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"The body becoming a curious ritual of the brain, its self-deception a tautology, a pleonasm, a human fetus crushed inside an egg.
I have nowhere set aside to retrieve my unwatched turns.
The zombie regurgitates his own almost man-sized meal.
The turd-fest of bodies needing to live, and having lived, and that’s our clinamen.
I’m the fixed part of the trap.
A sunburst eyelid moving cloud.
The exploded haecceity of a hollowed-out mirror.
I see through my hands to the floor.
The way a pig’s eye is levered from its face.
The analogy rooted in the anus of a bat.
That my hygiene has tailed off is almost legible now.
And the light retreats inside.
And the head won’t sink.
And though fear is toothless, there’s still this dread of the suck of its open kiss.
Low fog round the feet of broken down performers.
There’s no confusion in my dumb animals, only the oblivion of this intellect that squirts.
I imagine peepholes in my skull, and the type of people that would bother to look.”
One of Buster Keaton’s most memorable stunts in The General (1926), in which he clears a stray railroad tie while perched precariously on his locomotive’s cowcatcher.
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