Derri da da
Derri da da
Mr. Derrida
When I awoke this morning I had a pocket of air
stuck under my shoulder blade like a burp
and it had your name on it
It made me want to be bones
Just bony bones
Because I have this feeling that when I disappear
that burp with your face inside it
doesn’t go away
it’ll just float up
and you’ll be able to see yourself like a bubble in the sky
And even as I disappear
something of you and my assembling of you
and the “I” that exists as a result of this co-mingling—something ephemeral…
Something beyond the word signifier “I”
something beyond words altogether
remains
The other night I had a dream
Every time I tried to question something
it disappeared
Everything I questioned
dissolved
Now, it could be a perfect picture
Or it could mean I’m lame
toothless, fleshless, incapable of shifting shapes
Incapable of asking questions
Then I’m just a burp
stuck in the shoulder of the things I serve
Technology
Bad ideas
Consumerism
The guys with the biggest guns
Yesterday we traded God for enlightenment
and later they fashioned us into dolls
restructuring us
Removing our moles
Sucking out our fat
Smoothing our wrinkles
and then accused us of godlessness
Mr. Derrida,
Today was supposed to be
just
another day
but I woke up with you
inside a burp in my left shoulder blade
and I want to ask you:
do you believe in the possibility of my bony bones resounding my form?
do you believe in the possibility of my malleable identity linking to yours in the cosmos?
Can you consider the possibility of a burp that never disappears? You say that there is no “I”
because that “I” presupposes our existence—and that would make us immortal
—But Mr. Derrida,
today I awoke
and you were stuck
like a burp
in my left shoulder blade…
