Pastoral Interapocalyptacourse .pdf

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Original filename: Pastoral Interapocalyptacourse .pdf
Title: Pastoral 51 Interapocalyptacourse
Author: Arielle Greenberg Bywater

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Pastoral: Interapocalyptacourse
The obliteration.
(A convulsing hole.)
How when you fuck me so hard it hurts, I feel
The end days.
(A blue-hung cliff.)
How when you fuck me so hard it hurts, I finally
The slipped coil.
(A gaping violence.)
How when you fuck me so hard it hurts, I believe
spring may yet come.
The annihilation.
(A viscous, rhythmic lack.)
How when you fuck me so hard it hurts, I persist.
The destruction of the planet.
(A darkened peak.)
How when you fuck me so hard it hurts, I have
faith, or stop caring about faith.
The apocalypse into which I grind my teeth.
(A swollen weapon.)
How when you fuck me so hard it hurts, I
temporarily imagine the possibility of safety.
The little death.
(A set of gasps.)
How when you fuck me so hard it hurts, I am

It’s hard to breathe. It’s hard to sleep at
night, living in the crisis world as we
come, through consciousness, to know
it. Is this the postmodern condition, or
was it this way in 1915, 1815? 715 BC? I
imagine it was: every time is a wartime, an end-time, and us a race of
mortality-driven survivors. Not as good
at it as rats or roaches, but just as
pleasure-hungry, drawn toward sugar.
The sun will explode. The clean water
will be gone. Nuclear or meteor, we are
not meant to last. And yet we obsess
about lasting. The only time I don’t
obsess about lasting is when you are
deliciously destroying me. That’s why I
need it harder. More. Fuck the pain
away, the song goes. Fuck the pain in,
more like it. The pain is a way of being
alive. An aliveness that temporarily
glosses over, goes deep, fills a void.
Being in the constant crisis, one may
understandably want a vaccine. But I’ve
never trusted Big Pharm, and the only
kind of disruption of my immunonervous system can bear is the one that
comes from your well-intentioned
slamming of my internal organs. In
these moments, I think, I am meant to
be demolished. It is my good purpose. In
these moments, I blessedly do not think
at all.

The big death.
(A warm abyss.)
How when you fuck me so hard it hurts, I am the Zen nothing that connects to everything.

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