Acquiescent Silence To Induce Dreams and Fantasies within the Equilibrium
To John Thomas Allen
The poetic writing of Surrealism becomes an avant garde trail that has a scent of raspberry reminiscent of Kama Sutra oils… an innovative novel extends as a horizontal plane in an illumined space towards a figure… a shape… a circle… converging on biomorphic personae arranged within a cube into wood block fonts… observed from the aspect of Saturn… silver rings… acute angles… inspiring the equivalent geometric fossilization of the erect gentleman who is perpendicular to the vertical parallel black lines of the romantic characterizations… the blurred passages of plot development resolve into the full breasted model whose narrative strategy is to become compatible with the postmodern literary characterization of erotic wisdom painted across the cloud formations ascending above the skyline… an abstraction of white teeth into a smile of peaceful neuroplasticity differentiated into musical notes of smooth signification… the first paintings of Arshile Gorky evolve into sophisticated gray matter within the minimalist context of sharp cheddar ripened fruit and salad greens… word patterns of sun apples… formal perfection of bananas… the sweetness of sugars evolved from the apple blossom… a waterfall of words flowing before the park bench into the astronomy of the Surrealist constellations…
To David Detrich
The negative halo of Surrealism, a lime green bunson burner flickering in dream’s egoless cubes, is akin to a dark jewel dangled in a drowning mime’s mouth. The splash makes no sound, but we hear it forever.
What could be done to reach the chiaroscuro ballerina, black pink grained, spinning in a streamroom domicile? Surrealism is Eros, the woman in sepia gelatin. How could she be reached? She’d been given a blue ring of ochre that rang and sang, he’d spent nights and days with her, but a gelatin freeze remained. How could she be reached? A word fallen like lead thumbs? A scream so horrifying it would render Lucifer deaf? He couldn’t maintain her face, it shifted. Strange is a mathematics of semiotic dislocation now. This is not Arnim, or Achim, or the uncanny. A sense of dislocation related to civilization is not the same as the uncanny…. A cryptographer struggling with a code as some struggle with poppers of sea salt asthma, and the molecules were pleasing him in nostril shock, porcelain worms freezing into small hickory smoked bullets burning. He found the books of August Yellow in the egoless ice of the library’s bowels, peppered with black and white salt and stone of marble marzipan to the touch. This is when the rapid jasmine sobbed from the earmarked monsoons of rain and the missals turned Latin pink between her thighs. Bathing it’s in even deeper basement, he screams with joy in the he neon light. This victory is the victory of Surrealism.
Do you have a Title for your Surrealist text? I think it is one of the more thoughtful prose poems in the first issue.
David Detrich Editor *Surrealist Star Clustered Illuminations* http://surrealiststarclusteredilluminations1.blogspot.com/
I would title it “Genome Dice”. Thank you, David
I would like to publish this Surrealist text in the first issue of Surrealist Star Clustered Illuminations, together with my own Surrealist text. Soon I will have this new magazine online where I will be looking for work inspired by the novels and poetry of André Breton.
Sounds good, but please alter the section that says we are “orthodox surrealism”. We are “transcendent Surrealism”. Thank you much!
Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:
You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Google+ account. ( Log Out / Change )
Connecting to %s
Notify me of new comments via email.