Unrelated Thoughts

Poems that are not in The End of the Word as We Know It, by Wes Unruh

on the record…

you might want to now that I was raised in a strict religious household in idaho, homeschooled at times, and that I read the king james bible twice before I was twelve. My favorite parts were the intertextualities, the references from one verse in the old testament to seven others, scattered through the book. I believe I fetishize books, likely because of this… and that I view books as living entities. I wouldn’t tell you to do the same, but I suspect I’m not the only bibliophile who’s noticed an on-going obsession in our culture with book as object, rather than text..

Don’t think that is the only formative element of my psyche, though… I wasn’t only homeschooled, I was also taught at a christian school in town. I was there when Reagan was shot, I was there when the space shuttle Columbia exploded, pre-empting re-run of Star Trek after school. Fragments of memories, half-eaten by private mythologizing… but perhaps a lense into where I come from… as an adoptee. As an adoptee, it’s hard not to notice the bad seed, the cuckoo, the reluctant beast of the apocalypse that appears time and time again in modern culture. Perhaps that was what I meant to express when, age ten and asked to dress as my favorite biblical character, I chose a beast from the book of Daniel that crawled from the sea in a hallucination. Since then I have always been pondering why so much of contemporary media focuses so closely on the abnormal psychology of the adopted, the occult powers of family secrets, the epic battles of light and dark struggling over the adoptee’s soul. From Moses to now, with The Unborn.

When I tell some people that I’m an adoptee writer studying occult memetics and nlp, that my favorite films are In the Mouth of Madness and The Testament of Orpheus, that I’ve read Illuminatus!, I am amused that they don’t run screaming. In all honesty, I’m just testing… these are only scraps – the real work is in writing something that changes the reader completely, utterly, into an entity unrecognizable. To show the reader the other, like a black mirror. There is no abyss so pure and missing as utter unknowing, at the center of one’s center, and the radiation of that black hole deforms and refuses all appellations, dissolves all labels. There is where I listen for an original thought worth authoring


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