Monday, June 18, 2007

An Eloquent Statement of Truth

Capitalism, which claims to produce Order by means of the reproduction of desire, in fact originates in the production of scarcity, and can only reproduce itself in unfulfillment, negation, and alienation. As the Spectacle disintegrates ... it reveals the fleshless bones of the Commodity. Like those tranced travelers in Irish fairy tales who visit the Otherworld and seem to dine on supernatural delicacies, we wake in a bleary dawn with ashes in our mouths.

-Someone said this, but I don't recall who (it wasn't me, but I agree)

Sunday, May 20, 2007

Trope

Wriggling, worm-infested gut-beasts
Screaming for sustenance
Vomiting, shitting and otherwise excreting
Demanding all of reality conform to their whim
Lost in their own howling wilderness

And then they speak
Mystifying things
Invoking the nameless horrors of the truly fucked
Bleeding a screeching whine into our heads
A cacophony of rotting psyche

Finally, we succumb, automaton-like, to the law of age
And set them free, unwanted, into the seething masses
Full of the same wantings, undeveloped and unready
So they may consume all about them
Without thought, memory or conscience

A Quote

The Immortal One was known to the Greeks as Dionysos; to the Jews as Elijah; to the Christians as Jesus. He moves on when each human host dies, and thus is never killed or caught. Hence Jesus on the cross said, "Eli, Eli, lama Sabachthani," to which some of those present correctly said, "The man is calling on Elijah." Elijah had left him and he died alone.

Philip K Dick

Sunday, April 22, 2007

Destiny (The First of Seven)

Most think of Destiny as an ending,
The final place where the road stops,
But this is only partly so,
Destiny is always first,
And all else that is follows after,
Grinding on in colors, smells, flavors,
Wars, betrayals, trips to the grocery store,
And, of course, deaths,
But that is the Destiny of us all,
And yet this is also not the end.

(don't believe me?
There is, at least, memory,
And that is less complete with every passing moment.
That is no kind of Destiny.)

So, now:
What can we believe of Destiny?
Is it, as the name suggests, Destination?
What Destination can there be, when time flows on?
There are too many questions here, and no answers.

A ghost, then,
Without substance,
Nothing.

Perhaps, Destiny is simply movement,
Purposeless, blank and riverine,
A kind of desolation we are born into,
Tasked with overcoming, and creating on our own.

Friday, April 20, 2007

You Are Listening...

Light fades at dusk,
but returns with the buzzing lamps
illuminating the sidewalk.
Walking through the puddles of
glowing drab orange,
lost in the fogginess it emanates,

You listen,
as always,
to the litany running sleeplessly through your head,
splashed by the expensive thumping car
screeching its blue glow into your skull,
until light fades at dawn,
returns with the same sun
burning the concrete beneath your shoes.

---

Bridges are crossed in the breezes
of trucks
speeding heavily
through a hapless, useless, redundant
town where things change
but just enough to raise prices
and push the people on
towards something
else
somewhere
else
replaced by more people
younger
maybe richer
probably no more intelligent
crossing bridges in breezes

---

Macy Gray says "having money sure is nice"
don't fear
I must agree
but there are problems with it, too

---

I have no intention of paying for uncommitted crimes.
Taxes and the RIAA are criminal and I pay them too much.
So, I will keep that to myself, and remain the self everyone sees,
and will see,
willingly.

---

I guess he got laid off
on american TV
ordering chinese on a
transparent green phone
too tired by the time the parade rained to put up much of a fight

---

When you give, you certainly do receive,
Cupid with wide eyes,
Stupid with arrows in his chest.

---

Cold and white fluorescence killing
What it touches
Touching what it reaches
Making fun of paying attentions
Charming the attack before
The minion's opinion
Charging the weasel with giving bonuses to the mostly deserving.

Greetings

Greetings from the Tree of Life
This is a time for all good things
Think of potential
Dream of extension and retention
Armed with distension and permissive attention
Plaguing the stage with corrective rage
For the money.

Greetings from the River of Sleep
Eat a nice meal and let your mind drift
Into cathode ray tube thought dilution
Watch the shiny new people
and fuck your mind into submission.

Greetings from the Tooth Fairy
Believing the believers really believe
Buy in and everyone looks like a terrorist
Richer rich people makes the rest of us better and happier
Just keep saying it and it will become true
A few more dead soldiers just might do the trick
You are free
In Santa We Trust.

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

The Variety of Experience

Dreaming and shifting colors
without light
sight
core philosophies or moral compass
voting for absolutes
getting half-measures
compromises
deceptions
focusing on groups, telling you
what to think,
say, be.

---

What the hell do we know anyway?
There is always something
strange
gratifying
bizarre
in the processes that are the
engine of our culture
dynamic
fluid
crazy and winding down
we forget to disbelieve and fall
into pits of propaganda
false promises
lies
Buffets of hectoring ineptitude
attractive, senseless and cold.
We love our false security and hug it to our breast.
We love our culture and hug it to our breast.

---

Our cake is eaten, too
delicious,
like the clicking of a baseball card in the spokes of our bicycle
life clatters by
eating our faces, and spitting them back out
shrivelled, but etched with
invaluable experience never to be given back
bought dearly, shared
exhaustively
tediously
always readily
usually unbidden
ever unheeded
eaten, but undigested.

---

We know everything at any given age
though we should know better and get smarter.
Or something.

---

I have never gone whoring in Thailand
But I have been to the clubs
where dancing twenty-somethings entice or repulse and negotiate
settling on a price figured in breakfasts, drinks or
just a presence, a lessening of solitude,
isolation,
small price to pay.

---

I continually float
from one to the other
perpetually undecided
afraid, probably, of branding
but also genuine in indecision and vacillation

Dedication

Let's just see where things go, shall we

In a tempo-less, yet accelerating
existence, does one
act
on instinct or waste
time researching
dreaming
trying
to understand?
And what difference does it make anyway?

Everybody loses, and nothing
finally
is resolved.

So, relax and enjoy the fruits of your sloth