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TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN: This is a mistake. In the grand scheme of things, this book is a mistake. This book pretends to be a collection of poetry when it really is a giant science fiction epic full of moon murders and space sex and saucers like flying vaginas. Incidentally: The dirty word police will not find the word vagina anywhere in the book but here because the word, I am told, is supposed to be foul. Which is just like saying the reality that bears it must be foul too. They could be wrong. They will not find the words penis or anus or breasts either because the names have all been changed. The language, too, has been changed. Because poetry is supposed to operate on a set of muscles far different from prose, massive care has been taken to morph the language into tiny bits of what would come to seem as structure governed by certain chance laws known only by me. The trick, to be sure, is not new. It is not even novel. But the treat supposedly is, since it promises to pose a challenge ( as if anyone would actually care to take it up) that is neither semantic nor semiotic. Sonic subliminal might be closer. Here and now, fragments take precedence over familiar narrative so that plot becomes punchline and characters come as codes. As a rule, what would come to seem as a hint of depth may be nothing more than the hum of days spent watching my underwear spin inside the electric washing machine. Hopia! A word about Mantra.X: Although one might be quick to volunteer how "mantra," which means "word" in Hindu, and "x," which means "unknown" in physics, could very well mean "word unknown," or that Mantra.X may be nothing more than a clever contraction of "Man Tracks," the sense being that man must somehow leave his mark in this universe or mark himself as one might mark one's skin with a tattoo, this however is not the case. But why not? I could be lying. Scout's honor: Mantra.X came to be the title of the book simply because it sounds good and looks good. Some things have a way of falling into places. A few words of wisdom: It is always good to look good. And: if one cannot look good, to sound good. At least. Be that as it may: This good-looking, good-sounding book was written "on a roll" between May 1998 and December 1999, which is, to begin with, quite a "roll" to write on. It gives nothing and takes nothing. In the grand scheme of things, it could--- for all intents and purposes--- mean nothing. Or: it could very well be the future of writing as we know it--- if we know it. One never knows. And so, here it is: My book--- my very own book. It is not quite like the books I have grown to love as a kid--- those you could drag around, stack up, sit on, make pillows of, get around saying the dog ate it, or break somebody's head with--- but, man, it is almost there. -----Titus de guzman Toledo |