'All of Nichol’s paintings is stamped by means of his wish to create texts which are undertaking themselves in addition to in context, and to take advantage of oblique structural and textual units to hold that means. In The Martyrology other ways of conversing testify to a trip via alternative ways of being. Language is either the poet’s teacher and, via its numerous variations, the dominant 'image' of the poem. The [nine] books of The Martyrology rfile a poet’s quest for perception into himself and his writing via scrupulous recognition to the messages hidden within the morphology of his personal speech.’ – Frank Davey
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Extra info for Ad Sanctos (The Martyrology, Book 9)
I do not want a normal job. i do not want to be the government’s puppet. i do not want a nice car or nice clothes or things that require mountains of money. ” i will not conform and i can only ask passionately and politely that you take my hand and be free with me? ” i think to myself. “everywhere- sex, drugs, food, religion, love, ego. we do not go without it. it is everywhere. it is all we have. ” the most brilliant people in life are the ones who have been through the most shit. tragedies, death of loved ones, countless heartbreaks, heartbreaks that truly puncture the soul.
We do not go without it. it is everywhere. it is all we have. ” the most brilliant people in life are the ones who have been through the most shit. tragedies, death of loved ones, countless heartbreaks, heartbreaks that truly puncture the soul. they are wise without knowing it and that is the most pure, flawless, perfectly beautiful kind of wisdom. i have this friend and his father and little sister died in a car accident when he was ten and sometimes we sit at bars and drink for the entire night and god, let me tell you, there is just something about his eyes.
I used to tell myself “i drink to understand those i do not know. to feel what they feel. what he feels. ” it is similar to my favorite bible verse but played with a little “to the drunkard i become the drunkard. to the stoner i become the stoner. ” a young gay man sits on a balcony fifty stories up, cigarette in his mouth, drink in his hand. he stares out into the waves, into oblivion. the air is cold and unsure. quick as a cat and soft as freedom. he thinks of the world against himthe jokers and the judgers, the politicians and the churches.