i’m the faggot at/dinner asking to/be alone/with the/children/tell them their/future happiness/depends entirely/on how well they/cultivate rebellion against/any structure which/does not hold their/autonomy and/creative intelligence as a priority
on wings of butterflies my small thoughts eternally shaking down everything behind everything galloping fragments omens and subtle ways of seeing things and touching both sides of things keeping on the road intensely for years by endless cascades of transformations and the crazy sweet fruits of the void within me named one hundred failures I take refuge in the vast chasms rather than religion always loving is faith in part payment for the honey of my poor dreams a few grams of lessons in my foolish ruins half angel and my metastasized God
"Suppose I try saying something. What way do I have of knowing that if I say I know something I don't really know it? Or what way do I have of knowing that if I say I don't know something I don't really in fact know it?
I am going to try speaking some reckless words, and I want you to listen to them recklessly. How will that be?"