AESHNA

PARIS

for Baba Yaga, François Villon, Jeanne Dark, Claude Le Petit, Mireille Havet, Jean Genet, Monsieur William, Brigitte Fontaine, my punch-and-judy betty-blue Béatrice Dalle & my fuckbuddy Carla Bruni

  I

Paris I have immortalized my golden feces at the Pantheon, my infamous lies, my tragedy-scented cum towels, my childhood debris, my love letters suicide notes, my epileptic fits, my garbage-picked Turin shroud-wrapped disfigured adoles-saint face, my seeds, my aborted angels preserved in formaldehyde, my bombed out sand castles, my spring buds & plum blossoms, my chaos my betrayals my glorious orgies my wonders, my astrological charts & schizophrenic mandalas, my masks, my postcards from hell, my souvenirs gathered in dreams, my objets-volés, my mountain aphorisms & memories of other lives, my banned damned book kept in perfumed drawers, my eyes incubated in the fever of dreams, my pollen-poems scattered here & there like ripped socks, my blasphemous cock expelled from 2000 academies & chased after in at least 100 countries for raping the Grammar & aesthetic adultery, my fines for dangerous driving & somnambulism through the streets in the wee hours - yelling to the skies, intoxicated w/ Dionysus - my dumb heart betrayed, my innocence killed, my cynical cyanide smile, my scandals, my utopias, my nothings, my cowboy scarecrow costume, my muddy worn out shoes & my tattered hobo bindle containing all my belongings, my Monaco mansion overlooking the Garden of Eden & way bigger than your slum room you poor scum, my Zara crown made in China, my husband's barcode on my chest & my one million deaths by stoning whenever I take off my burqa & dress slutty, my patriotic love, my religious fanaticism, my pet cancer, my collection of classics & best-sellers, my reality shows, my bigger-than-life lobsters lobbysts leaders idols & protheses, my crystal forests transformed into Plato's caves, my generation turned to stone by countless Medusa brands, my thunderbirds & butterfleyes brainwashed with IPoppies, my once "revolutionary" best-friends recruited by the army or the CIA & frisking me at a jam session turning out my pockets in search of pot papers poems pink-elephants terrorists or the very key of Hell, my last shamans dying away or being diluted into slaves, sleepwalking into alienation, my mother’s hysterectomy, my daddy’s corpse, my nervous breakdowns, my reformatories, my evictions, my exiles, my straightjacketed tongue, my cureless boredom & prominent beer belly, my pride in being white yuppie self-made-man liberal fascist fashion white black yellow red royal blue alien arab jew cool cool cool so fucking kewl man, my war medals, my lust for life, my jailed verses, angel meat & devil meat for mass cannibalism & necrophilia-pop-masturbation, my universal altruism, my holidays, my holocausts, my hypocrisy, my geysers, my nausea, my bottled gastric juice, buy, buy my pain, my Oscars & Grammies & Nobels, my fantastic failures, my pollockian menstruations, my plans for the future & my con novels acclaimed by Le Figaro & The Times, in short, my one thousand decapitated heads each with a different expression…

Paris ma pute, ma belle, mon amoureuse

lick my debris

wish I could strangle you as you whisper in my ear

                                            mon amour

II - OPERA

I won't gouge my eyes out at the end of this ridiculous fable

I won't come back to this Big Brothel to satisfy the syphilis of a whole hell erected in my name, - spectateurs wankers disciples & art dealers, oh no

I won't end up like Artaud in a straightjacket

jet set freakshow haute-couture Hannibal Lecter

screaming as a muzzled dog behind a

luxurious window in the Champs-Elysées

Helena boxed in the Theater of Vampires

Or Kaspar Hauser or Pasolini’s parricide cannibal condemned to be torn to pieces by wild beasts bureaucrats & then getting my pieces packaged & sold off like minced meat on the shelves of the Planet of the Apes

The framed & tamed plastic prophet of

a plastic puppet generation!

no, I will no longer barge in through these pale curtains to say out what I really feel,

like one who betrays a character & doesn't even appear

But mostly,

I will no longer be here

when they arrive at the crime scene 

& the circus is on fire

I did it my way