Up the gallows stairs we race
with faces caked with death and aching for its taste. Tipping and slipping our heads through the open loops, tasting the knotted portals as they tighten against our necks, we accept the invitation into whatever follows. In the westerns they hang a man at dawn, but here it could happen at any moment deemed uninteresting enough to warrant such a brief but satisfying diversion. A double hanging on a Sunday means nothing but a busy Monday for the shovelers and pine box builders and the insatiable alchemists of the flesh. Does it matter what we did? Does it matter what we did? In both senses: no. But it should be mentioned that while doing it we felt that life and its opposite were not opposites at all but merely the a-side and the b-side of a one-hit wonder from which the labels had become unglued before we were born.Copyright 2006 max jukes/brian edward hack. No quotation or reproduction of this material without express written permission of the author.
Labels: 45 rpm records, Biocentrism, Gallows, Hangings
posted by max jukes @ 8:24 PM
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