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Exchange of Values

Exchange of Values
acrylic on board 48'X96'

"Structure of Color Perception"

"Structure of Color Perception"
48'X96' acrylic on board

Monday, October 17, 2016



 Zoopoetics X Theopoetics #5 

What If Derrida Was Right?

‘—I must make it clear from the start that
the dog I am talking about is a real dog
believe me, It isn’t merely the figure of a dog’
“The Animal That Therefore I am.”
 
What if Derrida was right
About all of it
What then

Jesus taught:
If any will follow
Let them deconstruct
Take up their cross
And follow, but

Its assumed “cross” is a synecdoche
Or metaphor whatever
Like when I say how much I *heart* my dog
“One of my family,” I claim
Thing is
If the house were on fire
And I could only rescue the child or the dog
I’d save the child

I discussed this with my dog
Dog said I was full of shit
My theology was anthropocentric
That I didn’t know what love was
—’Is all life sacred in god?’  Dog asked.

— ‘GOD!’
I challenged (playing devil’s advocate)
— ‘Which god is dog god?’
Dog (the animal that therefore he is) replied:
— ’is god all as one?’
I started to reach for my bible to proof-text
Hierarchies of creation and Patriarchal orders of obeisance
But just then my wife yelled down:
— ’You say something hon…?’
   — ’No dear…its just the dog…’
       — ‘Is he ok,’ she asked, ‘he sounds funny?’
I glare over at my smug Theravādanic mutt
— ‘I think somethings wrong with him,’ I yell back
   — ‘He may be going senile, he thinks he’s god’
— ‘Whaaat? Who thinks he’s god?’
   — ‘The DOG dammit he says he’s GOD!’
Dog said: — “I, god?”

Please love your dog with all your heart and soul
(but don’t let them get too fat)
Apologize to them every day
Because of their great compassion
They bear this immense burden for us
Our last connexion to the non-machine world
We’ve made enemies of all others
Dog carries this cross for us, and
They’re not the first creatures
Nor this the last cross
The whole world may be crucified

There are true believers
Who burn others
For speaking a participle of dogma otherwise
I don’t know how they would punish my Jesuit pooch
But my dog
Would run into a burning building to save my life
And so did god

(Daniel Imburgia is an un-aspiring poet living on Whidbey Island. A writing teacher once called him a ‘sloppy angst riddled sentimentally Roman Catholic overly didactic existentialist,’ causing Daniel to cry, take up smoking french cigarettes, and begin wearing a beret to hide his baldness. like that little Jewish boy who grew up in Algeria de-ciphering the Talmud, Daniel learned young that words burn—words are power). Shalom.      

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