hello,

michel foucault goodbye, hello yosuke yamashita

1. are rhetorical questions always a stylistic error, walt whitman?

abandoning all previous protestations of innocence through honesty, my particular manner of speech is merely documentary and my intention is simply as immortal as possible, i have no children nor ever will and you? malleable and changeable as human must be, let us abandon also any pretence toward consistency, nothing is perfect, all is absence, manifest

in decisions, those who do not act are inevitably acted upon, contentment can only be in a momentary surplus, free to give everything away, your only choice silence or scream and sing the breeze past through you,

2. why should there be mercy?

i wish i could wright
a haiku sonnet
that death is motionless
and brittle

3. Oh,

there is no last word just as there is no first, huh?
oh, i see, why?
a small alphabet indicating separation of the speaker from the subject,
parentheses implied, perhaps,
but never punctuation,
(The laws of grammar are a bourgeois affectation whose only purpose is to indicate a certain education whilst masking the absence of a particular thought, designed entirely to prevent the base passions of those who sweated for a living from leaking into ladies’ drawingrooms. They are a veneer barricade that must be stormed.)
Technical Exercise #142. Create the illusion of conversation, separate voices involved in the act of inspiracy, yo ho ho me hearties,
Place food sensually inscribed by cutlery, a letteropening carving knife, a sudden failure to misunderstand, a quick motion, up against the hardness of the wall and searching stubby fingers parting thighs.
Some consent required, of course, since we have dressed them in such complicated clothes.
It felt like a life and death battle between the instrument and my self, as if it were not possible without invitation, a burden passed on.
afterwards, just artefacts, trickling like the trails of soldier crabs on sand, these lines maybe and the sound of the tide extinguishing the last embers of a dying piano,

“It felt like a life and death battle between the instrument and myself.” Jazz pianist Yosuke Yamashita.