Death, Redeath, Birth, Rebirth
9:33AM
lights come up in computer lab as he walks in
superiors and coworkers are waiting in the back
"surprise! you can't come to work a half hour late and stoned every day, asshole."
cut to mother and son, drunk and celebrating with unemployment checks
mother dresses up as a lumberjack
son dresses up as a catholic school girl
they go to a noise show and make out a little
she is strangely attracted to him now but won't let it go too far
son: "i thought we were on the same page in a way we obviously weren't"

roll credits

The more I think of this business the less I see how it can be done.
What do you think death really is? Change of trains, or a black-out, eh?
It is only when we reach the rarefied air of high theology that this particular intellectual black-out occurs.


Tea, madam! I saw none. Ash leaves and black-thorn leaves were brought in.
Pray blackthorn-winter's dawn may rediscover us, charged with democratic sympathies.


That night I struggled out in the slithery rainy darkness to dine up in Highgate.
The arctic winter and black-out of my dreams.


Many of the heritors consider me a black-head.
I steer through the blackness for a lump of greater blackness.


This project so blasted with perjury.
This, wrote Byron, the millennium of the black letter—


You begin to see what are the black spots, that is to say, where accidents do in fact happen.
He went and stood before the fire and looked blackly at a print against the wall before his face.

wow, look a pretty good

fairly well tampered with

umbrage you’ve overdrawn

this ashes-and-lists shit

meddled with the blessèd

venom fights the driving test

dead from all his senses

to guess it loves him back

never have an afterthought

quick with dim abandon

play a trick on my own past

a personal next best ex

broken witted, spilling zilch

entire years of weekends

flush overhead: it's sensenessless

“Is it dawn or is it dusk?

That’s a terrifying question, Ned”

stitches up the brain shade