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Feb 17
a suicide of your inner self, its religion slit, like a wrist,
and bleeding out through your wits; words that sound
the way dizziness feels, a listening party that weakens
you in the knees without any dancing; the future not
“dangling” in the balance, dancing as if tonight, music dies;
an ex lover returning one night, in their previous identity,
before becoming someone you don't know again

an inertia of emotions, swelling up in you like a cosmos
of impossibilities; dark matter as what does not matter,
nonetheless, weighing heaviest on you; souls as soles,
worn and never “brand new”, despite our claims, with
all the little things we step into; memories volunteering
themselves, willing you to humility, that you are unclean

the ghost of you in someone else’s footsteps, creaking
up the stairs, opening only the door to the past; addiction
as electrical storm automating your fingers, you reach
to obtain what shuts you down; a world of hooks:
we are hooked on, hooking up and on the hook with
no way to “come down”, unless we again get high

eye contact that pinballs itself, looking for a higher
score when you are not around; flashing lights
and Pavlovian sounds, a discotheque of the mind,
releasing small hits of dopamine; retinal gluttony,
we eat someone else with our eyes, McDonaldized
and fast food-ed, and instantly gratified with ****,
we see more arched backs in our imagination than
golden arches roadside in a morbidly obese country

such is what you can expect for the idea of fidelity
and that adultery takes place, first, in the heart;
whether we are addicted to narcotics or erotics,
fast food or fast news—for some of us horde (or
should i say *****?) information, as if “motor mouth”
were itself an ****** pleasure—we seem unaware
of our state. Orwell saw our undoing in a society
that is controlled by inflicting pain; it was Huxley
that predicted the mass infliction of pleasure.

in having what we want all the time, we are left
with little that we actually want; we dismiss,
even, our circle as if an unwanted notification.

the word “vanity” in Hebrew is “hebel”, meaning
“vapor”; it is our vanity that leaves us empty;
it not only chases the instant and temporary,
it is tempted by a world that pimps it for profit.
we are groomed to be consumers, so it follows
that we treat *** as an act of consumption

and not consummation; food as convenience,
or a gustatory experience, and not food; news
as a sitcom, where you don’t laugh at the show:
the makers of the show laugh at you—a satire
whose audience, in fact, takes the joke seriously—
feeding their hard earned “peanuts” to the Blue
and Red elephants of the circus, for they are one,
and those that think otherwise, bring to life
the ******* emblazoned on one party banner.

laughter that echoes back—returning from
the future—a whiplash of screams; contorting
your neck sideways enough, you must turn
your attention away from our comedy of errors;
our night, descending still as it does in winter,
mostly unnoticed, until it’s—literally—“too late”

constellations appearing in that night,
offering us guidance in their luminescence,
if we are not, even then, too taken with
our phones’ brightly lit screens to look up.
Written by
stylesclash  28/M/USA
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