The Concerto, A Manifesto

There is a concert in the graft

Movements of vehicular

Swerving to avoid the idiosyncrasies

Of the people give them motion

Curving to appease their master

I was a vagrant concepteur on the wayside

Reveling in the moment when thee would stare

Into the vast contingency of possibility

And impossibility

Of have and have not

Of life and death

’Las the Concerto had His own plan for me

Remember, I’ve stared into the abyss

I’m hung on the last thread of reason

A puppet of the spheres

And when the pit devours me

It will have a familiar taste on its tongue

That it can’t quite define

Uncanny

An ego that swelled to fill the womb of the universe

And became one

Blood and sinews sewn to the black holes of desire

Reborn to the pop culture communism of the spirit

Clutching at the stray thoughts

I work with the psychological intricacies of human experience

The dogged thoughts that roam the dark alleys of Mind

Would I take them in

Clothe them

Give them shelter and a home

Raise them to believe in the force of their spirit

Against all

And in their abstract consummation

Some great weight was lifted for no reason at all

It vanished

If it weren’t for the capitalist oppression of the spirit

I would be an artist

’Las concepts share the preference of economy

Words are cheap but hold immeasurable weight

And I am all the lighter for it


Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com