Sunday, 20 November 2011


They lived in a city ;made of; rabbit snot. At night they fired revolvers at the moon heavy with snow. Police suicided medical uncles in multi-storey car parks. That was the time of Universal Peace.
Soon they were at sea in a great storm. The year was Wednesday. All aunts named Isabella feared the effect of the snowy moon on boarded up shop windows. Capitalists made love to mechanical razor blades while TV news readers skipped around the excited Capitalist love-makers chanting “guggle tor.”
They arrived at a harbour made of ukulele echoes. Their limbs were gold as silk their lips rich in geranium mines. That was the time of the forgetting of all books. Sally became a popular song and I became Sally. Nothing lasts for always although unchangeable.
They drove their cars into a desert. The buildings were low ceilinged to attract mystics and their lodgers. Hank showed them around the bedsit using pipettes to derail trams. The next day was 1774. A strange cloud pulsed over the city between the hours of midnight and mid-noon. Rabbits danced outside boarded up shop windows, selling seascapes ;made of; 50 rouble notes.
They were clothed in BOREDOM. The hour was 1979 and Margaret Thatcher was strolling through a zoo. The sky was silk as gold their limbs encrypting shadows. Every so often Margaret Thatcher would pause, to bite her toes off at their circumference. That was the time of Universal Sex known as Desolation.
When they awoke it was late afternoon. They rubbed spiders out of their eyes. They ran into work, naked and gashed. In all cinema beautiful uncles fell from tall buildings, their moustaches floating free from their countenances and spouting fire at a city ;made of; rabbit snot. Sally’s dress, blue as the sky in the cold and silver sea, her eyes, silver as the sea in the cold and blue sky, ooooo. I only want you to be happy.
They pushed the two into the back of a car. It was raining heavily, clouds low over fields, wind hunkering down to rabbits in their burrows. But Theory is also essential for the transformation of domains in which a Marxist theoretical practice does not yet really exist. Louis Althusser, ‘On the Materialist Dialectic’ from For Marx translated Ben Brewster. Sally’s dress fitted my bodies as though I had never been alone. They crashed the car at a seaside location. The rain was now sleeting, the daylight so dark they could see no further than the walls at their feet. The path grew steeper, the sea’s dreamy screaming more distant. The two were now abandoned, in a place without street signs or breakfast menus. Tentatively they made their way along the beach. The tide was going out. Seaweed glittered, winking at a dull earthy moon above. The two kissed, because they understood someone was spying on them. The year was twenty past nine. In the skyscraper they went from floor to floor, leaving their memories in every unit for living and despairing. The rabbits scrambled out of their burrows and sniffed the clear, salty air. Ludwig of Ghent gazed out on a city night. He observed a paradox: that all the lights were darker than none of the lights and that some of the lights were brighter than none of the lights. This is called Ludwig of Ghent’s paradox and is the beginning of the world.

Written by Anonymous.

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