INTRODUCTIONtoday I pretended to believe in horoscopes

walked for hours alone

while I should have been sleeping

bought a pack to smoke

but was tired after three

You will transcend. You will know yourself.

But it takes breath and steps and depth(and bloodletting)So don’t get upset

Because it ends then bends and then begins again

REMEMBER:

a clever handle with a candle2

3

who does this to me?

“

IS THE GLAZED KID?ALL RIGHT. IT’S DROPPED.

But it would not drop that easily. How many is that you have killed? he asked him-self. I don't know. Do you think you have a right to kill any one? No. But I have to. How many of those you have killed have been real fascists? Very few. But they are all the enemy to whose force we are opposing force. But you like the people of Navarra better than those of any other part of Spain. Yes. And you kill them. Yes. If you don't believe it go down there to the camp. Don't you know it is wrong to kill? Yes. But you do it? Yes. And you still believe absolutely that your cause is right? Yes.

It is right, he told himself, not reassuringly, but proudly. I believe in the people and their right to govern themselves as they wish. But you mustn't believe in killing, he told himself. You must do it as a necessity but you must not believe in it. If you be-lieve in it the whole thing is wrong.

a woman once asked mehow good would it beif we lived underwater not propelled by mermaid fins pumping pistons or the fear of deathbut by our stories which could sprout from leg sockets or be the talons with which we massage the currents and stroke our trembling, scaly brothers, man’s best friends the rock lobsters, red-herrings and others.Even better, she saidif we let our lines float upto the surface and god fix our hooks with winged deer, skinny cows, and sky pigsThis way, she said, we would neverhave to move,only our words,“like” “more” “or” “less”changing outfitsbut never playing damsels in distress only imagine what could be up there like angels made of air molecules that tug on the strings of our mindswhile they play hide-and-seek withthe truthwho is, after all,a bent old man or a flock of dragons belchingchandelier sprays of blue flowers So much for resolutions, she said Shakespeare claimed all the world’s a stage but he was wrong, it’s all a page and all the men and women merely scribbling in the margins.

All I said was:I rarely buy snake oil over the phoneand only from the licensed salespeople

Populated by explosions and summer love

smiles,

the waning city

notices

!ve

purple pupae

in the air

THE GLAZED KID IS NOT?

54“Nothing is true, everything is permitted.”

Those fatty morsels,corpuscles of batter

crisp against the tooth.Probably park

squirrel,hot and sweet

lacquered upin that sauce. Sweet

Christ that sauce.It’s a communist

plot, I swear. Turnthe Americans

into couch-boundslugs with all that fat

and MSG. Thatway we can’t resist.

God, I’m fat

I’m all vibrations,wiggling like

jello when Ibreathe. Dammit.

Even myanalogies are about

food. SometimesI just feel so

unlovely.

Edward droll, he felt, the thing is he felt was nothing, other than the occasional bodily function tinkering its way through a

tight corridor. many a man fails to!recog-nize feeling nothing as feeling at all. droll felt nothing, he was a superb specimen of sobriety in the face of trans-dimensional, quantum physical, undeniable chaos. the one spark of livid color that occu-pied the otherwise stolid landscape of edward's existence was his collection of breatheable air. edward was of a persuasion that one day the vacuum of his existence, the sterile silence of obscurity he considered...alright, would be compromised and his airtight indifference would be shattered; his grey character being pulled into intricacies of life that led either to the warm and silent acceptance into the nirvana of faith, and the warmth of the god he often pondered, or the absolute obstruction of sanity by the fetid, rot-ting heaps of skin and bone who share his namesake and the incredulity of their broken minds. droll continued to compile a collection of breathable air because he had a feeling, one of the few that moved him to action, that the latter was surely the case.!

Youwe are a remnant

of anything other than

the end

6

7

THE GLAZE

as the neighborhoods

in sorrow.

blossom

It has been six yearsSince I fed a birdThat Burroughs-addled summerOn the banks of the Iowa RiverDriving the ducks to brawl With my tape recorder.

And now in PhiladelphiaFlicking crumbsAt trash-eating sparrowsShouting at pigeons(Hung over, waiting for summer unemployment)

How idealistic I once wasLeading an army of seagullsWith a bag of breadWhen I was five.

I namedThe oneThat had hadIts leg chopped off.

BETWEEN TWO GLAZED DREAMS

like a glazed kid youwer urges

surrounded by

burstburst

tradition ("esh),

8

9

LOVE’SSECRETDOMAIN

In these brutal days and nights of love and warYou take my hand every night

Over my cot-mattress tossed on the floorand we fall into it.

They break our minds, our spirits, and our bodiesBurden our love, as we cannot kiss as ourGas masks do not give liberties to our lips

But they cannot break love, they fail, it is our strongest weaponLove is nothing more than the furthest of perseverance

Our pursuit of just and fair,Like a black flag rippled by the air

Just and true loveThat has been communicated

Throughout the short livedYears of days and nights of love and war

Not only equals justIn our cot-mattress tossed on the floor

We long to live longerYears in the face of certain destruction

You and I, and our certainty of young deathOne of the many of the Uncertainties

You have known me to profess

But you and I, the one that can never flee my chestAnd everyone else we hold hands with in love,

as the sky-scraping buildings burnAs the mob-like tidal waves close in around us

We will kiss and smile and laugh fearless in the streetsOur gas masks finally thrown to our feet.

For us, love was the only thing that ever existedWar was only a simple synonym

Because it is love and only loveThat guides our minds, and our pleasuresOur actions and misunderstood measures

My hands, fingerprints stretched over every inch of youThere is nothing I cannot see

Of you and you of meEquals not only in our cot-mattress tossed on the floor

In these brutal days and nights of love and war

They will make it illegal for us To call each other While driving.

And my anger will be called “immature” And ushers will ask me Not to use the F word At a baseball game.

And we will sneak around the parking lotCrouching behind cars with our 40s.

And you will point and say,“That thing is wrong,”and I will say,“That thing is a squirrel.How could it be wrong?”And we will listen to the radioTo figure out what wrong is.

To figure out what is wrongI will push youAnd hold your armsAnd you will gasp your mouthOr it will say,“Not that.” and something else will be done.And we will fuckBut probably only the wayOne of usLikes it.

And some other time Something else Will be done And at some other time Something else will happen And we will be done.

And I will have to ask you If you want me To leave.

!lling the space with subtle distractions. Youwe and I can build anything in secret dirty places

10 11

Who

lives

to

work?

fueled by the burning city summer.

The Articles, 2010, will always be

12 13

WORK TIME, ALTAR-NATION

THE VAGABOND

Today I am walking backwardsSo as the sun travels Eastward

I pause and try to take advantage of growing younger

Though I have less to look forward to as I’ll now always be the

Consequence to my next action

Consequence to my next actionas I’ll now always be the one looking back

at the world unfolding behind meand moving against the current

I pause to see the lightas the sun travels

Today I am walking backwards

Magick:

This is the place where you won’t have to cryWe’ll build a house and we won’t need a loanWe’ll make it a place for a family to growWe won’t have debt. Only you will I oweWhatever you want, please call it your homeThis place will be real. This place will be oursWe’ll build it together under the stars

Here I no longer have to sleep aloneHere we bask in the beautiful weather

Here we enjoy ten lifetimes togetherHere I have somebody to call my own

This is the place where my father won’t dieThis is the place where our children will learn

This is the place where we won’t need an urn

lurably attracted to every absorption

The world is what you think it to beAnd you can feel about it however you may want;A puzzle to be solved or a journey across the sea.

Just don’t forget that it's yours to be seen,Through the eyes of a man with sympathetic intent

Or angry and furrowed with unsatisfied dissent.!

So think for yourself or someone will for you;The world will become a place of uniform value,

Molded to "perfection" by people unseen,Until romance bows to the unfeeling machine.

!Fuck those people because their interest is their own,

Their control over you, you unconsciously condone.They teach their belief over airwaves and blu ray-

"Self preservation is the height of today,So go ahead, live your life in the most comfortable way."

!As you read this, please tell me that you agree, you resent

The corporate cannibals who have defiled self accomplishment;Disvalued the life of the self-sustained man,

Converted humans to consumers, advancing their plan.!

Remember your origin and worship the Earth,For this planet has contrived a most glorious birth-

Millions of years of mixing the batter,Physics sculpts minerals into animate matter.

!The race of mankind may not be divinely selected,

But none can deny that with this world we're connected.So stop seeking comfort and prove that you're strong,A human with the power to achieve a lifelong dream.

!

but even as heatseekers,

youwe frigidify

You have to admit it,

at least on even-numbered

days,

and venture inside

youwer open bay-be-one

17

16

!"#!$%%#&'(#)*

+,# in

other w

ords:

YES

NO

(cir

cle

one)

B e c o m i n g   R o u t i n eI g n o r i n g   p e r s o n a l   n e e d s

S u c c u m b i n g   t o   t h e   m a c h i n eA c t u a l l y   b e i n g   a   S u i t , 

( i n s t e a d   o f   j u s t   i m p e r s o n a t i n g 

Becoming routine smellsLike a CasinoLike an o"ce spaceWork clothes that Smell like greaseNo matter how oftenYou wash ‘em

To succumb to the machineTastes like murder and meat packagingI never wish to killAnother animalBut to earn my keep I must tasteWhat I feed to other animalsStraight savagery

M i s l e a d i n g   a n o t h e r   m i n dD e s t r o y i n g   a n o t h e r   m i n dD e s t r o y i n g   m y   m i n d   ( B y   n o t   u s i n g   i t )S p i d e r sL a r g e   F e l i n e

A LIST

18 19

Escort I to the present

whi

le th

e w

orld

crys

talli

zes o

utsi

de.

SW

AY

dam

n y

ou

w

e’v

e p

rovid

ed t

he b

reeze

why w

ont y

ou?

is

it b

ecause

of t

he fr

ozen n

ight?

answ

er m

e

I see no value in all this talkwe love to roll around in our own shit,jerking each others brains offwith some half-assed humor. i want to fuck,

and live exhausted getting offon my consciousnesssome real flesh rubbing against my skinbrings me a feeling of utter distraction.i need my body to trembleand my mind obliviousno more talking,i’m weak, i’ve exhausted my tonguejust give me a firm hand, make me cry while i comebecause talking wont save me when we’ve parted ways.

Dear Woman, I’m sorry for the past and all of the empty

touches that danced with sorrow. I’m sorry for the

up down trickling emotions that lay within this here

noggin. I’m sorry for the understood mis‐explanation

of happiness that s beauty tastes sweeter than the

sweat on my hanky. Mostly, I’m sorry for the blank

stares, empty promises, relapsed brain folds, carbon

kisses, starchy intakes, deliverance of spectacles,

rosy cheeks, comfortable quarters, grassy dances,

intoxicated lustrous kinesthetics that broke me down

through cosmic thoughts that were then deserted. I’m

sorry for breaking you into splintering particles

that were thrust into your spine. I’m sorry for

thinking that we were fused together through atomic

particles. I’m sorry that you didn’t care and

I’m sorry you felt burdened. In no way is that a

legitimate piece of absurdity. Sincerely,Oref

Dear Man,

Your thoug

hts about insa

nity? The worl

d will

never function

to the degree

which you may

desire.

Have you ponde

red the realit

y of your acti

vities?

Living free is

beautiful, bu

t living witho

ut care

is disgusting.

I love you, y

our character,

and

your motivatio

n. I hate your

actions, your

lack

of sincerity,

and your demea

nor. You ruine

d what

was important

to me, I live

with that, and

I live

with you. I st

ill think abou

t how you succ

essfully

penetrated my

thoughts by he

artlessly pene

trating

her. I hope it

was worth the

empty fulfill

ment,

the notch on y

our belt, and

most of all I

hope she

finds out when

you least exp

ect it. Your b

rain and

judgement was

intoxicated, b

ut your action

s were not.

I can’t change

your personal

ity nor can I

change the

past, but I ca

n express what

I feel, and I

hate you.

You have froze

n my perspecti

ve of trust an

d you have

eaten my bliss

. In no way is

that a legiti

mate piece

of absurdity.

Your thoughts

about insanity

?

Sincerely,

Oref

Your thoughts about insanity? In no way is that a legitimate piece of absurdity.

CONTRIBUTE TO OUR SPECTACULAR FAILURE

WE ARE NOT UNCLE SAM.WE DO NOT WANT YOU.

WE WANT YOUR BEAUTIFUL, SWEET SWEET LIES.

SO WHY NOT WHISPER IN THESE EARS?glazedkid.org

you@glazedkid.orgGlazed Kidd (FB)

as youwe windowgaze and measure face,

tracing the "aws in tomorro

w’s daily sm

ile

EPILOGUE20 21

And when the page stops, let your time talk. But REMEMBER...

Time traces and talks.-$."#+/%01#/2)*+#/#%)+#)3#+4$'51,##

22

In case you haven’t noticed, you must also learn

to talk time.

OPPORTUNITY has KNOCKed, and

Don’t worry

Time does that.

23finding the building empty... ...left

about it

my love.

”