how do i know what i think
if i dont write it down
i cant stop talking crazy
bad ideas are rooted in Neuro Pathogens
idea parasites'
**** worms of irrationality
i'm a mess underneath the surface causing me to suffer a mental complex which is under digested unarticulated expression
the universal dialogue of misunderstanding
post modernism is an idea pathology
okay, mental constructs and language dont transform reality
reason remains lost through the sneaky ****** language of white science intellectual terrorism
watch out what you say in a free society
epistemologies are numerological evidence,
a numerical network from a broad base of data
and are a work of cumulative evidence
i cant stop thinking about the way i think
you need gesticular fortitude to free yourself from the tribe
i'm afraid to tell anyone how i really feel
so many victims of politically correct grotesques
are collective Munchausen pathos
i'm my own victim but it's fault your
in the Oppression Olympics of radical egalitarianism i'm a star
i'm so agreeable i hate me, thats why i'm better than you
Fascism is a
fanatical need for order, and or else
mass graves and chimpanzee politics
when your frustrated, its your obligation as a citizen to transform your feelings into an articulated argument
i hate you
militant lesbians attack male virtue while they dress like guys
i'm sorry about the testosterone, bad ****!
we extract the logos from chaos
and hold it above into habitable order and an ideal
i have my Porsche, where's yours and no i'm not looking at
your ****, your ****, your ****
my truth is grounded in your frustration
A poem of social theory prompted by a conversation with Gadd Sad and Jorden Peterson