The Great Erasure: Two Hermes Poems Translated by Robin Moger

Julian Schnabel, “Anh in a Spanish Landscape”, 1988. Source:

an authentic corruption

There is a corruption as old as being. We can see it in all things. Say, in language: each word a holed ship leaking meaning as it goes down. And in vision: between picturing and the picture a missing link continually dilating until it swallows both. There is an authentic corruption.

In fractal geometry we are able to measure. This is the miracle. Also, the impossibility of measuring. This is the catastrophe.

The great erasure which is happening now in the world is the work of souvenir collectors. The souvenir being the most valuable thing there is. It is the hardest currency. And the collectors think: it must not be left to the masses.





we are living the greatest loss

in history

a common loss

a common loss of memory



farahfaza for light hearts

I do not write in the day what I write in the night

because I am like the owl, I have

a slow wing clap and eyes

open to the blight.


Out of the caravan of things forgotten, the friend


his being

cleansed of lead.

He looks about himself.

The storms, my friend, the fire

is everywhere,

the dogs themselves they follow where we tread

and perhaps the time is right now to confess:

Returning from the company of the watchmen,

all alone, with heart light, heart of flame,

with a reed pipe that pours into my soul,

I am yearning for a gun.


You damned guard, you

who are broken now and forever,

are you content

with the earth

as it is

with games

 and a handful of papers

and the nomad life that like the palm

protects the candle from the wind

that dresses me in sadness

that poured out milk into my skin

full of booze?

Me wake?

Why would I wake?

They will in any case collect us in the square

and with a single shell made from the bones of the poor

will blow our dreams to pieces.