s t r a y

zach blackwoodedited by:

f

all saint's day

I hate you.

(I ’m working on it. )

In a parish thrift store on the edge of Valley Forge

Adam showed me a book of optical i l lusions that he recognized from

childhood.

In a nauseous riot of neon psychedelics there was:

a kangaroo

an aeroplane

a face

(the trick was perspective).

“Can’t you see the rocket ship?”

Pink yellow green

Paral lelogram!

Cross-eyed, cross-faced, cross-me

twenty minutes of eye-strain on bubble fields of nothing,

wil l ing perspective to resolve into

rational shapes and beings --

something recognizable? anything

but this taffy, kiddie-puke, please.

I left.

Without kangaroos, aeroplanes or rocket ships.

So I never figured out the secret cross-eyed middle distance that wil l

make the incomprehensible (i .e. candy barf i .e. i l lusion books i.e. YOU)

comprehensible but I left that shop with a complete vinyl box set of

Wagnerian operas and Adam carried them home for me

so you dumb fucks can all take a hike.

See you Monday!