Goodman, Jason

Diposit Digital de Documents de la UAB

10.11.If my mother knew how I lived,she would toss in her grave she would scream but then again,I would suppose labor pains are a bit much to handle.Republican MommaRichard Nixon supporter to the end, having me and Jimmy Carter with which to contend.There must be a difference between lover and love, a heart supposedly designates the volunteer though none step forward. Squadrons disembark without returning, only the 'ace' keeps tally by painting minute vaginas on his groin parts.12 .Kant said he could do it though philosophy still remains un-marketable for mass populations. Where is the slick plastic logo, so accustomed to,where are the titanium road side stands from which we can buy these things?Kant was a crazy man, someone better to avoid, he hangs around with weirdos Nietzsche, Sartre, Hume, to name a few.—  Jason GoodmanUpwey, Victoria, AustraliaTHE ROOM I SIT IN HAS BEEN EMPTIEDDespite the alarm, I remain in the seat I have been assigned, busily carving. My knife takes out the wood easily, creating the small letters, the alphabet sequence I once memorized. I am not as simple as I may seem; I do not carve the traditional initials or obscene message. The flourishesI add to the G and F are the only clues I leave. No one will notice ray subtlety, my feeble desire to be caught. My carving is a time capsule staple, an archaeological discovery. With such responsibility I must be careful. If the others return before I finish I must ignore their dis­tractions. If they do not return at all I must carry my work to a safe place, guarding it from the flames or high water.SHOESI am wearing these shoes too much, I know. They cling to me as if longing for a heaven I might provide. When I sleep they muddy the sheets, causing my wife anguish. She does not recognize their desperate faith, sees only the tenacious nuisance. When I reach for her she is disturbed; her legs are covered with bruises. If questioned, she explains about frequent low tables and corners of beds. My shoes harass her, disliking her embarrassment. Winter is coming; already the slush drips onto the sheets. Each night when I remove the shoes I believe I will leave them on the floor. Each night I remove my socks and put the shoes back on. I cannot leave them; they nearly sigh when our skins touch. They are happy, I know, and I am happy as well, feeling their warmth in the night.STEAK DINNERA dog stands at attention.Some master beckons, expecting an answer.The bone offered is eaten by an intruder who runs toothless to safety, sweeping all crumbs with the speed of his tail.It is a vacuum growing naturally that threatens. It is an order ignored that brings the shocked look to the unwary.74

[Kant said he could do it...]

http://ddd.uab.cat/pub/wormwood/wormwood_a1978v18n2i70/wormwood_a1978v18n2i70p73.pdf

[Kant said he could do it...]

Abstract

Similar works

Full text

Available Versions

Diposit Digital de Documents de la UAB