Two
2.1
reading Kafka at fifteen resist a resolution the conclusion means nothing at all you don’t need to know who killed the vixen in her san Francisco starlet home you can dream while you are awake do you dream do you see visions are there colors in your world can you travel to other worlds what languages do you speak what sorts of technology do you have do you feel burdened by the requirements of your society is that possible in your world do you feel guilt or heart ache do you read books do you think about the future do you make plans do you make god laugh I rewrote his scenes because I knew it was him we go backwards in time and recreate the past to fit our view of reality not wanting a paradigm shift the contradictions have not reached their necessary end inducing a trance like state to go down deeper into the cosmological mind that evil dark underbelly of life that hides in the back of your mind that thing that connects you to the rest of us your true animal self the proletariat self working for the working class revolution the surplus labor marching in the streets screaming look at me I am a human being I have a right to exist observing the real people in life made up characters gathering some factors some from him and some from her serving as projections of your own mind the dreamer in the dream brought to a faraway place not seeing not since the blue moon of your seasons of the witch a part of me but not me a twin if you will an alternative form of self putting my feet in different shoes removing everything that is from the inside scrapping it out with a spoon and a knife for the tough parts to parts that get ripped out get bigger and bigger soon there is this huge mess on the floor I laid out newspapers but the mess has grown larger than I imagined it has become out of control I knew there would be a mess I just didn’t anticipate the extent that it would grow it became overwhelming and then I have to do something to correct the situation I have to bring balance back into the picture balance cannot be overrated we need it there in all things conscious of the structure always aware of the structure how it leans in on us and moves us in a direction we first had to resist that is power moving us when we don’t want to be moved it doesn’t matter our feelings or our desires power just moves power doesn’t care if you know it exists it just says fuck you move and you move without thinking you could say no I’m not going to move but it won’t do you any good you will move you will bend over and say thank you sir may I have another
2.2
the function of the medium is to make something happen making it happen can you make it happen you say you believe but you don’t believe in god or politics or the politicians but you do believe in utopia how is this different than religion you have replaced one religion with another you are still trying to reach a future state that doesn’t exist that never will exist you are still operating inside the box the box is your home and you don’t realize it little boxes that hold your head little boxes that hold your shit little boxes they are stacked one on top of another they go up beyond my ability to see they reach up into the heavens they are your tower of Babel each one a soul commitment each box represents a sin not against a non-existent god but against yourself each box represents a time you deceived yourself into thinking everything is ok are someday will be ok this shit never works out the way we planned I am sorry but it is true I guess that can be your absolute truth everything is fucked up
2.3
I am writing you into a grave writing you into submission beating the hell out of you with my words bringing you a sack full of the coming world she said it was sex magic caught between the spiritual world and the physical world you help me move from one world to the other you cannot decide which world you want to exist in to be here with us physical creature or over there with our spiritual shadows sometimes you are convinced that the shadow world is more real than the physical you were rooting for Midori some part of you is always in the other world that village in the woods where they accept you as you are where they don’t question you motives or intentions you found it following a dead soldier from a long forgotten war losing the object of your desire what you once thought was important is no longer important a place of exile a room with sporting equipment they are heavy slow and powerful a good looking and sober eyed woman a language that is not of my first dreams but still a language that I can hold on to forgive me if I forget about you for a little while and glorify the whimsy that is this life
2.4
we are grieving for our loss it is a loss that we have know for a very long time we gave it a name and made it a home inside our hearts this loss a was a poor lonely beggar begging for scraps of meat at the door so many have shooed him away but I let him in a gave him a place a special place where he can grow in his utmost a sense of immorality that is very strong I do not give a damn for your morals that are the ideals and values of the weak you have glorified the weak and have made a fool your king it is your responsibility a vain and cruel wretch that appear from time to time to be human he is really just a jackal that should be kicked and beaten like the rest he is lulled into a deep sleep not being able to distrust the phony you have made the phony your king living in a false world a primitive world filled with glitter and remorse I was a one man multitude a Kinbote slashing and pointing my sword in your face challenging you to come out to play to be a warrior against the philistines in their seditious plot to pull the wool over your eyes one or two spicy digs the soul descends with Chrissy Georgio into hell as a teacher she is dangerous and dubious to the garden incinerator the illusion of spontaneous conversation great pains and mushroomed almost overnight the solution to the composition I cannot grudge her this with her sinister charms few can deny her queer pull the struggle with the snow on the driveway she tugs at her sweater and brings us the tray with drinks your kingdom for an ice cube or a tetrahedron the clearing of nervous throats why so nervous her high forehead with her hair pulled back exposing her little scar the same kind of acid-etched scene nothing is as exhilarating as American vulgarity feeding the trailer trash to the rich and vice versa it is the coliseum all over again can we get enough lions for the evening show there is nothing like the crunch of good Christian bone you can skip history class I will tell you everything you need to know about the past present and future the ascended fathers why are they fathers it must be some leftover patriarchy getting in between the cracks of your toes yes just some toe jam of paternalism and hierarchical thinking the female boner of feminist theory god bless you doctor baker you could roll it up and bake it in a pan while the hubby would not work for the warmongers I forgot to put the not in the monger sex as an institution with its institutional discrimination the rules dictate how we tie you up and how much you should be paid and what is an appropriate safe word we are creatures of habit and custom believing in your ideology your sex as a roadside accident they stick their heads out of the car windows and whistle sweet Jesus blow your fucking whistle one with the platonic solids trace the line around the body it is just a government statistic now not a real live human being something for the senator to show on the senate floor in his blue and red chart
2.5
my god is a little stone rhino that sits on top of my computer his name is horny the fissionability of Freudian concepts can they spark a fire the clues to your personality have pointed to this reoccurring theme of an unwholesome preoccupation with sexual dysfunction disjunction construction finding them in your households ferreting out the human interest story so that the experts can turn it into an atrocity tale how big how wide is it a growing problem can we find it in Paducah Kentucky altering the bizarre things with cotton candy and Carmel apples as the ducks eat the bread from off the bridge needing a diminutive with a lyrical lilt one of the most limpid and luminous liquid and delicate the welcome murmur of its source of heartrending fate knocking at your door very nasty with a look of the multilingual memory we are back again to your tower and the virus that you infected us with not wanting to join a cargo cult as gods sends presents from the sky I had to invent your America because it did not exist there was a cheap plastic version that everyone else was buying into yes they have become very good salesmen and saleswomen when I question their experience at running things they all give me a nasty look
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