The time between lines is intentional.
Death by tornado or by the bullet of a racist. Equally tragic. Both violent conditions of the earth. I see no difference between man and moon. Properties of particles poeticized.
I have yet to meet a moment uncoated in absurdity.
Time-specific line. Words beyond myself. Perhaps denial of the self. Not denial. The dismissal of. Rather.
I was yelled at once by a blimp. I could not respond appropriately. My attention anchored by sonic textura. Microtona. Overtona. I want to record you. I said.
You can’t fight racist without fire they said. But can’t I. I can appropriate brown with sound. One day an uneducated white man will point to a brown bearded man and say,
“That there is a harmoniumist”
A human’s search for answers and an insectoid’s disapproval of simulated death.
The nature of things which hang in between. I swam in the Bardo once. But I didn’t drown to get there. And something was aware of my dishonesty.
My body is a remote-controlled car and I’m sitting on a cloud in the corner of the sky with the controller in my toes.
fahad baseer 