NO TITLE AS OF 18 NOVEMBER 2024 44,630 DEAD

"Gathering in platitudes occluded through ritual deviance bypassing eternity, nothing stuns."

Unedited free writing composed while listening to Godspeed You Black Emperor’s NO​ ​TITLE AS OF 13 FEBRUARY 2024 28​,​340 DEAD for the first time from beginning to end w/o pause over headphones in my office with a candle burning.

Gathering in platitudes occluded through ritual deviance bypassing eternity, nothing stuns. Even the big boss at the end of the hall eats blood from his hair and calls it knowledge. Nothing could evince needing to name us one by one before the training entourage cashed out and carried alms back to their kin.

They believed they believed in something worth describing.

Sunshatter undresses those who fail to intercede on their own behalf. Where walls could not intention the division of labor effectively enough to decipher providence. Enough is not enough until they manage to peel back bone from the hands of the potter shaping feeding bowls for human dogs.

They hear the trains pass in rainbow sockets popped out of pure brain. How long it takes to set the table for narration is an eternity to those consumed by nonentity. Pity the anchor, not the ship. Collapse comes fast unless there’s a lesson to be granted the fool with the bit in his mouth on stage when the lights come up too late.

Cameras shatter at the cusp of graves swollen shut with reasons to continue abetting. Underneath the narration is a tarp that hides itself from itself. Only those who want to get what they’ve earned have the heart to help them wonder how long left until they don’t have to squeal. Aboveboard in only forms of solace softened down to nails through lard. Sirens hold nothing lost for long enough to matter as horror lessens who matters most.

The big boss recurs because he holds the key to having a premise nevertheless. All they need appear to do is repeat nonsense. Gathering in shallows scooped from necks punctured by counting.

The books are old. There isn’t enough mentality to parse one semblance from another in aphasia raked across coals burning in language. Just distressed enough to not ask, and only thick enough to defy throttling when the negative exception isn’t yours.

They will fill our ears with the bumps they carved into digressions meant to slow the cure for everything from common cold to real damnation. It’s only meant to bend until it shapes itself the way it was supposed by those who find their light by burning children.

You imagine it’s not you. Neither the maker nor the taker. Where you are is just enough to have and to hold and never more. On gilded seas unsigned for healing after premise becomes tract.

The lessons wane and become soot. Breathed in as sonnets only a hellraiser would wish to leak into the reservoir. One fake becomes the father of the feeling that unites us still online, wanting nothing less than to be released from having been. Knowing only the sound of the gates as they crash behind us, walling out and walling in.

They were simple as it seems. They can be corrected by doing enough the never next time, can’t they.

Should you fail to agree you will know no better.

In a convex mirror, the big boss believes he’s you. He is only as wrong as you can count on all hands melted like clocks in a painting. It doesn’t require time as much as study. Once the books are gone, they just make more.

Once the people are gone, they ask for forgiveness. What’s the difference between an apple and a lake but how long it takes to revise their definitions for those who remain convinced enough to wonder why no one is asking the right questions. Describing how long it takes is the primary problem for the big boss, which is where you come in.

A rhyme to charm the committed. Parsed as foliage in a room larger than the room that contains it. The blacked over windows shimmering with battery as those still yearning outside beg a door.

We say we’ve heard of none of this before except how. A bird doesn’t design itself either, a book reminds us just before there’s no longer enough light to read by. All we have to do is hold it in our minds until it becomes a part of us.

Many thousands are less than many hundreds of thousands. Many hundreds of thousands are less than many millions. Many millions are less than many hundreds of millions. Many hundreds of millions are less than many billions. Many billions are less than many hundreds of billions. Many hundreds of billions are less than trillions. Only so many trillions exist.

Math is just accounting expressed through laws. To the victor, leave the reason to extrapolate upon demise.