firstworld/ secondworld by peach schist

waves of flaxen hair.
eros sits, waiting in his garden
locked away

from innumerable pairs of eyes
who expect something different
of eros’ garden
than its reality.

nobody has gone in.
eros says there’s nobody
worthy of allowing them his grace. nobody

has desires, only
disconnection

as we emulate
the old world: minding
one’s own business.
(
somebody got used to living real early in life. this same somebody then confused things that were not life with life. somebody didn’t want that which they had- that, they feared most. somebody got disillusioned, never to return from hell wherein they fit.
)
i toss
my arrow
over my shoulder, never
to see you again, lover.

the world is ending but i can’t be bothered to have anything to do with the world
THE WORLD IS ENDING, KNOW THIS
the world is dirty dirt-dirt is the only thing i know exactly the origins of
THE WORLD IS ENDING AND DIRTY AS WE PRESENT SUCH TO OURSELVES- AND TO
OUR NEGLECTED AUTONOMY- AS PRISON
PRISON IS NOT SO BAD ONCE YOU GET USED TO IT
BE LIKE ME AND GET USED TO IT

the world is a volcano erupting
that we keep throwing each other in the mouth of
nevertheless; the world is our retributions materializing in slow,
creeping movements. (who is the matrix for this formality? just curious.)

nothing grows in the belly
of volcanoes but burning.

fire is on my feet. i know it is just spit.
i know it is coming for me. i’m waiting

for the next psychosis. this psychosis which i see in my friends
is draining love from itself as though venom. (we separate from each other.)

i have parted the red sea by pulling it apart. it’s surprisingly soft in the middle. the ground is sandy and filled with hidden creatures who’ve found solace. (so long as i sing in such solace while dying then i’ve no qualm against death.) the force of the waves is astronomical. a so-called savior is at my side, commanding me to do anything i want as long as i castrate myself in his name. i am savior today; everyday, and i think that’s why i worry i’m not committing action directly. (well, just because we separate from each other, it doesn’t mean we must separate each other.
)

and i sing
and i sing
and i sing
and i sing
and i sing sing sing (you return you return that singing you hear
)
andi sing because i cannot see and i would rather i didn’t fathom what i see

hide
hide
hid.did not return that singing on time, dear.

the savior said he is going to take my place.

you can’t, i replied. i sing
and i sing
and i sing
and i sing
and i sing
and i’m going to put a penny on either of my eyes

he said, i’m going take
i’m going to take
i’m going to take
i’m going to take
i’m going to take over your place
i’m going to take

you’re chasing nothing, i said, you’re not
trying to understand yourself
trying to understand yourself
trying
trying to understand
trying to understand yourself

aren’t you

aren’t you

aren’t you going to go outside when there’s

a world there

no
no
no
no

i think

i’d rather

disappear

from the outer-world

for good

i

feel

demoralized

what? don’t you know that stuff is going down in af
what? don’t you know that stuff is going down in
going down in
stuff is going down in africa?

i am africa (i caught burger kings, too). you cannot buy me. therefore, i am a best friend that will leave you in a fit of self involvement, self destructing upon declaring, “i’ll never leave.” my diseases scowl and teach i have
havei…been…ostracisismed
?

learn to begin buying your friends. love, africa.
what kinda shape
what kinda shape is a burger king?
(
a sinking box the belly of the world cannot tolerate swallowing)
i’ll battle you africa in who has it worse i has it worse motherfucker
my mom
my mom was as hut-in

opium

opium in her gums
my mom raised me in the suburbs with a television set we were the luckiest kids on the block
we had chalk we ate chalk for breakfast we ate chalk for stomach aches and IF I SING THAN WE’LL ALL BE DEAD I SING THE BEATLES AND CELINE DION

AFRICA IF YOU SING I’LL CALL THE COPS AND I’LL TELL THEM YOU DID IT
GIVE ME THE REMOTE
NO GIVE ME THE REMOTE
GIVE ME THE REMOTE
GIVE ME THE REMOTE
NO GIVE ME THE REMOTE OR I’LL CALL THE COPS
CHANGE THE CHANNEL
STOP IT NOW
YOU OWE IT TO ME CHANGE THE GODDAMN CHANNEL I’M TIRED OF BEVERLY HILLS 90210
I GOTTA FIND OUT ABOUT BRENDA
I GOTTA FIND OUT IF DONNA IS GETTING BETTER WITH HER DRINKING
IS HER DAD DEAD YET
IS MY DAD DEAD YET

HIS DAD IS DEAD RIGHT
NO?
OH. (don’t worry, africa. i won’t let “they” cut you off from your oxygen. i’ll never leave.)

 

 

 

 

******************

peach schist runs a blog and sees in lightning she reports in language. she is her thoughts, feelings, and actions- otherwise, alongside yourself, she is stranded.

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