A Real Goner

This is how you will go. Without applause. With a bump here and there. In relaxed turbulence. By finding meaning in a small thing which you weren’t aware of when it happened, and which you will forget a second later. This is how you will go. Addled, and all at once, but like a double-door,

and without a door-handle of doubt that it’s happening in-side too. And there. And this. This is how you will have to go to get through it. Head first without thinking so much. Flutter-kicking. Bellyaching. With things that make strong eggs, and endless. And heart. And it will be exactly the same as the last time

it worked, except with more memory and less remembering, and probably not in public. It won’t work exactly like a rope twisting an endless topology of impossible knots so easy. It could easily smell like a skunk, like life-like, like what might stink in the end. It will probably easily move you

past the tiresome carnage of smiling it out with strangers you’ve known for a long time again. There could be phantom words left. You may be beguiled. And twice at once. Life will be space again. Cosmology for the taking. Instruments for seeing seeing. It could be bizarrely boring, maybe

end with a waker walking out more awake. It could require a long long reality spoon to reach a long long time ago, or a multidimensional long-reach-reality stapler, but then again, some of the parts might jelly, and it’s hard to staple together jelly parts. This is how you will know it’s time to go. Stretched into

new shapes. Into the slow. Into the after life-saving convention collections of adding up all the un-geometric goodbyes. Like a landscape architect borrowing trees from the sites beyond, but with more leaving. This is how you will know it’s happening, but with the shoe-shine of pacing.

Like creeping happily a capillary action, the feeling of being sucked up again, or sucking, which is different than sucking-up. Again you could go without the gain of knowing that the first time you know is the last time it’s already too late. This is how you will disappear. Sincerely like a spill

which seeks out the shortest route downhill. In the bed usually, not the bath. Coughing up the insides of stars with all the last carbon copies. Worked-up but without footnotes or hyper-texts. This is how it will feel. Like licked pronto. Like creamed by it. Like a no-brainer, but more bird

song like, like more, like stiff-arming to safety, like this. Too any shore more safely, like this. This is how you will go, with a story stratum that looks like lava looks. Having absorbed all the dished out soaked up looks that silt your pond, as you persist in shade. This is how you’ll disappear. Outside

it is Berlin. Mumbai. The South Side of Chicago. You’ll be in rapture in Tokyo, or lost in, like last time, which you won’t find weird. Inside it will have been 1972, 1851, 2090 yesterday now, back then cat clawing its way into the lap of your next to last future. Somehow you’ll suddenly know

that you know exactly where Ethiopia is in relation to where you are facing. You’ll be able to stand in place and orrery your arms like a clock’s hands, index finger to figure out where the moon will next rise without being able to say why. You’ll be able to point to Croatia without trying, slow

dance Iceland important with a hip-flip, finger-tut Peru, the tip of your elbow directioning correctly Florida’s eastern most tip of the Keys by ducking. You may May a bit out of tune, but you’ll universe Saturn 3 o’clock, without dropping any of its 62 moons by moving a little nearer to me again,

and we’ll be moon practicing again. And while going out I’ll be falling in and up and you’ll go breaking-up, and the sun will light up: it’s just a phase the moon’s going through, but I’m burning up about it. Damn, you’ll say, what a way to go, and with the earth still turning me on so still.


Add: hinted at. Add: complex defects. Add: difference. And side-real time, histories history. Add a new historic memory to the mix. Story up. Brain storm some more. Add: please preserve your differences without guilt-tripping me. Add without the imagination syndicates, the corruption creative coops, the existential sewage in the trading-up offers. When selecting for the favorable mutations try not to use what [they] think as a mirror. Add where to find a lease on a good time-machine. Add how in the exact center you may find yourself circumferencing. Add how an ant walking a straight line on a horse saddle curve curves straight. Add: I feel all over the place sometimes curving straight. Please add something hopeful like how certain spores survive for over 15,000 years under dry conditions. Then help water the feelings. Add from the point of view of a bat or other superorganisms. Add the part about giving away the lucky stone which could be (a) a love charm, or (b) a meteorite from another planet containing microbial life forms and how cool would that be to suck down. Add, to crystallize the moment with a single stroke, review how fulgurites are formed from the single strike of lightening, fusing the silicon sand and energy into a glass tube solid. Add: and then what, anther cool thing for another cool shelf? Add: whence the novelty once again. Change that for: The people called Endless. Maybe add something about noopolitics, how every memory only goes back to the last memory, and how the column drum from the Doric temple being used as a pomegranate seed press in modern today. Add: thanks Einstein, my twin always forgets to show up.

Eric Ellingson: Because I do this all over the place, like there and there and with them and then and here. Because I was a bio bored being. Because I got tired of all those bio reality straws that only made reality suck more, so I wanted to spit something better into the reality drinks. Because here’s a little stage on the screen that no one seemed to be using interesting. Because I left was all over the place. Because parts were left behind which I love. Because I don’t think butterflies is quite the right way to describe what I’m feeling, rather, pigs with horns and a penchant for not letting things go. Because I wanted to presto the geographer running the nature based conference into a part time poetry editor. Because I really do love having a 17 email exchange with 4 workshop organizers and 2 directors regarding if the bio is really a poem, and should a bio-poem be understood. Because you only gave me one day. Because most bios walk around trying to push all the reality doorbells—ring ring, ding dong, ring ring. Because I want last time to activate these times this time. Because if you want you can find a bio bio at species of space dot you know what. Because I have a bio poem book going, but that’s just bio logical. Because every chance should be a spot to squat a few choice lines. Because most bios just dead end their beautifuls with blah blah blah, and I think this here still seems better than saying I did this and this and that and that there and with that person (even though I love most of those people), and that person and back then and they said look he can do things. Because I want my bio poem to be nominated for the big poem prize, no. Because I still believe it is more important to know yourself than who you know. Because there is something else about me you should know. Because there is still something else about me you should know.