The Be-Coming of NewMedia
The Be-Coming of NewMedia
Envisioning ArtForms for Be-Coming Ages;

I arose
With the first streaks of dawn
Trumpets resounded—From all the
Father—Came to awaken me
Followed by a regiment of violinists
Oh music—What a wonder
Ah—My awakening
Which is celebrated—By
That regiment of trumpeters
Who came in the morning
These instruments—That are of The Lord
What great mornings
What stupendous awakenings
Then—As if they were my teachers
Came running to me—And
All naked
They taught to me
Of philosophy
Then—Carrying only their little pink bath gear
How they caressed
My sacred body
A holy purification
Invading all my necessary orifices
Using their pink—Purifying impedimenta
What a memory I have
I remember it all as if it were—Yesterday


Like a ship with billowing sails
That stops at all ports along its route
My grief—Will know
All the degrees of Martyrdom
Sentence me

I know I am guilty—I know I deserve it
I do not want—To live
Another day
Of my botched-up life

I believe
I would have been happy
In an aquarium—Sitting on a chair
Surrounded by
And—The little girls
Would have—Come
And visited me
Every Sunday

Tell me once and for all
That you have condemned me
Look here—I am your—Phoenix
Climb on my back
And I will carry you
To the paradise of—Obscure Enlightenment

I would like you
To kill me
With a hammer
Blow to my head

Death is not a game—Like all the others
It is irrevocable
I demand this of you—As my punishment
I want—Well—I want you
To eat me
I will in all finality
Of you—And—Of me