So much thanks to everyone who made last night’s “Reading Chaos” event at Surreal Estate a success! Here’s the text (sans shrieking and glossolalia) of what I performed last night with Eric, Ken Bradburd, and Brian McCorkle while they played.
Null Part 1 (Me)
©Jenny Gonzalez-Blitz 2011
I have set the desert on fire in an act of self-immolation. An exploding Star then collapsing on itself. Density of Nothingness. I am nihil in your world. I am what you pretend is not there. I am Null.
This was the desert where shards of an unholy mineral gashed at my body, soul, and already distorted sense of a time-space continuum. I stopped traversing your plane in a linear fashion to better set it ablaze.
It was a Willful destruction.
Of the thing that the Masses
Of sheltered soft classes
Told me wasn’t such a bad place to be after all
No big deal.
Always overreacting. Overreactive. Overreactionary. Reactionary? Revolutionary?
They peered at me from caves of pink cotton, pastel hues, and “letting go”. Spirituality by Oprah. The power of positive thinking.
I slept in the Place of Bones. I gnawed at them for my amusement. And their flavor.
And to cut my teeth as sharp as the needles and glass under my skin where my genetic coding was supposed to have been.
But when the surface was broke and interior connected with exterior the red alert of blood released congealed on the lips of the wounds that they may speak and give us the truth.
The wounds requested their favorite songs be played and a dirty martini to unwind with, after the work of being rent open. And once settled in they began to talk of the crushing darkness within the collapsed Star—of particles of positive AND NEGATIVE energies joined together to Will themselves in and out of existence.
Manifestation. Annihilation. And from Nothingness manifestation again.
From the immolation of a Star into it’s own Willed darkness, the limitless light beginning.
The desert is on fire. It may take as many years to burn down as it took to grow. But the fire makes a nice glow against the infinite blackness.
Those always asleep sense it and writhe with the anxious nightmares of a shaky kyriarchy. It is terrible. The sentient merely watch, becalmed and still.
It is beautiful.