Does the toast up there
The way it falls and stops
The way it bleats out blips
and stammering all toasted and regardless
and all vilified
all downside up
The toast as it appears and the made up blame and crossed over flitches of my mind unknown to destruction. The toast blips and bleats out a new sound for all to know and see. I belong to it so lousily, the radar of my heart: short ciruited and foamy. Are there places we should go do the histories speak of remnants of it? I will hold myself to the promises spoken and not the promises thought or then broken. I will seek the end of ending. The rules of holding rules. Are my blank spaces under driven for you? Are the house that don't exist all but built? Do the people live like astronauts on earth as it is in Detroit? I am the man I am and we are the group we choose to be. Does the make-up control the engine that spit this person out. My presentation is a reaction against you brought on by you, for you, with the ends all belated and the driver seat removed. I hope to get there from here someday. Like a small ship that challenges its sea. I man the reigns of this performance art to give you all a handshake and a lost mark on the horizon of a distance far away.
from Appliance-Centric Circles by Brendan deVallance performed at the Kitchen, New York 3-10-95
