We Can Only Cleanse Our Bodies So Much Before We Realize It's Not Our Bodies That Need Detoxing

I dig Bartok, have since I first heard. Hey, tomorrow we Kensington to Frederick to Hagerstown to Hancock to Cumberland to Morgantown to Washington to Wheeling, whether we side trip from Wheeling up 250 then across 36 to Gambier (I've never driven 250 from Wheeling to Ulrichsville or 36 from Ulrichsville to Coshocton) or just Wheeling to Zanesville to Gambier per usual depends on how much snow in mountains last night and today, how soon we get on the road tomorrow. Beyond enjoying whatever minutes Planet gives us and publishing sucky slideshows of our daily drives, eating healthy on one of these trips for the first fucking time and exercising daily in the multiple state parks that grace Ohio, I've no set plans, though in my head the word I think of with desperate hope to describe my goal for tomorrow through when I walk in my house next Sunday is detox.

• Your God is too small.
• The collapse of time and space into search.
• Fine metaphors abound.
• Personality hunger and the regulation of consumptive choice.
• American oligarchy.
• Is Zachary Goldfarb a fooltool or a tooltool? Honest question.
• The New Inquiry's extraordinary Sunday Linkages.
• I don't watch much television (not for any righteous aesthetic motive, I just don't) so I'll not watch this, but I know a Zombie in Blegsylvania, he might be interested in how to tame a zombie. Or not.
• Some lateral thoughts, part one, part two.
• A person can dream Fuck This.
• Sebald, for those of you who do.
• Beckett, for those of you who do.
• Creeley, for those of you who do.
• Silliman's always generous litlinks.
• Godspeed, Jason Molina.

                 
DEAR CORPORATION

Adam Fell

                         I don't know how to
say how I feel politely, or poetically, or
without the jugular and collapse of the
immediate heart, so tonight, I won't
say anything at all. Just stare out the
window at our stunned little writhe. Hold
back the strongest urge to knock out a
few of the capitol's most critical walls,
replace its fiber optic cables with
lightning bugs, replace the investment
bankers all with bunker busters. I lock
eyes with the capitol's bright and empty
rooms and admit that, sometimes,
deep in my affluent, American cells, I
miss my body carved to projectile. I
miss trebuchet shoulders and knuckles
flaked to arrowheads, miss my hands
massive and molded from molten to
the bolts of ballistas. I miss blackjack
and cudgel and quarterstaff and
flintlock. I miss pummel and pike and I
am not proud of this. I know it's not a
healthy feeling. I try to un-arm, to
un-cock. I try to practice my breathing.
I try The Master Cleanse, The Stationary 
Bike, The Bikram Sweat, The Contortion 
Stretch, The Vegan Meatloaf, The Nightly,  
Scorching Bath, The Leafy Greens and  
Venom Television, The Self-Mutilation of a 
Winter's Run, but we can only cleanse
our bodies so much before we realize
it's not our bodies that need detoxing.

I don't know how to say how I feel politely, or poetically, or without the jugular and collapse of the immediate heart, so tonight, I won't say anything at all. Just stare out the window at our stunned little writhe. Hold back the strongest urge to knock out a few of the capitol's most critical walls, replace its fiber optic cables with lightning bugs, replace the investment bankers all with bunker busters. I lock eyes with the capitol's bright and empty rooms and admit that, sometimes, deep in my affluent, American cells, I miss my body carved to projectile. I miss trebuchet shoulders and knuckles flaked to arrowheads, miss my hands massive and molded from molten to the bolts of ballistas. I miss blackjack and cudgel and quarterstaff and flintlock. I miss pummel and pike and I am not proud of this. I know it's not a healthy feeling. I try to un-arm, to un-cock. I try to practice my breathing. I try The Master Cleanse, The Stationary Bike, The Bikram Sweat, The Contortion Stretch, The Vegan Meatloaf, The Nightly, Scorching Bath, The Leafy Greens and Venom Television, The Self-Mutilation of a Winter's Run, but we can only cleanse our bodies so much before we realize it's not our bodies that need detoxing. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/23243#sthash.Fjwa5uh7.dpuf