Wednesday, November 22, 2017

George Ttoouli, from does anyone know the plural of coda?


The Gate of Extinction, image by Daniel Y. Harris 



from does anyone know the plural of coda?

if so, keep it to yourself
                                        no one likes a smart arse
especially one producing more than 6 tons of carbon a year
YOU GAS MACHINE YOU SHITFLINGER YOU PLANETDESTROYER
with your business-as-usual face
your legalese fashion chic and your
in-the-closet diesel sexuality. believe:
there are no spaces left in the car park for you
uninfected by
your plane crash malaise—your stench
follows me into sleep.

your hard race to nowhere’s bottom
your burst of pointless energy
and po-faced seriousness

take the corsets off your languages’ apologies
unmuzzle yourselves
                                    but not like that.

no one said you were supposed
to do that.

                      the only thing worse:

you, when you leave the light on
in a room you’ve vacated like
            you were never really present in the first place

does anyone know the plural of coda?

shut up who asked you?
                                        with your petrol-eating grin
and your carboniferous hate-crimes

also for the record
                               you disgust me with your cravings
       for images
seriously, what’s it like living
so deep in stupid?
you disgust me so much
            you philosophical buttonbrain!

if you know what the plural of coda is
keep it to yourself
during this

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does anyone know what the plural of coda is?

because i really don’t care, even if
you got here using public transport and you’re wearing
vegan shoes—that means nothing

the difference between a jackdaw
                                                      and a crow
is like the difference between renewable electricity
and
            [oh my god you’re so boring]

you think they’re vastly disconnected images
they’re not

            pebbles in the same stream are still
                        pebbles in a stream

                        and you’re all disgustingly greasy monsters
                        trying to wash in that same stream

            all you’ve done is
kill the fish

is this beginning to sound like a pluralist coda yet?

this poem used to be full of images
millions of them, some as yet never thought of, but
            because you’re            such.    a.         bastard.

i deleted all of them

you don’t deserve images

(call it an allegory, if it helps you sleep
but i hope it gives you nightmares, shitwad)

that’s the new definition of environmentalism:
detechnologise your life

does anyone actually know what the plural of coda is?

when you cross a meadow
                                            you shed apocalypses

have you ever thought about how many bugs you kill
                        spread out in a park
                                                            on a lawn
                                                                             in your bed?

when you drive to work you exhaust
dictionaries full of expletives

there is a coda to this one
                                                it was in my dream
                        the other night:

John Goodman, in a river,
on fire

the river looking like
it might explode
            any moment

Goodman, burning,
            in slow moving
                        liquid
                                    explosives,
                                                coming at you
                         for a hug.

if it doesn’t make sense
try pulling your thumb out
then putting your head in
            and listening

seriously, if you’re still thinking
about what the plural of coda is

you’re part of the problem

when the Malthusian population crash hits
you’ll be twiddling your thumbs
at the cashpoint / supermarket / local council
looking for typos in the sudoku you can’t solve

you won’t last six weeks

and for those of you still wondering
what the plural of coda is

here’s a poem with full rhymes
and an image:

extinction extinction extinction

EXTINCTION.

EXTINCTION.         EXTINCTION.

i lied
about the image
because you disgust me
so much

you’ve been rowing in tennis whites through foodbank cities
wallet stuffed full of credit card shivs and financial protection plan tabs
you’re carried among the rest of us in cradles made of bank notes and babies’ bones

capitalism’s stance toward reality trumps the orange halo of the watch towers
where the last dolphin is sniping down on your credit crunch German Christmas markets with an M82 Barret 50 cal made from freely donated whale cartilage

you disgust me
more than i disgust myself

still looking for a coda? Here:



—George Ttoouli


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