Collaboration 2-15-00
In the Postmodern Resource Center, your tongue is a heretic, and the
integrated design of each moment produces a sculpture of your own head
The last gasp of adolescence standardized a time when one's future
was squeamish like his giant harlequin in a living crowd.
It is heretical to be unapolegetically female, white-knuckling, squeamish,
like smuggling blood home in my socks, or being accused of loafing at
some gas station outside of Texas.
the palate is sour like my stomach I invite my soul to listen to the
play by play discrete philosophy is the key to good wine
discretion in philosophy has led to the backside of God, the lost Alamo,
fake blood, the standardized test, the sweaty handkerchief
you use to scrape your tongue. Is this information useful? Or just
so much academic tin foil vacuum packed around a bag of chips?
by (in order of appearance by stanza): Brian Clements, Elana Abernathy,
Humera Afridi, Ray Bianchi, John Richards, Michael Puttonen
Original from 2-15-00, 104K JPEG