Herisson Louis E. Bourgeois The clocks are dead and a mean thought enters the room; namely, you are your father even though you’ve hated him from day one; a hard father who is in the habit of strangling large fish with his bare hands as he would strangle you and mother if he wasn’t afraid of going to prison as much as he is afraid of losing power over the only two people in the world that he controls. A large father in which flowers expire as he passes and lakes go dry. The sky goes dead in his presence. Even fish burst into flames should he as so much as touch the surface of the water and trees turn to blood—don’t you understand? The clocks are dead because your father has defeated everything, has left nothing to chance. Don’t you understand that everything including the very molecular structure of nothingness is under his command? There is no God but there is father— Who has turned into a doll for his own desires—you a doll—in a world without content—you only see yourself in nightmares—amazing life, but ever so painful. A race of fish-men and purple women—you can kill me dear Father, but I will never surrender to you, please forgive me—there is rebellion within rebellion that not even you can comprehend— I see myself reflected every where and I am frightened. We shall bake you tonight, Father, like the fish: I will whisper into the lemon sauce, there is no I. Who wants life if there is even one moment of pain? You are hard Father, I would prefer it no other way—you are so dark too, no other father has been so dark before—yet, I am proud of your darkness. My father is a fish. I am the happiest child in the world. We are so intensely, intensely large—we have sacrificed many birds together, in order to keep ourselves alive— How I hate the Middle Class, Father, just like you Father, how proud I am of you for destroying me for thirty years but which feels like twenty centuries—Father, you have earned special recognition for destroying me with no political motivation. Dear Father, never cast you darkness off and I will be your everlasting bride, I will lie down next to you and will fill your ear with the new scientific dialectic that will anoint your wonderful mind with pure blue— All those days in the fields making other people extremely wealthy is making good on a future payment in which the rich will never be able to afford. We will never die; the plows are quickly turning into scrolls and swords— And midnight is teaming with life --and-- --and-- Father, most of all I wanted to assure you that the Revolution is about to have a name: {ANAXIFORMINGS} Can you hear it, Father? I can’t believe how lucky we are!!!