It has bored a hole in my head
such that Adon Olam won’t reach
and no one’s left a Lonely Planet

What to make of sex and genre
all inflections old and new
with couch and time extruded too

You’re far too gentle for a golem
hums the Christ on Ravi Shankar beats
be orderly and kind intones the shoe

There’s status, rods, and floral holes
and then there’s groundless whirring ground
in which I trust as “Elohim” or not-a-sound

I’m body-bound, I’m sane, I’m sound
and redolent of ecstasies I’ve spun
and fractal with the histories I’ve smoked.

Nepalese tapestries hung about the mind;
I promise to be kind.

On disorders of totalization and fragmentation

It may be that we need to acknowledge a second kind of life, outside of time, for those who are not capable of living in time. It consists in palliation of the eternal now, rather than plans for the future, like a really horrible version of Zen Buddhism that’s not half as funny, but that is more comfortable than the alternative. The technological and material wealth of modernity could allow a new kind of human zombie to exist, who would have in earlier eras perished by suicide.

Feeling the Future, Sarah Perry at Ribbonfarm