a poem — “truths are illusions of which we have forgotten that they are illusions” — friedrich nietzsche meaning’s only swallowed at the end of a sentence, but it’s tasted along the way rage i feel in my eyes revolution, a question a careless conundrum careful, caked up fat on fancy fishing for thoughts fishing for a fortress to…

a poem — “It seems clear that household animals are bored; they are homunculae, the dismal reflections of their masters. Culture has penetrated them, destroying nature in them without replacing it. Language is their major frustration: they have a crude understanding of its function but cannot use it; it is enough for them…