The Elect

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Every several years, about one third
of the people go into the temple and
exsanguinate a bull upon the sand,
release an auguring flock of city birds,
divine the numerology of words,
each predetermined cry of pleasure planned
to simulate a state of utter aband-
on; past the city gates the shepherds herd
their flocks; they are as young as the gods appear,
as beautiful, and like the gods they do
not care for the rites; they’d rather truly fuck,
drink, breath, walk, live, sleep, and hear
their own singing voices than what should be true
according to the augurs. They believe in luck.

5 thoughts on “The Elect

    1. The old blog has been down for months and needs to come back. It was so amazing.

      Also, the bird obsession continues.

  1. Currently, and for quite the while, my favorite flocking birds include the wild finch, Mourning Doves and the Cedar (and/or Bohemian) Waxwings. Those Waxwingsget toasted in the most charming and heartwarming fashion. ..never saw them brawl, always willing to share those fire thorn berries with one another,…. and I highly doubt they bother to go the polls with the very rare exception of that which might be changed for the better. Ahh, and too, those corvidae …what can one say …

    I await your prose on the visual imagery – and resulting subtle and not so subtle consequences of – of chosen and unchosen Avatar thumb nail pics (images) … which are always, in a manner, in the past, and/or frozen in time and ‘concrete’ though the person is still very much alive and continually fluctuating in mood and look; not to even mention: a lie from the very beginning in the case of algorithmic software (AI) attribution.

    (welp, I depise The internets’ unsolicited algorithmic commenter avatar assignments. And also, too many prior years looking at bewildering outdated and disturbing – as in always the same expression no matter how incongruent to the discussion at hand – author photos accompanying hardcopy newspaper articles.)

    1. (on a side note, sweet heart ( .. ;0) … ): … Conflict Kitchen! … in Wiliam Pitt’s Berg of William Penn’s Sylvania, who could have imagined? …

      :0| …. :0( … ;0( ….

      :0)

      ;0)

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