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BELL LOGIC, Zoe Darsee



"A flood relative to my speaking is set / to demolish itself through speaking // Conscience as a leader / condenses into ending"

If Zoe Darsee’s Bell Logic were to work in foil, and it would, probably, except for the entropic quality of aluminum that rusts against the interests of the state, then we might get something like "Planck Length," the smallest unit of measurement before which the laws of the universe literally stop, before which “place removes itself from the reflection” and a vibratory hair’s pulled taut by kids and elves. Finally, a gap curriculum that can teach anyone what it is to “microdose semen,” a work of poetry or maybe theater that has mastered the profound-dumb principle of exchange, the bathos of a bell, a bell that is a head, a head that is the ring of recognition, like "There I are!" They have condensed the sweat of the antihero who sweats, for "between the dream and my sleep is gravel bouncing in harsh masculine daybreak."
-Elise Houcek

Well, except for the long-tailed guanacos and newborn orange howler, life with the jacker-rat hanging around hasn’t been good… but friendliness minus violence is buddy propaganda, tolerance is not the art of guess-correction, and animal husbandry IS based on cold weather. Zoe, remember the beggar at the banquet pile, eating Martha’s goat’s dung from the ironmonger’s floor before hurrying out to stone the magician and have a scream? Texas parties were neither concertos nor snore videos; their sparkling dough featured immeasurably against all our facial obesities and satin thicknesses. And though I now, sometimes, in tarts of darkness, heed the Dow as an erect, punk deer on the edge of a high cliff, your Bell Logic, admitted to my Galilee, says that these bound politicians are the only high earners, dancing ‘round the teenage recreation pole. Heavy in the humid room. Bleeding from the respiratory tract. Asking for pity, firm to the rod. Copper commonly solders stained tints, and for the stealth gambler The Lie is what perfect legacy takes. Let’s dip our phones in the sink, watch the figurines come of age and dedicate our spare income to groceries. Lounging amiably, across my chest, where a pecker has sadly sprouted overnight, I hold a printed Bell Logic and laugh at “marrying up”… and The Friend-circle Poetic your art naturally dismisses. I also shudder, because you are right: “To learn better is to turn off the lights".

From Cemetary Road, VT.,

your friend Zan
--Zan de Parry

Zoe Darsee was born about noon on a Tuesday. Later they founded TABLOID Press with poet and artist Nat Marcus in Berlin. This work continues.

$12, plus shipping. 8.5" x 11", 35 pages, heavy duty side-stapled, covers printed on French Sky Parchtone cover, copy printed on French heavyweight text paper. Second edition of 50 copies. Set in BT Grotesk Spiral and designed by The Aliens.