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Western civilization commercialization,
commodification, communication
methodologies adrip with deification,
edification, glorification institutionalizing

libidinal market, the vast majority
modalities relay transmission via
subliminal messages. The not so
innocuous tentacles housing sour advertise
mints objectives conservative

principled paradigm blatantly bind ******* clad,
seductively alluring fashionable
supermodels, albeit highly paid visually
captivating physiques of men and/
or women attaining just barely,

their prime time asper anatomical
fancyfeast. Tis upon that ascending
pedestal, (a mere hop, skip, and
jump along the red carpet royal
treatment), where storied career
launched. Inevitable that risk  

risque monkey business tactics (i.e. questionable
ethical, moral, and parochial
precepts skirted). Nonetheless
marketable cache cows frequently,
indubitably, naturally sally forth into
klieg lights of fame and fortune.

A significant entry vis a vis segue-
way into celebrity stardom invariably
included acquiescence treatment
as sale-able merchandise. A
representative penultimately

pitches packaged person (possibly
pampered pink, perhaps poignant
playbook perused 'pon Peter Piper
picking, pecking pickled peppers)
peddled as analogous to a widget.

The primary difference contrasting
parading an aesthetically pleasing
individual versus a purveyor peddling
an inanimate object includes heavy
emphasis toward repurposing
a person larded amidst salutary,

savory sensuousness, soothingly
sublime sultriness steeped, groomed
and bathed with visually arousing,
beguiling, captivating desirable effects.

Professional (astute, cute, hirsute)
role model people, (whose genetics
and environment allowed them to
husband maximally fated beauty)
must feel very comfortable

in their own skin to display (just shy of
promiscuity) unclothed ******
verboten part. No doubt pheromone
or testosterone pulsates thru
the body electric of viewer. Coy,

flirtatious indirect luring operates
randy unfettered yearning bestirs
desire for immediate *******!
Even this two score plus nineteen

year old, (whose libido went
dormant as a side affect of
pharmaceutical prescription
medication to minimize un
predictable paralyzing panic

attacks predilection) attests at
increased precocity patronizing
my (FAKE) phallus. Many instances
incorporating some athletic,

demure, innocent looking
photogenic subject just waiting
to be the cover of a glossy
glimmering glamorous
magazine (especially an
underage male or female),

the head honcho may be
censored, disallowed, escorted)
away from any picture that hints
of inappropriate physical inter
action. Subtle techniques

and/or poses broadcasting
a delectable, honorable
laudable photograph may
unconsciously connote
spine tingling sensations
approximating statutory ****.

Such prurient intimations defy
being regulated, nor ought
flattering images snapped
by avidly conscientious,
exceptionally gifted, ineffably
kindred shutterbugs banned.

Impulsiveness (particularly,
when the welfare of a minor
OR animal happens to be
at stake) must be addressed
appropriately. If abusive

actions arise perpetrated
against a minor (simply
for anatomical excitation
sans the gender nonspecific
characteristic), the essence

of beauty best be acknowledged
synonymous with any other
physiological endowment.
Depredations highjacking

lost precious quintessential
tenderness wreaks havoc
for the remaining life of
hypothetical individual cascading
like a house of cards, the mental,
physical and spiritual states of being.
we were so poor
that we lived in the 80’s
throughout the 90’s
and couldn’t seem
to ever catch up

so we surrendered  
the mechanizations
of advancement
to watch the art
behind the dogs eyes
instead of the snow
from the television set,

it wasn’t pretty
but we could feel it,

careless and free spirited

as we took a step back
into a different era
that we never lived in
and laughed
on simpler times
Dizzy thoughts circle as I try to seem like I know why I do what I do. We try to know who we are becoming, to be part of that process which ushers our causality through this world, but I am not so sure we are.

I have often wondered if our own self-awareness and perceived sovereignty are just feedback loops in our large cosmic entity...

Perhaps our thoughts that feel so unique are just another piece of the universe, like everything else, but in our sentience we are cut off from direct contact with  the singularity whose mechanizations manifest as our very souls...

This thought brings me to two conclusions... As expressions of, we are the beast-only we cannot really know it in our current state and that our freedom lies in our observations and what we make of them.

We are moving along the groove of letters carved in stone and though our collectiveness forms a piece of the chisel, it was long before time that we picked the path along which it must move.

So, here we are, observing and becoming, but I stand in corners shouting my questions in places we designed sound and light to falter and I am very afraid that I am coming apart, my loop broken as the illusion of others flees the landscape of my thoughts and I am again left staring into the entirety of the universe, every piece of which looks back to me as father and son, creator and destroyer, other and self, and again I am lost.
z Jan 2015
when the sun winks, and
you shut the door
tell the kids to come inside

slithering serpents, a fantastic show
flicker in the twilit sky
like the tongues of Hell

and
everything surges and fries
in the house, for a moment
like a haunted hospital
like in the movies

when the power's out, and in the road
passerby light their candelabras.

when the engines quit their mechanizations;
when the poles settle down for the
big
long
nap;

and the smallest calculated bearings
of your pocket compasses go awry
from that great fire on the sun

and 100 years is lost in 8 minutes.
you are what you left yourself ready for.
Classy J Apr 2019
The taste of tire on my breath,
Carbonization fills my lungs,
Oil floods out like tears,
The inner mechanizations of my mind.
Are like Polluted veins,
Do you trust the insane?
Poisoned personality defending prideful mediocrity.
What the **** do want from me?

Garbage spoken broken man.
Lost my senses,
For I’m technologically co-dependant.
When shall I fear?
When shall I see?
When shall I listen?
Addicted to this mindless state.

Wanting more.
Consuming more.
Risking more.
Don’t even have to leave my door.

Watching more.
Brainwashed connoisseur,
Empty even when I got what I was searching for.
This isn’t what I asked for!

The taste of exhaust on my breath,
Radiation filling my lungs,
Oil floods out like tears,
The inner mechanizations of my mind.
Are like Polluted veins,
Do you trust the insane?
Poisoned personality defending prideful mediocrity.
Will I ever regain my humanity!

Humanity x4

— The End —