Question & Answer 3 – Dean Rhetoric

Question 3

Your file is corrupt Dean,
and I’ve eaten the core
of your heart
and found each broken
kiss to be a storm
cloud
wearing a raincoat.

September will bring
more sun
than every lung
you have kept
in your cupboard
so you can steal
the breaths
of everybody
who has stolen yours.

How do you build
hurricanes
in the centre of
your eyes?
Take a needle
and pierce the velvet
lining
of your own interior.

Buy my soul
a drink
and treat it to a meal
so I can feel special
on the day
I wear
my funeral
casket.

– Aaron Kent

Answer 3

When navigating through the hurricane of your own
respiratory system, simply imagine a miniature clown
car speeding downhill with fifty five versions of

yourself suffocating inside – one of you steers along the
constantly expanding and retracting ridges of a pot
holed diaphragm whilst the other fifty four of you kick

the back of your seat, screaming childhood nicknames.
One of them covers your eyes, laughing manically. The
car spins. You punch the horn but spiders explode from

inside the wheel, gulping down the eyeball fluid out of
your screaming passengers. The upholstery of the car
shakes violently – rats crawl out from the stitching,

vomiting thick, black tar over the eyeball drinking spiders.
You approach a flashing carousel. Each horse has somebody
you love tied to the saddle. The radio flickers on – there’s

a song you just can’t get out of your head that goes,
‘Everyone you love is dead! Everyone you love is dead!’
Your foot hits the brake only to find a note that says,

‘Are you currently working? Do you usually pay for
your motion inhibitor?’ It’s too late. You’re going to
hit the carousel. You turn your head and brace for impact.

Rats, spiders, broken horses, rejection emails, neon lights
and severed limbs dance to the audio bruise of your engine
music. Turn left. You have now reached your destination.

I don’t know if they make a raincoat deep enough to keep those
kind of parts dry. Then again, we’re all fucked, and a casket is
probably the most effective form of contraception I’ll ever try.

– Dean Rhetoric

Advertisements

Question & Answer 2 – Dean Rhetoric

Question 2

In reverse an autopsy is just
yspotua na
and that’s all there is to it
whether in D-Minor
or the miner
stood in the centre of the town
I grew up in
arms folded
born of the working class
fears we were all taught
to embody

Did I ever tell you how my dad
used to send me to school
telling me to tell my teachers
that Thatcher was the best thing
to ever happen to this country
and now all my school years
are tainted
with this weird
hatred I was made to embody
with a statement that feels
damp and hollow
like the stare
that evil iron lady
bore into the centre of my dad’s skull

This was before
he obsessed with David Icke
and lizard people
and angles to hit towers at
and bullet holes in truck doors
and climate change denial
and all of these other conspiracies
he force fed us until we spewed it all up
in front of the class
and our educators
as if some zombie spouting
hate
and begging for anybody
to point us in the right direction

My teacher told me that sometimes
fathers need a mouthpiece
and I should research his words
and now I’m not sure who I’m angrier at
my father
or Thatcher
but I know I don’t have a nice thing to say about either.

– Aaron Kent

***************************************************************************

Answer 2

FILE – 51-

{illumin@ti f@ther @utopsy}

< ? P.F. Version”2.0″ encoding”R.I.P._I.Q.” ? >
< ! – – HP Search V2 30+1+1 http://www.hereditaryblackeyeview.com – – >

<report>

<footage summary>

{a birth//a kidney bean with eyes//a sack of flour with a heartbeat}
{a death//a house//a body//looks content//when no one is inside}
{a child – an interruption – forever}

<results>

<file size O -01- In this American remake of his sleep
<file size U -02- paranoia leaves a basket at the front door
<file size T -03- a baby hurricane, cooing softly inside,

<file size C -04- a weaponised love song – fragile – irresponsibly held.
<file size O -05- Attached to the basket is a note: You were screaming
<file size M -06- and scratching through dreams again, grinding your
<file size E -07- lungs against the bedpost. Please find enclosed your

<file size T -08- carbon dioxide lovechild. [MONTAGE]:
<file size H-09- He falls asleep on a train and the baby starts to
<file size E-10- scream, limbs spinning wildly throughout the carriage.

<file size B -11- Have you ever seen an unpredictable infant of weather
<file size O -12- phenomenon shitting its pants? Begging to be changed,
<file size N -13- under the crippling migraine of minimum wage studio lights?
<file size E -14- Masculinity is a frightened child’s diagram of a throat
<file size S -15- pretending to be a map of the universe.

i have died in worse places than this I have died in worse places than this I have died in worse places than this i have died in worse places than this i have died in worse places

<installation – complete – copy diagram at own risk>

***************************************************************************

– Dean Rhetoric

Question & Answer 1 – Dean Rhetoric

Question 1

I filled in a form to declare myself financially inept,
but not inept enough to order pizza.
The ford was run over by a white van man.
I didn’t make my own coffee:
Dan did:
Twice.
We watched Good Will Hunting,
I wanted my wife to understand me better.
We watched Practical Magic,
my wife wanted to be a witch.
So we made bath bombs.
So we made more bath bombs.
The second batch worked.
Nobody wrote about the technical aspects of their exam work.
My mentor lost her tangle teaser.
I awoke without punching the air,
so I punched the air in delight.
So I punched the air in delight.
Punched the air in delight.
Air.
Delight.
Prazosin.
Please.
Melatonin.
Please.
How was your day?

– Aaron Kent

Answer 1

I awoke to a swelling paradigm between my legs
and a hopefulness,
fake as English compliments.

A childhood memory had been ignored long enough
to grow facial hair,
in my sleep this pubescent

anecdote with a beard throws stones at my frontal lobe.
My bones have been
sneaking out through an untreated

scar to play with it in the mud. They return with
less calcium on
their breath, singing go fuck yourself

…..(in D- Minor)

I watched an autopsy scene in reverse to see if
beautiful things could
exist inside of cold, redundant objects.

The Lambs were silenced in dissolvable packets
of insecure weather and
It rained twice before breakfast inside of me.

When this starling of apathy dies, place Moth Pupa
alarms inside this throat
to test the baritone of its infected kitchen sink.

There’s no need to rush.

We have all the time in the world.

Louis Armstrong (1901–1971).

– Dean Rhetoric