the graves for gods are large and unfilled with earth, so that when the yahweh-christ died again and i stood on the edge of their grave without seeing the other sides i leapt like the fool i am – firm ground is overrated – and read the markings of the gravediggers on the way down with my handy headlamp.
now though the batteries have died and i’ve nothing to read but darkness.
the book of the city is here, in falling and night, and in my hunger i begin to eat it, and i fall into the corpse of god and understand god’s silence and envy the easy words of humans. only silence is natural and so god is natural and humans a disease of words in the body of the universe.
i am not one to misunderstand the seductive salvation of falling – a seduction never consummated, a salvation never fulfilled. god created so we could fall, god died so we could fall forever. what a great grave. even with my headlamp busted i’m having a blast. and so many bodies around me – all falling at different speeds, some screaming, many dead, clothing optional, it’s as if the sum of past present and future whonymity's here … why isn’t it taught that graves are the place to be? – no wonder society’s in disarray and education’s a sham! falling is education, the grave is the classroom, death is the teacher, god the reformer, praise be, march on bipeds!
the book of the city has no beginning, no ending. a spherical book that’s always open and cannot be, eating it only increases desire. written in the secret langwich of the city it contains the keys to life.
i have always wanted to be a gravedigger. the music and singing. the jokes. it’s in my blood for my dreams have shown me i come from a long line of diggers. but with no more graves to dig im unemployed, an eternal bum cast from history into the banana peels of vision. what sights are here! i’m in love with hacked limbs and bags of eyeballs. my family! – our resume is death! i shop myself around with the success of a skeleton on wall street.
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