Heart of Darkness [prose poem]

A fragment found next to my seat on the bench in the back of the bistro at my table waiting for my glass of Gigondas to come from the waitress from Lyon; a piece of paper that had obviously been torn from another sheet, perhaps in collection with several sheets that would have then been torn together; a piece of a sheet of paper from a spiral notebook, as you could see the tell-tale signs of spiral notebook binding left at one edge of the piece of paper torn from a sheet of paper most likely torn in tandem with other sheets, as it seems from the edges of the tear marks; yes, a piece of paper picked up off the banquet and read by me, everything you will see here being a part of the text that is the piece of torn sheet I found before my wine. Hastening my anticipation of my glass of wine arriving was the reading and the re-reading of the happenstancedly edited text, a kind of automatic editing as the Surrealists used to promote automatic writing; and what is actually not taking it too long to come, the wine, only seeming so or as such, after having read this fragment several times over in a row, and that I now present to you in a manner not very consistent with talking casually but publishing formally as I have done here in my blog that you might confuse for the blog that this actually appears in to the person you are apart from the persona of reader you sometimes assume. I, the finder of the text and the publisher of the text, the editor of the review it appears in as apart of the larger fiction it is contained within is not the review that my creator publishes; and the role of editor that I assume in his text is not one who has copy-edited the text, leaving it alone as found because it would appear more authentic, at least to the persona reader you, who is not the actual person you are but that mask you wear when you read in general, and the modified one you wear when you read this text, who is the same person each time he reads a piece of writing, what is this about suspending disbelief, how do we ever do this entirely, we do not. I do not. I know you cannot—the persona reader you are. Every writer, every author every editor creates his audience and writes for this persona audience, no?

What then must I say to you, each you herein coupled? The text is as found. It has not been copy edited in the least as I have admitted to you, and remains true whether you believe it or not. Am I reliable, you might ask yourself. Well, all I can say is see foryourself and decide but every decision is a choice and has a set of consequences, there are always consequences from reading, unavoidable which is why so many people instinctively avoid reading.

The piece:

“‘Jeremiah’s Lamentations on the woe and misery and decadence of third century BC Jerusalem is never too far from our social and political critiques; the energy behind Jeremiah’s pronouncements while lamenting the political and the socio-economic conditions of the Jewish people in Jerusalem is informative of our commitment. What more do you want me to say–perhaps an anecdote, one that purports access to my mind, my thoughts, the kind of person I was am have been will be . . . when I was a boy, my favorite prophet was The Baptist; I later included Jeremiah among my personal collection of spiritual kins, the likes of Shelley, Byron and Blake were also granted access to my inner circle. I am not saying that these are the only poets included in my inner circle of spiritual kin, but an appreciation of their critical positions was paramount in my development as a writer of critical essays,’ he said, I said.”

Yes, as we like to say often without thought as to what we are agreeing with, wanting to be in a collective know, not out of the circle, everyone wants to be included in something larger than themselves, which is why we have mobs and we have such an easy time getting people to gang up other people and everyone does do  it, and I cannot tell you how impossibly stupid so many educated people I meet and hear or listen to are. There’s no wonder in the popular appeal of Trump when if you only looked at the popularity of Obama in its paradigms. Flipping coins is what we love to do, but metaphysically, the paradigms of power, the paradigms of popularity, the paradigms of slogans and propaganda make them one and the same as far as the paradigms of campaigning are concerned.   The horror! The horror.


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