A STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS POEM WHICH I WILL EVENTUALLY EDIT SOME I THINK
I am a man
In this absurd reality
I'll buy you a staircase
And I'll sing you an incident
But please please don't make me fight you
This reality'¦
Not of nature, spirituality, or some techno-electromagnetic smoothness
Only absurdity: thantos guides the soul around a sacred lake of mystery hate
Where cynicism is never to be defeated
And the universe is built on a lie
Happiness, therefore, is a function of unbridled aggression and ego
Balancing the love of mystery and the scream of not knowing
The Pursuit of mystery and ego can't be kept separate
Politics can't not be just an exposition of style
Individuality in the machine or the man becomes the most important man ever
Can you be at peace in this noise?
Keep moving forward
Opposition is the Patron Saint of Creativity
Creativity kerosene burns your future,
Each time you take it, you take it all over from the start, like a woman
Harmony is lobotomy
Honesty is often a soft form of violence
Indifference is mystical
It employs caution as an underwriter
And fear as a marketing agent
Knowledge, dialectical catharsis, and alienation can't be understood
Thinking about it is the ultimate ego-masculine migraine
This is the ticking that drove Nietzsche to insanity
Every David Lynch scene is simply an imitator
No Longer As Manly In The Unique Form
Body and Mind sit on a wooden floor near Toy Tyrannosaurus-Rex
In awkward silence as if they had just had unintended incestuous sex
The visceral child sleeps beneath the sand
Who's up to rape Ayn Rand?
And then there's the afterlife:
A hollow ball of anxiety-free yarn
No masculinity there
That is why they're dead and I'm alive
Angels are just welfare-recipients
Too lazy and genetically inferior to get jobs
Kill them! Burn the earth till it glows like a tiger's eye in the night
Or is it just the hormones-be it so if it is-all metaphysical
The body screams at the soul
What will you do when oblivion comes a-knockin'
Your shoes are all worn out your boots are out walkin'
Nietzsche awaits the answer in a jealous blue armchair
Just wait till there's blood on the floor and seamen in the air
Where's your idealism
I quote myself when I spoke to the commies in a room of damp burlesque eros:
'The stereotypes parade through my mind. Oh, here comes a cadre of would-bes down the boulevard, Che t-shirts, ego on a gold chain, oh yeah, they say, dictator of the proletariat was a great band, let me sign for you my photograph, and Ill paint you a picture of me being that cool guy who fights them all, and in the very last scene of the movie, is hailed at a great party the greatest guy ever.'¯
Socialism with a chainsaw-no left, no right, no apologies, no special treatment, everyone is guilty, everyone is innocent, and only the murder of the elite will make our house clean.
Then again, the best way to clean your house is to burn it down and spit on the ashes.
Nietzsche bursts into the house of ill-repute demanding to get syphilis and succeeds
How can I top that? I will though I will, you just wait, if you deny that I will, I'll kill you, rape your dog, and have you thoroughly erased from history
Would you go fishing with your dead father, or would you rather set your eyes on a young one at a roadside bar near the same lake
Jump up onto the sofa I say
And show those motherfuckers what it is really like to be atop a sofa which is really just a large armchair
Nietzsche's armchair
Of course, armchair socialism, 'The Nietzscheization of the Left or Vice Versa'¯ wrote Alan Bloom
He was right, but his name nearly means flower in German so we should remove his testicles
And the sound of the painting thumbed down the drain
All my childhood memories sit crying in the rain
In this life never right
Go tonight drive to flight
Tactile learning
Knowledge is pain
Bight the frozen chunks of consciousness
Until you bleed or are electrocuted
The pain only deepens the intensity of the process,'¦always
Can you ever catch up with yourself?
Is addiction the only metaphor or example of the weirdness of existential-masculine life
Be an addiction to change
McNamara's real middle name was Strange
Disassociation sociopath
What of the ameliopath
Strange ameliopathic memory
Kindness never free from ego
To try to be so is never free from ego
Ego good ego low or high salt'¦probably both
I learned my lesson the hard way
I tried to publish an account of pain
The publisher tried to screw me out of it all, even the credit
So, I rented on Oldsmobile and stalker his daughter around the bars of High Street
It ended in a tie, and I spent my concession speech and pure-bred apathy
Courted and Imported from Raw Life, Jersey
The nice thing about a woman with an ugly face is you don't have to hesitate to slap her
What's worse, being from a marginalized demographic or being physically abused by your father?
Would you rather be a dickless man or an ugly woman?
Are these perhaps the lowest class of all?
I had 'I forgive you for all I've done to you'¯ tattooed on my chest, from All The King's Men
Raw possible landscape invades my sentiments and forces me to do karate in the parking garage
I burnt your aspirations and flushed them down the tube of apparent rationalization
Whose house will you burn down now Kant?
Why are philosophers such cowards?
It is so hard to be intelligent and daring, a little harder than getting a drink perhaps
Now, I march across the clown floor to Nietzsche grand legacy and say
Who are you?
We are all trapped in ourselves like placenta Klein bottles
The main streets of our towns are lemniscates
Even a barber will turn you for being too weak these days
Did I kill him or did he kill me, what matters is'¦strength
Strength kills the addiction to crescendo and near-complete engagement of means
All anybody really needs is to be safe when they sleep and a janitor for their reality
All I remember is that I need to get with the secretary at Nietzsche's home office, because I'm running just a little short on infinity
All I need is just a little drink of it from the longing serenity of her little girls' eyes
