sometimes you drink a bottle of whiskey,
and you're like: there's a poem in me,
there's a poem in me!
but there ain't a poem like there ain't
an oasis in a desert, so
so you take a few snaps, an it feels justifiable
to be taking pictures rather than writing
phonetic encoding, then you worry
about the people reading you with Pythagorean
zeal - baked bean and all -
you read a newspaper and overdose on
Heidegger's dasein - you pick philosophical
problems when your life is easy,
you ignore them when life's complicated enough,
the two never meet, so i don't know
whether fame solves the "problem" of consolidating
universal relief with particular agitation of
cared for interest - being famous is hard to craft,
i'm not aiming for any fame other than posthumous fame...
the dust has to settle - with poetry:
the naked narrative - no clothing for the the narrator
to dress in with his Karamazov brothers....
just nakedness to mind -
against the coastline erections of grammar this
Odyssey is bound to impregnate with news' reels
of a shipwreck number dead...
i hate newspapers, like i hate Asian brothels of
power... i hate western media like i hate
Iranian despots... they're the same to me...
they both wrestle with authoritarian exertion -
they're not that different... one and the same
for me....
so, after drinking a bottle of whiskey you sometimes
think there's a hibernating poem in you...
you want to create art that's simply lazy and people
can have it as canvas and think their part out...
it's such a shame that poetry is not equipped for
technology for the masses, but rather well equipped
to entertain the aristocracy when the radio wasn't
invented... i bemoan poetry,
the lacking orchestra... i'm jealous of other art forms,
not as a person, but as a person concerned with poetry...
we only invest our entire lives for the medium
while others detach themselves from their encrypted medium
with the price of oil-paints to mind... or the price of
pianos... never did poetry entertain the crowd,
always the minded singleton of our mutual concerns...
as said, the existential tactic is anti-Darwinism -
it's hardly ever Swedish... teach evolution with the Vikings...
don't be prone to erase pretty much all of history
to make a standing ovation... for celestial t.n.t. -
but it doesn't matter... i just like to experience
pristine Alpine mineral water cascade of peace -
i'll hardly get it... i never thought i would...
from a wholly physical experience i became a wholly
mental experience... you can knock twice for
Santa Clause's response with what i'm saying...
i'd like to return to my fully engaged body...
but there were a few that said i should preach
the Christian message of forgiving enemies without
enacting the duty of expressed lawfulness -
because, i mean, what's the point of forgiving your
enemies after you enacted the full compensation
of law, and prison, and reprimand?
Cain walked free! shallow aesthetics,
pointless diatribe of forgiveness for the photo opportunity...
many of the death row inmates would rather
hear the guillotine drop like a lapping tongue
than hear the phrase: rot in hell -
preserving human rights has its limits -
people simply became thieves in the case of capital
punishment, they robbed criminals of their right
to experience the adrenaline rush...
all acts of suicide don't have this luxury -
mere cognition does not produce the biological
effects that actions beyond thinking do,
suicide is worse than capital punishment,
there's no adrenaline involved, no spontaneity.
i think capital punishment is a clearly set-out
Christmas present... keeping someone locked up
on death row is like battling premature *******...
it's not human... it's zoological...
i vouch to say most would rather have it done
away with in the manner of seconds passing
rather than the billions of years it took for stars
to form, or as in their case... a conscience.
look how many people are trying to revive
the **** euthanasia regime... esp. with motor-neuron
disease... they're begging for it...
not even a cubic metre of a promise of heaven
will equal the ably limb'ed their time on
this earth, known in Dante's theology as purgatory.