too tired to make sense of it
7/3/2025 - BUT HOW DO THESE PHOTOS MAKE YOU FEEL?
The Motor at Disney World “Free your mind of the idea of deserving, the idea of earning, and you will begin to be able to think” Ursula Le Guin, The Dispossessed Con/Jur/d, 7/3/2025 So he was 12, we mean to say we were 12 and the grandparents we never liked, received permission to take us, to Disney WORLD, and they did, and they fed us cake and cookies and ICE CREAM at every meal, candy bars between and the recent BROKEN collar bone, we increased in size that summer, and there was, THERE WAS, years before The Talking Heads said it better WE HEAR THE BROKEN MOTOR running rough near the large PLAY area, outside The Pirates of the Caribbean and this was before our first erection but the oily skin was starting, and soon our bodies knew something would shift, FAST so it was with a sense of urgency, because we still could, fully immerse ourselves in an imaginary world, none of the Mr. Rogers NONSENSE, ‘itwasonly MAKE believe’- FULL BORE suspension of THE REAL, was still possible moving from one timeline to another, re-re WRITE the fundamentals and become NEW completely, the OLD faded, we went AWAY and when we found our way back the NEXT DAY: everything would be different and this mini concrete and tarred wooden beam play area was the ideal ritual SPACE inconvenient for the GRANDPARENTS our valium addled grandMA, who bravely rode spacemountain despite the heart warnings, although she did outlive the inverted pervert GrandPA the train spotting engineer, whose moral compass bent toward punishment, soap in mouth, creak of rope the banging of NAILS, the hanging judge the old American Demon, God the Market And here, with the plaster caves barely 5 years old, and the country possessed with their bisexual, WAIT, NO bicentennial delusion the concrete and paint, no animatronics to distract a relatively scuffless reality, pre BAUDRILLARD (NOT by MUCH) and whose uneven surfaces, low doors were inaccessible to the upright inflexible seniors hobbled to a particularly brimstone SPIRIT, the virgin immigrant, who like the GRAND CANYON, was not imported did not have humble desert beginning sprung forth without the inconvenience of ethnicity or foreign body, always more of a decoration, without sweat, without sin, framed by TWO covers, or UP ON A WALL ideal for the invocation the kind of SELF losing we would forget, until LSD intervened six years later, and we tried AND WE TRIED THE DAMNED ENGINE a motor whose working fan belt may have been borrowed to run a SATANIC MILL, or the MOUSE MASCOT, had chewed through a wire again, and the repairs had to be put off until Tinker Bell stopped ooing and ahhing over the sparks, REGARDLESS THE REASON has no mean meaning; we were not able to SUSPEND DISBELIEF, remained locked HERE, with the TOURISTS and their slowly lulled children; last night when we couldn’t sleep, due to questionable choices, the rumble of ICE trucks, the assassination of CHILDREN, the slow, iron tainted drip, drip, dripping of BLOOD, like this was a MESOAMERICAN SACRIFICE to GODS of the weather, the market the lust and the greed of a bottomless few, grotesque, despite their makeup, surgery, pills biohacking their rough beast, who cannot find Bethlehem, despite looking on MARS, and sorting thru YOUR data LAST NIGHT, we realized we needed to apologize to you, because of the MOTOR WE were unable to DO IT we thought it was t a lesson every TWEEN must learn, the NO GOING BACK of watched TIME, LOOKING at it now, and where we’ve ended up, we can only apologize, for allowing a faulty mechanism, to prevent achieving THE NOW WE DESERVE.
much love,
con/jur/D, 7/03/2025
Damn, this is so good. I feel like I need a shower now. It made me sweat with embarrassment for what we were, are and will be.