let me just say something

Let me just say something.
PRESS. Words are too heavy.
An elegant prison. In levity. A bleak chaos when you’re weak.
When I’m not around, words fly staright straight, find their mark, the sweet rosy flush of significance, pinprickedfingertip.
Myself: milk a stone.
There’s no where known I want to go there’s nowhere new to go.
Stack your thoughts and stand on them; you still can’t touch nothing.
Fingers make the table real- lick your finger to make even the air real to touch-
the void retreats away from you.
My singularity expands limitlessly but my density is constant.
The weight. The PRESS.
And across the table across the page, always the prospect of a bridge to escape. Stop.

Weight comes from revision.
We build our minds backwards, always. the moment’s malaise bleeds and trickles over the detritus, a current carving a landscape, spreading and lengthening and voila: “I’m alone because I played alone as a child…]
The moment is a selfish glutton; it greedily consumes its predecessors and gnaws incessantly on the past. The Old Lady who swallowed a fly, well you know what happened to her.
[…or because my cord was cut a millimeter too close to my root meridian, or because my parents married too early, or because conquistadors and the conquered shouldn’t have fucked, or because of the consolidation of power in bronze age chiefdoms, or because one person was fine with depriving the world of another person, or…” Stop.
Short of blasphemy.

The ones before don’t mean anything read aloud. Maybe they are the transcriptions of my thoughts. But that’s a lie because they have been edited. How much you ask? I never ask myself that, I simply edit. What use is all of this? Just to say something?
Stop. This moment’s eaten too much.

Jordan Baylon (March 22, 2007)

(My name is Jordan James Baylon. The “James” is not really important; it’s not even an honorific like an officer’s stripes. I wrote that yesterday… since then I have deteriorated somewhat. I feel as though… my reality is merely composed of vibrations of different intensity. As my soul moves it stirs the vacuum and shapes emerge. When I stop moving, everything dissolves into absolution. Absolute darkness or absolute light; they are the same. As I sit, I stare into the absence of contrast and wait for black-lighter-than-black or white-darker-than-white, so I will know that my steps are steps. How to move again? How to speak anything that signifies?…)

Movement & Speech.