soren.

dedicated to the "single individual" who might want to discover the meaning of his pizza.

soren split in 13

and of those 13

there were 3 that took

the side of mr. moller,

and

you

know,

mr. moller, all he

wanted was for soren

to be clearer---

yes, what he wanted

was for this brilliant

man who took

pleasure in just walking

the streets of

copenhagen,

speaking with poor folks

who had no one to talk

with & engaging in

conversation with the

laborers that he

encountered---

but the unthinking & curious

are of course, those that

kill all that could possibly

be interesting---by wanting to be

spoon-fed

by wanting to be

taken

by the

hand

and walked like a little

child

and while mommy tells

em’ just what everything is

about

they

can

suck

their

f*****g

thumb

till’

it

pulsates

and

twitches

from

being

over-

sucked.

 

certainly, the 3 that took the side of mr. moller can be named.  

 

there was, um, mr. eremite, firstly &

foremostly

he went by the name “vick” on the evenings

when soren and him used to

swill the vino

if ya know what i mean  

 

and the two would talk of the final drafts of

either/or---

victor insisted on rewritings,

while, soren, like any prolific writer,

complained of this

rewriting

taking up the time that he could be

producing

more

work

and as all the ideas washed away (like sands after a flushing storm that the weatherman has named around 6

o’clock

and

you

have

remembered

because you have a cousin with that same

name)

the other two

taking moller’s side

mr. A

&

judge william

who wrote in response to

A’s work

 

soren took a deep breath and spit on all of them

crumpling them up in a little ball

wanting nothing of the

intellectual life

and wanting only

to become

the first successful

pizza man

in copenhagen

 

he burnt all his philosophical writings

and sent carrier pigeons to the leftover 10

who had been

“subjects”

if you will, of the texts in question

they went by the names of

johannes, costantin, vigilius,

nicolaus, inter

et

inter,

h.h,

um..and of course,

anti-climacus and his best bud,

hilarious bookbinder---

with whom he played a heavy game of

dart’s at O’Patty’s

every early eve from

4pm to 6…

 

2 more…

 

think. think. think.

 

oh yeah,

there was another johannes

(go figure)

and a guy that just went by the name

“young man”

might’a been some kind of secret name for

some really

old guy---

never can tell.

 

soren had the sauce

soren was the boss

soren wasn’t lost

soren new the cost

soren was quicker than an

albatross

soren threw away his

cross

soren had s****y teeth (knew nothing of

floss)

soren slept on a bed of moss

(in the spring…ok…it was just one spring when he was dating this hippy gal named “fuchsia”

 

et cetera

et cetera

et cetera.

 

fast-forward

so soren got his pizza joint goin’

it was pumpin’

freshest slices this side of the…

well, it was the

only

slice---

anyway,

while whipping up his special recipes in the kitchen

and spreading on his

red sauce,

he composed his responses to mr.

moller---

the activity of a traveling esthetician &

the dialectical result of a literary police action.

 

he did no rewrites.

he was sick of em’.

 

and after the responses had been received by mr. moller

the two called a truce

and they ate harmoniously

outside at a small café-ish table

people-watching

together

and shooting the s**t

while splitting a pie

and waiting for dusk

to rear its little head.