I won’t say alive, I won’t say dead 4/19/2022, Con/Jur/d 1. “You didn’t really die” she would say, when I would tell the old story to someone new, this was after the hate the victimology had become the secret background the vocal cords which expressed even warm words with a smoker’s hacking cough 2. “If you hate my stories you don’t like me,” Why did we pretend otherwise? The koan, she would have been annoyed by this disambiguation incapable of seeing the entwining, entangling emptiness around, through, penetrating us went something like this: The Teacher takes a student to a funeral and hitting the coffin says “Alive or dead?” The response, “I will not say” echoes down the halls of history 3. The first dream I’ve had of her since The Nastiest Year (s) certainly, since I heard she was dead, she is in a room down a labyrinthian hotel hall, and I was can’t believe I’m saying this without worry without flinching looking for her I know can you believe it? Not since I told her to go and she said no, again and again, was there anything but shadowed lies of innocence deliberate ignorance between us. 3. Now that you have relocated and we no longer have to lie or live in terror of past selves inconveniencing the present I need to know what you think of the old stories, is it true I was alive and merely incon- venienced, or dead? Despite everything, typically, you will not say.
Live Words! (mostly)