Litkicks Message Board Archive

I don't know...

Posted to Stories

...How to classify this.

Are you caught in a consuming and pervasive
American prejudice?

("How would you like for this question to appear, every morning, at breakfast?")
If not, at what point wil this become YOUR substantive reality?
(-When no gathering is enough.....No lucid encounters in a human environment, likewise no reality- experience occuring with others, NO Nature- When the mailbox of all our intellectual resource is empty and no one in your proximity remains conscious- this is the position from which I write.) "How does breakfast taste?"

Are those eggs real?
Did they come from chickens?
(Don't drink the grapefruit juice-
Where's the canteloupe?)

Preferentially speaking, you,
-I warn,
Are not beyond reproach, your logic
Is not what I esteem highest;
You've hatched
An egg
From your machine,
(looking nice).

Slid it down the drain...
...was it cooked, rinsed, or parted from its shell?
And it's not your garbage disposal-
It's cracked, dropped, unborn
Unsolved mysteries.
How can you stand it?
While Americans smell for breakfast
I sense emptiness...

How, I wonder, do they tell you to care?
How would you tell it? Oh, you're cooking an anarchist breakfast. How wonderful! Now all of us can eat it...
Is the essence the thing that you seek? In some theater, some morning newsprint?

Chickens plucked
From a wall.