RAY SARGE Issue #2

From the fuck thicket onward we stumble forward, aching longwise wondering, wandering toward what might look like we deserve it. What flies up in front of us? What smuggles its snout into us? What ignores our searching for IT, or, if not ignores seeks to smoosh it underfoot and mash it into bloody sustenance? There can be answers: and are.

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Childhood is a piece of ground bathed in water, with little paper boats floating on it. Sometimes, the boats turn into scorpions. Then life dies, poisoned, from one moment to the next.
The poison is in each corolla, as the earth, is in the sun. At night, the earth is left to itself, but, happily, people are asleep. In their sleep, they are involnerable
The poison is the dream. -- Edmond Jabès, The Book of Questions