There were some brownstones that had their grand staircases removed when they were transformed into apartment buildings in the 70s, Susannah’s mom had always said they did that because class consciousness was on the rise and the people of the era found the idea of a “servant’s entrance” distasteful. But she doubted that was the real reason. Class consciousness could have never found its way to the wide streets of Brooklyn Heights,
we’ve lost our protected status but not our capitalist goals! we’ve lost our // minds with prices like these
Even the revolutionaries are cake eaters now –
I have a book called Rage Baking that suggests
while the world destroys me with its news
I should bake a cake.
And what could possibly be unsatisfactory about this when at the end of the day I get to be a strong independent woman? Many concepts can feel empowering until you get a chance to really think about what is being kept from you.
I see you, you know.
Everyone else may be busy going about their life
But I see you.
amnesia of interrogation
amnesia of incommensurate cant
amnesia of commandeering enough space
to bring the sleeves in and collar the hem
imagine but do not pretend
these brimful automatons all mouth
these dismal prodigies
represent the sole order we’ve ever known
we have been released into nothing morethan mere ritualshorter days warmer monthsnew discoveries year after year this truth starts firing
for fear of trial, we lose the fightlord drag us back to the gutterwhere all things weak break free—
The difference is that the sacrificial man continues to do so indefinitely, continually postponing his own ill-defined moment of sacrifice. In reality, like Oedipus he avoids any situation which may call for it. The sacrificial man only agrees that at some point in the future his life may need to be forfeited. The sacrificial man is at heart a coward.
.beaver moons, pink moons
arching near and away
,perennial reminders that for me
we are merely who we were
bargaining time into train tables
rage doesn’t need surprise. It grabbed at me anyway, filling itself and growing fat within me. Was I mad for all the people who were hurt by him, or was I mad just for myself?