Lewis Freedman

from: Residual Synonyms for the Name of God


‘IF my cart creates a turd who speaks through a moat of filth in the human gaze… learn to cleave to it.’ These words are quoted in the name of the failures of the old interpreters whose recourse was to photograph their own acknowledgement. These allegorists’ twofold torture was just their environment softening them up to be detainees of the euphemism: ‘law.’ It’s true… that these same prisoners are the guys who arrive at the media coverage with a best-books-for-any-moment test… but without knowledge of the whole… uh, mockumentary about real event genre. How strange... that thought is more concerned with shape than material! It seems, therefore, worth some amount of time (a while?) to draw nearer to conceiving the administration of the word as the editors of representative shape…characters themselves anticipation… present-day dudes on the way to class representing… religion-of-straight… by interviewing shape discomfort in… dedication to calling each other fags in the story.

The term ‘network’ rightly used or not produces types of examples… types of examples drunk on four centuries of graves engendering each others’ decay in an underground work connexion. To our thinking we are dealing with our whole lives… devoted to the development of attempts both serious and superficial to distort a point of reference beyond recognizable failure. One is then, rightly or wrongly, surprised by the unreadability of the meagre results planed in long rows of fogged-over battle formations. Imagine a full library of books that are overdue primarily and secondarily due to an imperfect relationship between method and application. Isn’t it amazing?

If you divide the combined age of your community into seconds you can schematize thinking… but it’s a mean task. Exactly the opposite of what I think I’ve gathered, there is scarcely a page in the following pages without at least some lines expressing the productive force of individual thought deposits. Some strike uncouthly in the climax… some are custom-made chronologies, polemical to the point of barely motivated… but also we placed our own misfortunes as quiet and unassuming tracers who teach contemporary philosophy to primitive religion… so… deep shadows are to blame? One example from page 87: ‘When a person apologizes in an apologetic country, she will be treated as the material of historical method within the theme of history… she must be forgetting to be prepared in advance for the need to abandon arising shapes. ‘Papa,’ ‘Goomi’ (your parents), with their / its good and bad effects, allow you your protean faculty of adaptability. The happening decline we attended in the rickety dogma shed was shaking in the formulating lung… altering… the being against belief.’

How far out is this present writer’s wish to sip the chafe from somatic bonds and spit it under new restrictions he doesn’t understand! Four centuries of analysis… and thousands of reactive teachers grooving on their words as verdicts brought glistening from the fount of their fresh selves to pronounce a contribution that is to beee thought… that is to be the task of the children of the world… and if thou delay its real meaning… thou shalt surely die. You know it’s a genre convention, like surfers’ hair. Enlightenment is to be thought… it’s safer that way. Imagine an impressive ever-deepening awareness as long as it’s not inferior to any other. Thanks… thanks to the naked advancements of Zoroaster, Buddha, Jesus, Paul, Origen, and Augustine… we cab our way to social functions on paved roads under the Big Scribe. Heathendom and idolatry as weapons… this is a teaching used by a priestly clan to restrain a lower class, assimilated by parable at the manifold points around skin.

Why is this here? Nothing sounds quite as new and original to you as your zeal to have the foreign mark diminish your individuality. This idea repeats the emerging pattern or emerges in the repeating pattern or patterns the emerging repetition or patters on the repetition of emergence. Any way you disturb it, it will burn the living instance to play you back… your idea of the masses turning shamefacedly into theatrical time. There were, are, and will be times when biasing the spirit of the words at this Place… towards an amplified and roving immortality… can’t be overrated… though… on the whole it’s never been… it’s never been underrated… and we don’t have to put up… with this…this frame… as leading arbiter of our fate… it’s a very poor arbiter!

What does this matter? This work endeavours to effect the event by circling its preservation as having spread from its ancient sources… thinking its touch far into the omens and needs of our nowadays. With all the paranoia of a solitary vigil, we will administer the problems of writing and reading to the little mental conditions that have changed so over the last eighteen hundred years. ‘Good to-day’ the male police officer exclaimed… ‘Thanks, Happy Christmas’ replied the Minister’s wife… this is extremely fucking disturbing… and bears the character of almost the same difficulties arranged in the many hundreds of cases tackled in this here folio: an airing and classification of the known and unknown searching graves… each losing… to agitate and harass the newly risen consequences of their methods. The medical doctor, no matter how advanced, holds the space… in our society… of eternally primitive information… ditto the teacher… which is why they’re so easily seen… so easily hurt by this email… so unable to say the shifting aspect they felt lost… viewing instead… some rediscovered gemof-a ‘moment’ of existence.

Let’s remain rewinding there remotely in 19-91 a little longer while… the lucidation is kicked out for its snow-like vastness. The law of this material then… was a series of documents too large to carry around… but now is a string of language too vast to read. I’m not complaining but… Now you have to pay the slightest difference to the conceptual attention bank… it’s unconscious… I mean not conscious… what’d you call me?... did people? invent them? I mean, we have to weigh in the threat by habit, breaking up its narrative with just a thimble of the past and just a normal of the future, right? Also the local ignorance of the word must be never be lost sight of… it’s connotations are cultural standards which protect normalcy, it’s detonations are just striking events with fact estimates. For example, I say canned sardines are just one side issue… of an older generation who were more habituated to smelling like fish (canned laughter). While you say new and old can’t be divorced from the riddle…missing or not…of the surrounding world…missing or… at least the extent of its oversimplification.

Like the furious perception of a squirrel I at once saw and thought?... I liked it. Therefore the same way we human feelings longed for the super-seen sloping down towards a stupid beauty that is only not an exit… we hoped to be reprimanded for longing for the idea in the image of the super-soakerthree- thousand which culminated meaningfully in a friend. How can we learn something about three-thousand texts without reading and airing our terminal gems? Print and prison in the agitated metavariable of a repenting mind… they did not contribute their proper share of vastness into the supernatural latrine… so a side issue neglects them redirecting their attention.

I know a harp when I see a harp that must never be lost sight of. We are here as a sucky estimate unfulfilling the temporal condition of some future riddle. And yet it is the sublimest deal the body invented… to begin in words a passage means a passage means it makes sense. Why release our methods to their easy justifications… like unsorts the shortcut to a history of names abbreviated into the spokesperson of our time whose popularity types the ill-luck of anyone. A bitter youth deer weekend discarded in the alto corners still providing the investment of magic and prayer. A step detected towards the entrance to all media controversy… at its best in a long list…mirage and myth and actual shore arose afterwards around the type of song… you know.

To counter your face try to present a strange contrast between the features on one side… remote centuries’ contact will will be clear feelings on the other. Thought thought through and through some sauce in my teether. Popular names in our Literature iterating on the warping phone until their location is precise pronunciation… people saying ‘!*??# it’ to ordinary works of genius forgetting the bitter struggles they invented to become them. Later on to keep listening to the altered fix that reliance can be placed upon… by indirectly exposing them to be institutional attributes of personal crudities… crossing some ocean side by side linked by persecution and the bits it’s broken. A contest of proof in which situational and dramatic irony advances to a height in which speaking becomes an internal movement… of the burden of great change upon movement… interspersing the vogue with… like what wine is actually going on in us.

Lewis Freedman moved to Madison where he now resides and co-runs the ___________-Shaped reading series with Andy Gricevich, with whom he also edits and publishes chapbooks for cannot exist. Also, Lewis co-edits the publication of chapbooks with the multi-locatable Agnes Fox Press. Three chapbooks have been published under his name: The Third Word (What To Us [Press], 2009), Catfish Po’ Boys (Minutes Books, 2010), and SUFFERING EXCHANGE WALKS WITH AND (Minutes Books, 2011). Two more are forthcoming in 2013, Hold the Blue Orb, Baby (Well Greased) and Solitude: The Complete Games (Troll Thread), the latter a collaboration with Kevin Rydberg.

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