“There is no nonstop partywagon.”
2016.15 by Bradley J. Fest
Wiggle. Norse DeLillo beards sophomorically
inquiring into the new worldvoid dispensation,
its ontic dimensions, its sound second boundary
debuts in all their sublimity, these techno-organic
furies—it is awfully posicore, this despair, this last
chance saloon we have made of everything we always
gave up. Or whatever. You didn’t happen to be
listening in the first place.(5) See. I found out that
the Katamari could stop rolling. There is no nonstop
partywagon. We’re all gonna have white noise
zombie deaths. Thanks. I mean, there was a time
before that particular brand of surfiction,
right? Wiggle. All I do is grade and apply for things.
Wiggle, yeah. Let’s get on rocket number nine, before
it’s too late; we’re bound for Venus.(6)
*5 – It was just Cave In’s Until Your Heart Stops (Los Angeles: Hydra Head Records, 1998), LP.
*6 – And then disaster struck. See The Modern Language Association of America. MLA Handbook. 8th edition, MLA, 2016, especially pp. 32–33. Yech. I’m sticking with Chicago. Until it inevitably changes. “McLuhan!” [shaking fist at sky].
Bradley J. Fest is assistant professor of English at Hartwick College. He is the author of two volumes of poetry, The Rocking Chair (Blue Sketch, 2015) and The Shape of Things (Salò, 2017), along with a number of essays on contemporary literature and culture. He blogs at The Hyperarchival Parallax and can be found on Twitter @BradleyFest.