The Ass I Want to Ride

Thing to know is, we’re not nouns, we’re verbs.

Nouns pretend. True, the word verb is a noun.

Well, words pretend. But don’t let’s let that get us

down. Cut some slack: language must reside

in the provisional. That’s not the ass I want to ride.

Here’s the ass I want to ride: a theory that can’t

abide the idea that what happens when a Big Bang

bangs has anything to do with Being or Existence.

What the Big Bang’s banging is reaction; better

put, reacting; better put, reacts-reacts-reacts.

Our Big Bang banged because some rank faux pas

occurred to spur what otherwise would have been

undisturbed perfection: needing no thing, no word,

noun or verb: the kind we’ve conjured up because

we bought appearances’ P.R. We think there’s stuff.

There is no stuff. There is relates. There is reacts.

What relates, reacts to what? Question of a petty

mind. The ass I’m here to ride won’t stop for what.

Stick ‘what’ up the butt of teleology. What we are

is going going never gone. No thing is. Is is is.

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