bricklayer
bricklayer
by Shannon Baker
bricklayer lays himself down upon
his body. builds a better way
out.
flapnasty foliage, orbital dirt.
space dust come to rest and we
sucking fruitmeat on some perching-porch.
airing out our animal, lest film-filthy
flesh be left to
rot.
it’s difficult though, this business of
wasting. it only leaves me
wanting more
to waste.
why waste though?
you are not hard-wired to and some part of you knows it. you are alive to do fucking incredible things that other people aren’t capable of. you’re practically a muse.
i love and empathize with this feeling of growth and regrowth and the shedding skins and the everything all around melting and building and collapsing again&again that we can’t deny or ignore. also, bricklayer reminds me of placebo’s lyric in “the clouds will open for me” where he describes a cold feeling of all the carcass burials forgotten under concrete construction destruction mixed cement and what is with that meaning and what are we going to do about any of it? well, well… sometimes even lying under bushes in deep forest can smell like toxic metals and the wind tells you to go somewhere else, somewhere cleaner, a place waiting. and then i want to transcend to timeless egolessness above my mammalian meat muscles just by snorting a flower’s sunshine scent <3 i love you, shannon, you are a seriously important magical muse.
lmao, how did you happen to read this the same day i did? CONSPIRACY
more importantly, how in the fuck do we remember our passwords?
concerning that, I CAN’T QUESTION OUR INTELLIGENCE ANYMORE. NOOO