and all I am left with are government imposed opportunities.

the behavior of concrete poets follows seven of the laws of physics and nothing else.

my mind spins in retrospective leaps and bounds.

the riddle of life-like poetry has held me perplexed for countless volumes now.

to God, we are life-like symbols of human improvisation.

I wake up each day only intending to improve the riddle and the act, nevermind the substance or the meaning.
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copyright © 1996 Matte Elsbernd