for Sarah, starting here . . .
Why do a recipe then?
suddenly I can’t
– stand it
am I paid to? do I
want to?
– put it all
down again in a long list
trapped in disgust at that food
Everything stops: there’s
a screaming, then laughter
we can’t need this
I don’t know
what Sarah wants
I can’t say it
I can’t write it
dynamic? my
word I think that is
a delusion now
All chick & piss, yes
like the disordered children
absolute sharp features
all her smutty fragments
I’d like to need the following:
a bus
some dada
some bears
– plenty please!
power
(oh, mark 7 for choice
prayer
poetry
& passion
– lots of that
for pudding
please
Sarah never asked for anything
or if she did, what sort
of comment will that be?
familiar
enough?
then it’s all about speech
which is more about growing things
than cooking them or alchemically poeticising
much more fun
& real1
All of it is noise
just switch attention off the mess
into the medium itself to
splash about a little bit
Just typical of this this young world
– for all that recursive repetition
that what was given before
that, yes, we’re all into around
unusable & valueless
– thank you very much
[OK – that’s all. She never turned up, did you, Sarah? No ideas but everything & everything idealess – every idea less a thing than just talk. Delicious tabletalk. You don’t see this at all? Man kennt ein bisschen, man ißt ein bisschen, man geht kaka ein bisschen, man macht etwas ein Gedicht. Dieser Gedicht.]