Dec 2015
and not from above, from such meteor or comet descending with precious life droplets, indeed i believe from below, from the depths, from the mariana trench, the kaleidoscopic amoebaes rose with raging spasms for each shape known to man and man himself in vain attempts contorting in the anti-narcissistic mirror of the monkey for care of close semblance gratification, but not in origin off the amoebae; so why then place us in the genesis from the realm of zodiac and pegasus constellations?*
they never bring it to the fore,
not the the river's banks, right on the edge,
they barely allow narcissus a peak
into the swelling mirror -
they obstruct the process of myths
revising with their own immediacy
and logic, never ever 'a long time ago,'
never ever 'a very long time ago,'
never never ever 'beyond the seven
seas and the seven mountains,'
no, they want everything in their garden,
in their attic, right under their fingernails,
as if they could scratch it into themselves:
their poems like amnesia tattoos
scaling scaling up the arms and onto
their foreheads, where the ocotopii
eye looks to sign petitions inc. third
party representatives in small print;
they obstruct vulgarity made eloquent
on the page, but then mouth-off everyone
and everything when the pen has used up
all its ink and the imagination no longer
cares for phonetic symbols: because
it's just a strain, just such a strain to use them,
look at them, read them, these symbols
akin to boron red in liquid, or chlorine green
in swimming pool blue: where blurry
images of cut-in-half bodies froth in movement;
oh but did i tell you about their group therapy
sessions in the medium of poetry?
the young ones stopped playing marbles,
stopped playing caps (bottle caps filled with
play dough, moving along a chalk-drawn
labyrinth on the pavement, dice rolled to
see how many moves were allowed),
stopped climbing trees, stopped playing
hide & seek, stopped playing bulldog,
the politicians are debating whether to
change 16 year olds into political old farts,
to pledge allegience before losing their
virginity, they want to turn them into strict
adherents of a type of animal that man
is allowed to be degraded into, a political
animal of sorts... fresh off the boat...
so they congregate in their group therapies,
miserable un-naturally... back when
age-old ripe melancholia was understood
as 'when everything is completed, and
there is nothing else to do, then the sadness
of all things completed,' this strange
new breed of negated ease, the 19th century
understood something of this sort,
but in the category of dementia, dementia
praecox (schizophrenia), but it seems
the mediator that was the 20th century,
the lax on experiments in poetry
fusion with jazz and hallucinogenic potions
now under government property rights
to synthesise food additives,
exponential sugar rush, once the gold mines
now the new crystal ****: the sycrose of
sycaruse, by the tyrants orders -
'keep 'em buzzing, buzzing buzzing buzzing,
we need an eager workforce.'
thus the anglo-saxon renaissance midway
through the 20th century culminating
in a devouring implosion as the generation
shift approached; but who indeed could
have predicted the emergence of premature
depression, when nothing and i mean nothing
has been accomplished in life?
o the great woes on the wheel of fortunes,
oh the great barrenness of still nothing,
where then the outlet for the young?
the digital version or the scarceness of public
places? everything in mobile form,
attached technological tentacles - perhaps
as the octopus begins painting a spiderweb
underwater with its stress ink - gently
fathoming fish gills and their skin slimy slither.
oh sure the immediacy of shouting from the roof,
from the mountain, the illusion of it all,
you'd think we'd be saving as many trees
as was made possible with the digital white
pixel paper, but alas the secrets of the amazon
have been harvested, all that was deemed
useful, and with all the microscopic versions
of all things natural, the chemical formulae,
forestry can begin... begin to patchwork
the forest for grain and indebtness to the glory
of man's prime clandestine nature: as in myth
the approach to genitalia and goosebumps -
later approached as the need to make ******,
not as ****** as a cow's ****** bulge,
but nonetheless news on page 3 in the olden days.
or as it now apparent in the zeitgeist (spirit of the times)
of the unknowable zeitreich (empire of the times),
from where then this utopian dream -
that students in england provide the witch hunts
as if papa stalin or papa mccarthy?
you see dr. and prof. losing their posts because
a few student activists and union leaders
can't enjoy the spirit of a dualistic argument,
where would star wars be without the sith?
in a jedi's paradise... repress one side, and that
side's far deeper shadow... in the mariana trench...
repress the moderate shallow opinions of
the opposite side, and the mariana trench
will release into the shallows a malignant cancer
that might as well spread as if the nazis
became resurrected.
they never bring it to the fore,
not the the river's banks, right on the edge,
they barely allow narcissus a peak
into the swelling mirror -
they obstruct the process of myths
revising with their own immediacy
and logic, never ever 'a long time ago,'
never ever 'a very long time ago,'
never never ever 'beyond the seven
seas and the seven mountains,'
no, they want everything in their garden,
in their attic, right under their fingernails,
as if they could scratch it into themselves:
their poems like amnesia tattoos
scaling scaling up the arms and onto
their foreheads, where the ocotopii
eye looks to sign petitions inc. third
party representatives in small print;
they obstruct vulgarity made eloquent
on the page, but then mouth-off everyone
and everything when the pen has used up
all its ink and the imagination no longer
cares for phonetic symbols: because
it's just a strain, just such a strain to use them,
look at them, read them, these symbols
akin to boron red in liquid, or chlorine green
in swimming pool blue: where blurry
images of cut-in-half bodies froth in movement;
oh but did i tell you about their group therapy
sessions in the medium of poetry?
the young ones stopped playing marbles,
stopped playing caps (bottle caps filled with
play dough, moving along a chalk-drawn
labyrinth on the pavement, dice rolled to
see how many moves were allowed),
stopped climbing trees, stopped playing
hide & seek, stopped playing bulldog,
the politicians are debating whether to
change 16 year olds into political old farts,
to pledge allegience before losing their
virginity, they want to turn them into strict
adherents of a type of animal that man
is allowed to be degraded into, a political
animal of sorts... fresh off the boat...
so they congregate in their group therapies,
miserable un-naturally... back when
age-old ripe melancholia was understood
as 'when everything is completed, and
there is nothing else to do, then the sadness
of all things completed,' this strange
new breed of negated ease, the 19th century
understood something of this sort,
but in the category of dementia, dementia
praecox (schizophrenia), but it seems
the mediator that was the 20th century,
the lax on experiments in poetry
fusion with jazz and hallucinogenic potions
now under government property rights
to synthesise food additives,
exponential sugar rush, once the gold mines
now the new crystal ****: the sycrose of
sycaruse, by the tyrants orders -
'keep 'em buzzing, buzzing buzzing buzzing,
we need an eager workforce.'
thus the anglo-saxon renaissance midway
through the 20th century culminating
in a devouring implosion as the generation
shift approached; but who indeed could
have predicted the emergence of premature
depression, when nothing and i mean nothing
has been accomplished in life?
o the great woes on the wheel of fortunes,
oh the great barrenness of still nothing,
where then the outlet for the young?
the digital version or the scarceness of public
places? everything in mobile form,
attached technological tentacles - perhaps
as the octopus begins painting a spiderweb
underwater with its stress ink - gently
fathoming fish gills and their skin slimy slither.
oh sure the immediacy of shouting from the roof,
from the mountain, the illusion of it all,
you'd think we'd be saving as many trees
as was made possible with the digital white
pixel paper, but alas the secrets of the amazon
have been harvested, all that was deemed
useful, and with all the microscopic versions
of all things natural, the chemical formulae,
forestry can begin... begin to patchwork
the forest for grain and indebtness to the glory
of man's prime clandestine nature: as in myth
the approach to genitalia and goosebumps -
later approached as the need to make ******,
not as ****** as a cow's ****** bulge,
but nonetheless news on page 3 in the olden days.
or as it now apparent in the zeitgeist (spirit of the times)
of the unknowable zeitreich (empire of the times),
from where then this utopian dream -
that students in england provide the witch hunts
as if papa stalin or papa mccarthy?
you see dr. and prof. losing their posts because
a few student activists and union leaders
can't enjoy the spirit of a dualistic argument,
where would star wars be without the sith?
in a jedi's paradise... repress one side, and that
side's far deeper shadow... in the mariana trench...
repress the moderate shallow opinions of
the opposite side, and the mariana trench
will release into the shallows a malignant cancer
that might as well spread as if the nazis
became resurrected.
