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to go to vegas he asks if he can buy a house he hates quiet people looking for a fire outside he wants to introduce us to the unicorns he has twelve of them he lives with them in an igloo tonyas lips are cold they are like icebergs her tongue is a broom she is seeing double vision like a superhero the euphoria of the intestines a complete world a miniature city tonya is marked by the inverted the premonitions of the future that which is spent and exhausted following the imperial and the chaotic the soup cans exploded in the sun’s heat the Ishmael Reed she is going back to vegas she is taking pictures this time and winning enough money to buy a house the culture of advertising and hotels call the newsman for the footage she is a diamond in the rough the murder mystery and the science fiction no longer obeying the laws of the past the revolution destroys the old puts the masters to death I will find you and I will kill you consider yourself lucky if you are already dead the involvement of a buried or repressed theory I have freed myself from your words they no longer have a hold on me I have broken the spell a chronology of metamorphoses and punctuation marks let us discuss the words we use and their context sow the seed of a pretty context a grassy field in the summer with a gentle breeze but there is still this man lurking in the darkness hiding in the shower a mutation in the sphere of the archaic in rolls your tanks crushing the pretty flowers destroying the village a dominant cultural logic a hegemonic norm I am feeling all of your impulses it reworks it transforms it appropriates I am not here for the march of glory I am not your Frankenstein the people in the village are worn down to their skulls the work of art emerges between the gap of the real and unreal worlds they recreate about themselves an objective world that previously didn’t exist without the action of the creator without the stroke of the pen or the tapping of the keyboard it is action that produces meaning there is no meaning separate from action Tommy puts his fetishes up on the wall dead objects hanging together two hangmen hanging from a tree essence and appearance the raw vibrations of the human throat the pain itself now speaks it vibrates the landscape it vibrates the stars growing up inside a sealed and silent membrane the great dominant experiences do not exist Tommy refuses to believe in them he says that they don’t exist he has closed himself off and has become a monad he is buried alive and condemned to a life of solitude he can be surrounded by adoring women yet he is all alone there is only silence in his soul Golgotha the dead hanging from his cross bertha touches tommy but he does not respond to the predictable swoops with gusto he cannibalizes all styles he is tormented by the loss of mystery the invisible colonization of the present tommy is not as free as he once was just as Zelda is still haunted by her past they both prefer to ignore the forces in their lives the forces that they are powerless to control tommy has stepped over the edge and if falling to his death he is not aware that he is falling he may have some inklings that he is falling but he keeps assuring himself that everything is ok he realizes that little by little he is losing his past but he has faith in his future he believes in the future with all of his heart it is his faith that caused him to fall just like all faiths it is faith that makes you stumble and fall I stretch I sneeze I cough but I do not believe I have pushed faith out of my heart I