A PILE OF COATS, "A HEAP OF LANGUAGE"
&
1933/1934
AMY SARA CARROLL
A PILE OF COATS, "A HEAP OF LANGUAGE"
When I dragged my feet, you said, Walk on. A pile of coats. Unseasonable. The way
winter always is. A stealth visitor. To West Texas. It’s a cold wind that blows. The sky
so clear that you can see the stars’ sharpening their already pointed arguments
((((against)))) eros. Al revés: your eyes, so sharpened by the chill, magnified
supersonic detail. And, freezing rain by early morning dulled the sky’s cupidity.
Into a slow. Rambling. Here we go. Prone. To trail off... Damas y caballeros, start
your engines. Accentuating the crunch of gravel beneath our feet. A mundane.
Mourning. Work. Week. Of which—school girl—I knew nothing. The crackle of radio.
Weather. Advisories. First: breath collected on the window panes. Breathless, we
threw open the shades: Techno. House. Rap. Norteño. Nor-tec? (Not here. Not yet.)
Anyway... the net affect spread its wings. Winded. Winding. Its way. Out of the
windows. Each sound. Migrating. Mixed metaphor. Fa-la-la... Guaguagua...
Shashasha... Ah-ha! Eso es... Expletive. Remediation. The unraveling threat. Of
a narrative thread— A candle flaring out. On the horizon. Singled. Out! Inside
the house, each sound insinuated but could not catch the signals of the wider world’s
distress. (Never mind universes light years away.) Other laws of physics drew us in;
bodies pressing so close that they warmed their owners up again. Skin, unskeined.
We left the kitchen. Where we’d played. Our parts. Well (Well, if I don’t. Say so––
Myself). Ne’re-do-wells. We slipped into the bedroom. Where the coats were
stacked. Against us. (Already. Or not yet.) In the dim din of jackets, blazers,
ponchos, sweaters, flattened as bodies, hides pressed... chamarras chamánicas.
Come again. Hear several piles—not one, if memory serves—emitted pungent odors:
Flowers (perfumes). Manual labor (strained musky colognes). Hormones. Laundry
detergents. Last suppers (mole, meatloaf, BBQ). Cupid’s arrows (knot here). Funny
thing that I remember a pile of coats. Not two or three. Toppling. Justification: Just
the flavor. Cumin (comino). Of a walk (camino). Walk around. Walkout! Blow out
rememory. Like candles on a birthday cake. Unseasonably. Cold. Front.
Contain/omit. Neither container nor continent. Lifetimes miniaturize. But, all roads
lead. To— A pile of coats. “A heap of language.” Circumstances arose. “Mr.
Spanish,” canaled as Venice. Venison tamales. On his breath. His tongue, fluted.
The better (part). To get. The best of me. Part. My lips. Dearly departed. Ladies and
gentlemen. His boots were made for walking. My heels gave way to slippers. A pair
I found. Stashed under the bed. We never made it. Up. Again. Then ((((again))))
we grew. Tall as boxes canyon. Great levelers of horizons. Ourselves. Shelved.
Sedimentation. A pile of coats. Expletive exhumation: Arrowheads. The stars. In
the sky. Already dead. What’s the point? Of my— Argument: Marfa Lights are no
more. A fiction. Or flavor. Than the sound. Of a scent. Cumin, I am on your trail.
|
1933/1934 |
Man at the crossXXXXX |
XXXxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxroads
Cosmic rays are a global source of ionization distributed throughout the Galaxy. Interpenetrated- - - - - - - - - -our bodies- - - - - - - - - -bleed light on. the. lower. frequencies. a hole at the Center (Rockefeller’s mother had her favorites) don’t we all pull a Nelson “once in a blue moon” (infrequently; referring to a month in which two full moons appear, occurring approximately every thirty-two months) This wall a Wall not a wall of elongated ellipses... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... unless one multipliesxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx newspaper headlines Coit_ us Tower black + white photographs the primal scene:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::re -creation: Man, comptroller of the universe a dishXXXXXXXxx XXXXXof syphilisX xxbacteriaXXXXXX just. above. my. head. |
The kaleidoscope: a ubiquitous symbol or motif of twentieth-century post/modernisms.
Kaleidoscoped: the pervasive condition of twenty-first century growing later capitalism. /// Amy Sara Carroll’s (she/her//ella/la) books include SECESSION, FANNIE + FREDDIE/The Sentimentality of Post-9/11 Pornography, and REMEX: Toward an Art History of the NAFTA Era. Since 2008, she has been a member of Electronic Disturbance Theater 2.0, coproducing the Transborder Immigrant Tool. Previously she taught at The New School in New York City, currently she’s an Associate Professor of Literature and Writing at the University of California, San Diego. Winter 2021, she’s also an artist in residence at UCLA’s Luskin Institute on Inequality and Democracy. |