The folks in the folk songs and folk tales and folk medicine and folk art are gone and we are alone. All crude primitive perfections have been dispersed and we are marooned here in a city of iron beds and sexual aptitude and hollow poetry and latent cowardice and revenge and status. I need the teachback bath. I need that sandblast clean naval-jelly on my crusty leaky hull. Keep my shoes for me while I'm dead. they are my favorite pair. I need the teachback reassurance that the plan is perfect and unreasonable and irreversible and the most urgent and immediate course of action is to realize a dream say for instance a violent revelatory dream of lead-pipes and chains and switchblades of light and obscene conical hoods etc. doves covering my chest their excrement smeared on my thighs fistfuls of feathers walking arms outstretched disrupting ethnic festivals funeral processions political speeches department store grand-openings. I crave teachback dynamite under my railroad bridge. I will be derailed and the schedules will be defamed. The wound on my abdomen from the train accident resembles the crab nebula. More signals from space. More marionette paranoia. Teachback is king and it's at your backdoor holding your fantastic fears of possession penetration mutilation transcendence wealth stability. The King will take you in its inhuman hands and tenderly forcefully squeeze until you talk confess sing greet yourself. It's about self-deconstruction. Learning what you are made of. It's about getting beyond bed. Walking until your feet bleed so you'll know you that you can walk until your feet bleed. It's tasting your come and it's a christian side-effect. We'll make other impressions before our bones align in the soil or we snake out of crematorium smokestacks or our shadows are flash burned into the walls of our hometowns. I'm drawing with a stick in the dirt and I don't know how to use a computer. You program computers so we have a sort of knife fight until we put our tongues inside one another instead i.e. the hierarchies are an illusion as are all linear lateral pyramidal vertical concepts of progress ascension and redemption. I told you I am a clay automaton - get out of my way. TEACHBACK: prelude to metamorphosis. You could flog yourself of course on teachback day (April 1st) cuz we're all friends here and we Won't judge you ever. And sure there's castration. Boiling point frustration multiplied by impatient impulse panic and religious atmosphere I said watch out. Blues falling down like anvils. Teachback is yours. The TRANSLATORS injected it in me. The gestation was long and hard but teachback is here now and I give it to you. take it. You can not turn it down. It's in the drinking water and in your dream catalog if you've read this far. Time to act accordingly. Our parade is lost. Our ritual dangerous if you choose. Plant a tulip bulb. Read to a child. Get along. Anchors away.
