Fiction    Reading Room    Memoir    Interview
Jan Lauwereyns

L.E. #1.16

Eros denied, The song judged irritable, The little mermaid hung out to dry, The refuted ideas strengthened For sheer cognitive dissonance, One finds religious beliefs lurking Behind open doors. Give me some! Wish eye could, Wish I mights, Wish there was a way To verbalize Objects, whirlwinds, epiphanies So that they That they. Matter, weighing, Mass, preying. With an a? With an e. So that they That they Beyond dispute, Questionable, but Irrefutable. Questionable in a non-fascist, Truly libertarian or anarchist Sense, giving the natured beast Or rather not being able Not to give the natured beast The needed degrees Of freedom To ask what it Must, and indeed, May, for Even the most reluctant Capitulation Will then occur Of its own accord. Fountains of blood! Squirting from leveled necks! Evidence, logic, the soundness of Arguments, none of this Is per se the hallmark of A decapitator Science, but or and We, necrophiliacs, like it. Wi luv et. Eros reclaimed, The little mermaid splashed, The song sung high And annoying and flying in the face, Louder even than ever Before In our lifetime. Such is the greatness of the Moment, this one now, A few seconds after A nonstop train whizzed by From north to south In dumbfound silence. Perhaps I didn’t sleeps well, Counted countries sampled or simply grown tired of, There is this ringing in the inner ear, A white noise that Makes life hard for the perceptual descriptors of Sounds, who Are compelled to raise their thresholds, Apply conservative criteria for the Dismissal of those null hypotheses, Claiming nothing’s there, A rather artificial way, eye admit, But nevertheless An efficient one For reaching the desired state Void of speech and other murmurs. A bit of insomnia Is the only answer To the deepest Dilemmas life throws at Dead men That cannot make themselves get up, And persist instead In trying to stare down The digital clock, have it Stay fixed at a Certain time, As it is Most of the time, As it would be All the time If it weren’t for these sudden quirks, These little jolts feeling good at first, But dragging along, tied to their tails, A heavy load of fear and panic In the realization That another minute Just has gone. How can it ever really be silent if Time doesn’t stop? That nonstop train must have spoken to us Somehow, even if we Didn’t hear it, We think so, yes, Two desires Converging on the same Impossible.

Johanna Aitchison
Michele Amas
Angela Andrews
Airini Beautrais
Jenny Bornholdt
Amy Brown
Lynn Davidson
Emily Dobson
Fiona Farrell
Cliff Fell
Janis Freegard
Helen Heath
Anne Kennedy
Stefanie Lash
Jan Lauwereyns  
Vana Manasiadis
Talia Marshall
James McNaughton
Alice Miller
Gregory O’Brien
Frances Samuel
Robyn Schiff
Marty Smith
Elizabeth Smither
Chris Tse
Nick Twemlow
Ashleigh Young

Hosted by the New Zealand
Electronic Text Centre