73. The Revolt Having Failed, It Must Be Time to Cook

Fig. 5: The Poet Calculates the Potential of Other Instruments

What is corrosive is a purely circular viewpoint, round like a head or a cake. The mountain we can see is made of stones, we guess – wrongly. There are no secrets in an equality. Everything we see is made equally of light. Only the dead, all the dead, who choose not to heal, are stone and they break. Add to their brittle rigidity the triple male gaze – fetches ready for nothing. Grind them & whisk them, again and again.

The dead are a fuzzy comedy, a joke we tell, entropic patterns we project against our own darkness. How can they equal what we could do? Freewheeling like birds, we do that too, all available energy poised ready for reception.[1] Sail on above us, you pioneers, & gather the light we shall live by. We must run through then the whole gamut or armature of our potential, from weak poets sealed up within industrial grade polythene sheeting (let them inexorably rot down together!) to a last resistant, innocent of power but always ready to call it out & shoot it. Inextinguishable once reborn.

There needs to be a switch to set this in motion, once we have tasted  through the possibilities. It will transform, yet remain the same. Then it is us, the I and I of us all equally. We call this revolution or alchemy, poetry or even cooking. Let’s do that, quickly & simply, then sit & eat together before we run through the final algorithms. Our only weapon the clarity & opportunity of chance as non-linear complexity works itself out within

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[1] (You can’t see this properly, but we all do possess a distributed focus linear receiver and a hemispherical concentrator, with an exquisite counterbalance both for security and for winter.)