"THE BREAKDOWN COMES WHEN YOU STOP CONTROLLING YOURSELF / AND WANT THE RELEASE OF A BLOODBATH" - JENNY HOLZER

I. Vanitas Vanitatum
[The stage is set: a paper moon against a starless, greyscale sky. GINSBERG howls. He's nostalgic for all he'd assumed was forgotten; desperate to never recall it again. His numbered days are manufactured: ELIOT reclines, watching the world end.]

CHORUS OF PROPHETS:
In our own sins we trusted,
both in essence and in nature.
Hell was never an inferno:
it is an echo chamber.

We have nothing (-- we have nothing --)
but maxims and jumbled alphabets
and lightly-sparkling bitterness
when the cork pops feebly from the bottle;
(-- nothing! --) dripping saltine hate.

We've lived large and small, been tiny and tall;
always filling too much space in a too-big room
where our presence is ironically scarce.
There is nothing for you here,
bar vacant lungs and river water --
take a breath and join us
                               in sinking to
                                            (sinking!) the
                                               (sinking!) bottom
                                                  (sinking­,) of
                                                        (sinki­ng...) the
                                                             ­              Styx.

II. Et Omnia Vanitas
[Enter PLATH, SEXTON, WOOLF, BYRON, DICKINSON and VARIOUS PHARMACEUTICAL BRAND REPRESENTATIVES.]

You know not what you could be
but merely what you are
and that alone is traumatic enough.
Taste it, a slice at a time:

the disillusionment from having raised your hopes beyond rotting in the soil,
the anger upon realising this was your own fault and all you want to do is scream,
the bargaining, the denial, the scream (you were not born to live). The gradual processing. The scream!
Scream at the moon and scream at the walls and scream into pillows and howl and wail and hack away at the flesh and screech until plastic surroundings melt and it is only you and the void you willed upon yourself.

III. Epitaph (What Now?)
[A white-fur baby seal is camouflaged upon the ice
and, eyes closed, fools itself into thinking it survived.]

What happens next is no act of evil:
this is survival of the fittest.
We are bottom-rung of the food chain
and starving predators need to eat.

[We lick the ground and taste defeat.]

Ruby poppies reach heavenward --
small birds take their maiden flights.
I shrivel, putrid in the soil,
in the winter of my life.

You may look like a piece of paper.
Fengxiang
I want to start over

You like to talk on paper
Like a card house
One of the internal storage

It seems that you are getting deeper and deeper
Six foot challenge
But no one heard

Do you know how late are you?
"The people around you know

You have to turn off the lights
It will be fine
This is night after night.
According to July 4th

'No children are your employer
Come and show what you really need.
Let them go, "Oh, wow, hey!"
You shoot the air

The child has a fire for you
They come to pay the money
Let them go, "Oh, wow, hey!"
You give up on them.

Like a sling
You are the source, indispensable
If you know what will happen
After cold creep

Maybe all the doors are closed.
It can be unlocked
Beat your heart like a donkey
If you know, as time goes by

You have to turn off the lights
It will be fine
This is night after night.
According to July 4th

'No children are your employer
Come and show what you really need.
Let them go, "Oh, wow, hey!"
You shoot the air

The child has a fire for you
They come to pay the money
Let them go, "Oh, wow, hey!"
You give up on them.

Cheek tree
Better than the month, month, month
It is always by your side, you, you.
It's time to release it.

'No children are your employer
Come and show what you really need.
Let them go, "Oh, wow, hey!"
You shoot the air

The child has a fire for you
They come to pay the money
Let them go, "Oh, wow, hey!"
You give up on them.
Cheek tree
Better than the month, month, month
Cheek tree
Better than the month, month, month

I.

smile and drop the facade

tune into your suffering and lie to yourself

he's lying                         (watch his lips move)

take whats mine

take the pulse under my skin

**** it all away

                                                           ­ i just need one more day

II.

half pack of cigarettes no wrapper

next to the body of a man fallen from his masturbators

walls plastered with the back of his head and a

dead body saturating in excrement

gun on the floor one casing spent

wasn't long ago he sat there smoking

one burning red fountain is sick 96¢.

the hole they put him in cost

4000 rounds.

III.

open your mouth and ignore the

scorched mounds dissipating into the wind

your whisper your breath your flesh

go they all go

c'est la vie.

be careful,
                   you wouldn't want too s
                                                             l
                                                              i­
                                                                ­p
                                                               ­     o
                                                          ­        r
                               sl
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                                       d         e  specially fo
                                          e                   ­         r  
much structure i    s                                       you
     i    p    r   a   t                                                    t
       m   o   t   n                                                      h
        ­    p           d
                a                                           to be  creative
                    r           n                                       o
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                            i          d                       ­          r
                             v          e                                o
                   ­           e           d                               ll
                                                              ­              e
                                                 ­                            d

Water running through toes and over elbows.
Cascading down forearms and up necks.

Falling in stampedes from underneath eyelids
PIT PAT
PIT PAT
PIT PAT
Onto shoelaces and ankles and
Fabric draped across our laps.

This is the feeling of an afternoon spent entangled in
Covers. The sensation of a cold breeze
Swooping us up on its burdensome wings
Only to ask “Where’s my tip?” and the shrugging shoulders
That follow. The rattle of empty pockets. The
Shattering of glass and a cry for HELP
So incredibly ARDUOUS it slices your throat
Like a steel blade
SSSSSS SSSSSSSSSSSS
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS SSSSSSSSSS
SS­SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
And the clock doesn’t stop ticking
Around and around until you’re too dizzy.

This is the feeling of water running through toes and over elbows. Cascading down forearms and up necks. This is the feeling of an afternoon spent entangled in covers. The feeling of a cold breeze swooping us up on it burdensome wings. The feeling of a cry so arduous it slices your throat like a steel blade.

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