“surrealism is a poem more than this.
the intention that things do not fit
together. As if my grandmother had
chewed on her jigsaw puzzle before
she died. Not as a gesture of contempt
for the scattered nature of reality.
Not because the pieces would not fit
in time. But because this would be
the only way to cause an alliance
between the dead and the living. To
magic the whole thing toward what they
called God. To mess around. To
totally destroy the pieces. To build
around them.” Jack Spicier.