My latest work “Delphic Sedition” is inspired by the prose of Daly Bones.
Reproduced here with kind permission.
Nothing is real. I am servant to ideas, programs I run. The device I publish this on is made of metals and plastics. Before It was twisted into unnatural product It was oil in a barrel. Before that It was oil in the ground... Millions of years ago It was alive. Before It grew, It’s constituent parts belonged elsewhere and behaved differently. For my brief window of experience, these atoms are arranged as a website. We make the same sound when we speak of it: Computer, smart phone, tablet. We agree to call It a name so we don't lose our minds. A vocab fence for the wild place. Produce folklore, habits and routines. Manufacturer desires and fears. I abuse myself with culture. High culture, low culture. A puerile and grandiose pile on top of loudness. Trembling with violent neediness, precocious and spoilt and anxious. I don't believe in ghosts but I believe weird strangers when they tell me it’s ‘legal tender’. I don't even know what I am, yet I approve of the Party. Vote my survival unto an assembly of power clowns. Let’s call it government. I absorb the unsuitable circus on a TeleVision, for breakfast. For each sunrise. For ritual. I let them inform my behaviour. Write rules in a book in the name of ‘the law’. I am ridiculous to my ancestors. Potential shame on my descendants. Language allows me to pretend we're OK. I went to that earthquake for the economy. As tomorrow as the BBC petroglyphs. I only go shopping if there’s a fanfare. To purchase the NYT best selling issuance. Drive back from Moon on a Billboard Hot 100. When the atom architects of other years can reorganise a rock to be a pistol, the earth could be stopped. I've heard you throw around common phrases like you thought them up yourself. Without restraint or principles or self awareness. Once upon a time there was no word for butterfly and a time there was no butterflies. Does the Sea weep when she tears herself to raindrops? If you rip up your ticket and leave the cabaret… I'll tell you what the mountain wants.
I throw my Delphic sedition from the glow of a thunder clap.
Daly Bones, 2020.