Hard and naked in the woods, off the Catholic track.
A triumph of base instinct of sad sack.
A lynx on bone, better than a thousand kisses,
We blindly fell into agnostic, odd, and delicious.
I look into your eyes and see,
That my narcissism has deserted me,
A love that stings like Russian history,
A haunting Chekhovian beg and plea.
You’ve a figure that drives men mad,
Upstairs we went and gave it all we had,
When we finished, we’d gone half mad.
Liberate the march hare and exorcised the sad.
Once there was a ‘we’ and I felt these joys,
I no longer played with my own, or other’s toys,
The simplicity of ego and selfish goals,
Joined with intricacy of self, and my satellite souls.
At the wedding: “Dude, she looks like a twelve year old.”
“Beauty with ocular ice; too thorny for me to hold?
What if it's a mismanaged girl though?” “Touché.”
“Oppressed in the systematic logo, but not Boujeé.”
Isn’t moral equivalency building a good label?
We're imprisoned and exist free in the boozy under the table?
Besides our enemies are dying deaths of despair.
Stupid oxycontin fentanyl radical chick grandperes.
Smug euro-existentialists who fought totalitarian slugs,
While cheering on extremist-Bolshevik thugs,
The French sitting on the fence of surrender,
Faithless Catholic-anti-capitalists against the vendor.
The snobbish antibourgeois sons of bitches,
Spit on those who raise bridges and design ditches,
They’re the Ancien Régime,
The Professor Do-nothing who skims the cream.
They seized Elysée Palace, quake with guilt and panic,
Selling baguettes to the hungry, greater offense than anti-romantic,
Happy to show their anti-libertarian diploma,
Free markets in a European Dead Zone coma.
If all of Parker's girls are still at the prom at sunrise,
Then they were laid, end to end, (each to each a peach), no surprise.
We lived on the streets like des Champs-Élysées,
Red Miser Hotel, like France without pants, a room for swift lays.
By noon, we were on our knees under the vodka daze.
Virgins were hash-tagged into volcanoes at high mass;
Newsflash! Info is from CNN news agency TASS,
Books became the medium of our maze.
It never ceases to admit.
The courage of Tolkien’s Hobbit,
They muster more bad luck than The Circle Cluster,
More bravery than the Star Wars block buster.
Take the valiant Harry Potter,
Up and down on the Rowling’s teeter-totter,
And excels at Quidditch,
Harding, Dickens, Shakespeare: the British!
Famous poets breaking young hearts without a home,
Just so they could write a half decent poem,
Ancient funeral dirge, the lament of the clerisy’s world,
Or the wedding songs of rebirth into the unending sensual swirl.
Try to see it my way,
To force the peons to accredited sway,
The call to autocracy is very old,
To right society without the messy uncontrolled.
We were expected to read the leftist Darth Vader’s.
“Fox News’ disinformation was rightwing blab”.
Smoke it and buy the 4000 square foot picket on tab.
Last century we murdered the middle-men minority traders.
It is all Corona, TikTok, and Covid drab.
Lest we forget, Nazis and Leninists bulldozed the masses;
Red flags or brown-shirts, it’s a leak in the lab.
Noticed the Gain-of-Function? The B.S. as thick as molasses.
Leni Riefenstahl edited this verse about the death hearse,
The goosestep march to the self-inflicted curse,
Auschwitz and Hiroshima dead-dripping charred bodies,
Gulag and Siberian camps, our modern Pilates.
Attention victims! Nobody gets off without their haters.
No anarchists, indigenous-wanderers or Western legislators,
We all practiced slavery, murder and rape,
Warring endlessly with each other, eyes a gape.
The Democrats’ mummified pocket full of platitudes,
Practicing identity politics like an ancient feud,
Gone mad with utter dullness,
Boring, dreary, lacklustre in all its fullness.
But not to be outdone in mind-numbing dull,
Republicans line up vapid speakers who they don’t cull.
And who could have predicted Trump?
Ha, a dumpy old Tucker with orange hair and bald-face chump.
The conservative Shapiros of the U.S.A.,
Say, they can come into my house on a legal waylay,
Make my wife or daughters have another kid at any price,
I say back, “Fuck you; whatever you are, it isn’t nice.”
No Republican is going to tell me what to do with my life,
You call us murderers; we’ll give you the knife,
And as an aside, about Christ, he didn’t exist,
And if you read more books, you’d understand the gist.
God is not in this tiny rhyming poem,
I’m an atheist, and I am at home,
With the assumption we are all alone,
And from the primordial, we are a clone.
A belief in fairies,
Does not prove their inventories,
“Maybe so,” says the true convert,
“But they’re as plain as the dirt on your shirt.”
He who has faith in the cult,
Will take a young catamite as the result,
And as you can tell with a little research,
He who fucks virgins later joins the church.
What is there about me?
Neither looks nor money;
Or as Goethe once retorted,
I can walk home unescorted.
Lost between Lucifer and church,
Wearing expensive Christian merch,
I catch her green eyes,
And they say otherwise.
Beaches full of peaches for the multitude,
Beauty in flesh from messianic attitude,
Do onto others should include the screwed and tattooed,
Walk on water certain of a watery interlude.
We were wholesale Catholic wraiths,
Until we found our machines and lost our faith,
Now we travel from one airport to another,
An uncommon chimpanzee unlike our right-bank brother.
Religion isn’t the opiate of the masses,
But rather, first reason, whose time passes,
To greater reasoning, science and fact,
There is no Prime Mover and no one has our back.
Neo-Marxism is the opiate of the intellectuals,
Their bitter philosophies so ineffectual,
They hate the common sense of the masses,
Principally the unread proletarian classes.
Their sneering financial ignorance is renowned,
Their skulking bureaucracy of penny to pound,
They’re close-mindedness about the economy,
They are unaware that the free market needs autonomy.
On the Right, they believe in a thing that doesn’t exist,
On the Left, they believe in an event that didn’t occur,
On Christ’s reality, they insist,
On the startling global increase of wealth, they demur.
The angels are lost in thoughts of glory.
When I was an adolescent I was taught that story.
The nihilism of the godlessness brought on this disaster,
To be dispelled with the contemplation on her skin of alabaster.
The government can’t make you happy.
It can savagely bring tragedy quick and snappy,
We’re fools to believe the officials,
Especially the ones with the loudest whistles.
Self-criticism in the victimology crowd,
Is nonexistent and rage-proud,
These unhappy college students are destroying free speech,
Their arguments reduced to a deafening screech.
As a disavowed Christian, I was on the west side of the wall,
And had the courage of a hollow Matryoshka doll.
A vapid Marxist filling my belly with historical necessity,
Looking down on the rodents and cockroaches incessantly.
Blindness to the past is a danger to our laws,
Zealots, every single one, lie for their chosen cause,
Hindis, Islamists and Jews can pray for a divine plan,
But their radicals march into the empty Promised Land.
But still, you must find purpose to go on,
Be the creator of your own mythical con,
Bare very hard work and go beyond,
10,000 hours of excellence, multiplied anon.
Crucified materialists in luxurious high-rises, Sam Harris on the terrace,
Animistic apostasy of Dennett and Dawkins’ determinist forbearance,
All disfigured though by the warts of conquest and victory,
Worship of the morality of Jesus-Marx; the dialectic category.
Excruciating fragility falling out of religious kitchen cupboards,
Roly-poly laced-brownies like the Biden laptop, taboo to Liberal hordes,
Hirohito Bonapartist’s shogun, Japanese Shinto militarist warmonger,
On the island, for truth and justice, there is still no hunger.
Martyrs’ shrine constructed on the site of kamikaze,
Japanese shame and guilt is nonexistent or lazy,
Empire of the sun was a wicked atrocity,
But what the world waits for ceaselessly is an apology.
WWII killed more Jews, Gypsies, Chinese and Cossacks,
More Germans, Russians and English than outright heart-attacks,
Humankind’s disastrous all time genocidal hate,
As if the whole globe carormed into a mindless bloody spate!
Near death brings the good luck we lack,
Fortune flies to the future if you look far enough back.
In Budapest, they dance the USSR’s Hungarian Brahms,
In Istanbul, Armenians Byzantine their Muslim qualms.
Capitalist genocidal China invests hither and yon,
Far south of Sahara and well north of the Rhone,
Anti-Marxist migration of labor and money,
Bursting neon boulevards of noodles, rice and honey.
My wife’s mother always lived with her man’s black temper,
Her mother’s mother was an honest to goodness frail kemper.
My father was a town drunk and baby of a large litter,
His father was a diabetic, plumber and pipe-fitter,
Dad was also a devout Catholic,
With equal parts metabolic and alcoholic.
He lost his mind young by over drinking and never thinking,
But he didn’t lose his soul even in the end when he was sinking.
Mom was mayor in our quaint hometown,
Up on Lake Superior south of Parry Sound,
She loved liberals, priests and her kids,
And would talk for hours about politics and grandkids.
My brother had a personality cult of female in tight-fitting and firm,
At the height of his power, he was a mass murderer of a trillion sperm,
His tragedy was that he was a wily nine-incher,
And in a pinch, would use this as a clincher.
My sister was a celebrated mathematician,
Calibrated expedience to always be the moral requisition.
Her hubby’s job was finding ten thousand ancient shanks,
For laying-off executives at Canadian banks.
My other assorted sisters and brothers,
Dumbbells like me with iron-fisted bias from matriarchal mother.
Our grotesque silliness was neutralized by pure love of one another,
Like kinship, it was always there and yet, never smothered.
In a raffle, Dad once won an Alaskan puppy at Winterama,
Believe me, that dog became better than, “Sweet Home Alabama,”
Then, we were smitten by a tiny kitten that melted hearts like butter,
Horrified when one after the other fell to dog and cattails in a road gutter.
I could have been a contender,
If my great pretender hadn’t taken my canines,
If I hadn’t done so many coke lines,
Or finished countless carafes of wine.
I could have been a successful crook,
Or even like my father, a fine cook,
But one profession I could never brook,
Was how to write a half-decent book.
As for Covid, spoiled pomegranates take off the gags,
Where were they when we so ruthlessly needed a vaccine of truth?
The MSNBCes are “goyo gakusha” mass-media rags,
Masked hoodlums behind the bogus fact-checking booth.
Rachael Maddow talking the black speech,
From Mordor, hear the constant screech,
Mendi Raza Hasan, the Borg, absorbing Muggles,
When refuted, redoubles.
Unscrupulous New York Times, outsourcing agency daggers,
Or the Washington Post, the original carpetbaggers,
Dismiss all your phony journalists for A.I.s,
Since they only spout the identical views and same lies.
Every rational person hates the established claptraps,
The libel of a million shiny Washington snap traps,
How boring the porn of their very narrow world,
Where real people are looked on as unfurled.
Glitchy nauseating corporate journalist sycophants,
Of their real profession they have many NGO recants,
Like: “We are partnered with the political class,
And whatever they do, we kiss their ass.”
Why do CNN and Fox News have the same S.T.Ds?
Both are manufacturing the same sort of sleaze.
Democrats and Republicans both own media machines,
With billionaire mascots behind the scenes.
On air, hosts are pubescent moppets, Ernie and Berts,
Whose voices assaults the ear and hurts,
Its mindless listeners with genuine guilt,
As they weave the cloth of their misinformation quilt.
News is consumer merchandise for the schlubs,
The same way badges are gold stars for good Boy Cubs,
And it is one of the most negative behaviours on either sides,
Nutritionally-free cookies sold by Girl Guides.
To complete Leftist’s smugness; an arrogance of false humility,
The entire Rightist’s sad idealism of evangelistic liability,
It comes together in the violence of social warriors,
For peace-hating dreamers, white establishment courtiers.
The “once had a legacy” press, ha, what legacy?
The one of getting sucked into the lie of every state agency?
Repeating constantly: “To war! To war!”
Can I get revulsion, dread and horror?
We are in abusive legacy relationships,
The press has guided us into prettiest dipshits,
Thinking they’ve won the “us-them” championship,
And donate their wins to the new American dictatorship.
Democrat’s closed information system is classified,
Take our word for it we know we’re sanctified,
This has nothing to do with facts or that we lied,
Thing you need to know is, independence has been nationalised
Doctor Fauci, one of the medical union Pharaohs,
Outlawing happiness, funerals, and Christmas carols,
Won’t retract his huge jest,
Panicking a whole naive planet for a conflict of interest.
Deadly Gain-of-Function research,
Lab coats’ in a Frankenstein lurch,
To the Big Lie, “Shut up your conspiracy!
How dare you question our medical tyranny?”
The American division crisis into Reds and Blues,
Mostly the fault of hateful cable TV news,
Divorce, they recently cried.
Consider the Civil War where so many young boys died.
The red-blue blame-game,
The hate-wall, a firewall of shame,
The genetic trait in human-nature, us-them, gone national,
Moving ever closer to the complete irrational.
But to human-nature, an aspect of tragic,
Fastened by millions of evolutionary years’ magic,
This is etched in stone tablet: “FLAWED,”
No perfect; even when tooth and clawed.
We are evolved sensually flawed,
Remember: flawed, flawed, flawed!
Always will be until we’re six feet under,
Whether using the method of blunder or plunder.
“History shows again and again,
How nature points out the folly of man,”
The grinning drooling creatures therein,
The Godzillas all within.
And us-them hate can rage in every single will,
The only balm for it feels like the urge to kill:
Gypsies, Pagans, Kafirs, Bourgeoisies and Jews,
And this resentful hate often doesn’t make the news.
Like violence and rape, it is genetic,
Humans have done it so long, it’s prophetic,
We must learn every bit of our hardware wiring,
And apply it to our software hiring, firing and siring.
Self-interest in humankind is sown to the bone,
An unrefined tribal known,
We hate chaos of Creative Destruction,
And are frightened of its allure and seduction.
Yet hope remains, if we don’t use force,
So on a mass scale, let us divorce,
Government from gnawing deep state and guild progress,
And see if it comes anyways, more or less.
So, the state is just this myth,
That we agree upon this legal width,
As it were, for prosperity and peace,
A “state of nature” which we generationally lease.
But if it stagnates,
Or becomes a predator,
Too many billionaire magnates,
Too few an honest creditor;
The free-riders overrunning,
The moral hazard overturning,
The people, “Burning, burning!”
It could be the first days of the dictator’s cunning.
This very earth has become a “world of talk,”
Seven billon cells using innovation and schlock,
Prosperity spreading in haste to every flock,
For more speed, us lucky fools, stand in utter shock.
The poor man sunning himself in Port-au-Prince,
Was long ago happier than an actual prince,
But both, we realized failed to find flow,
Middleclass virtue, with self-purpose to go.
Gold goes up through the roof,
Every time we slip further from truth,
Ever nearer claw and hoof,
Of Mephistopheles’ silver shiny prison booth.
Obama bailed out the Bank,
“Eat the pain!” As 2008 sank.
Who to thank? “Let them in fact lead!”
Who to blame? “The poor in need.”
For the male advocates of the Uranus School,
Who march with the anger of the young know-it-all fool,
And have a dozen tattoos on their waxed chest,
They will be later shot for resisting arrest.
They are the Jesus-Marx crowd,
Without any facts but angry and loud,
And though they don’t know,
The beast will digest them dreadfully slow.
One can say little against the farcical assertions,
That reason itself represses snot-stained coercions,
Except: “Get a Glock!”
The walking dead are just around the block.
But before our suicide, a minute for the miracle of a marketplace,
Controlled neither by preachers, Marxists or a superior race,
With free minds away from corporate propaganda,
Free hearts without guilt for a hot tub, fireplace or nice veranda.
Free markets are everything you need,
To be well fed, and to feed,
But trinkets can’t satisfy your soul,
They are diversions that can put you in the hole.
So when reactionary romantics spit on the free marketplace,
Their primitive voices embrace,
Eternal justice and spiritual grace,
But remember, no other system creates wealth at this pace.
The Leftist critic on her silken throne,
Waiting pleasantly for the last market crisis to groan,
Then the revolution at long last,
Away with greed and market contrast.
For anticapitalists who howler and hoot,
And clutch unto their tribal root,
In these ways, ancestral ideas bring upon us a feudal return,
Living by the gut, in the stead of, what we must learn.
They speak Filipino and Bengali,
I take them places like Cali and Bali,
Instruct with imperfect English the personnel,
Who are put up in some expensive hotel.
They say, “Don’t tax him or me,
Tax that dude, who pees behind the tree,
I’m pretty sure he’s filthy rich Bourgeoisies.”
Damn, don’t use the B word, ‘cause now, that’s u and me!
The “stationary bandit” solves,
The problem of the steppes,
Its solution involves,
The proto-state and all its crooked reps.
In Hobbes’ “Poor, Nasty, Brutish and Short,”
There were only marauders and utterly no court,
No police, nation, or private land,
And unquestionably, no Invisible Hand.
Uneducated youth cry, “We don’t understand.
It can’t possibly work unplanned.”
You warn, ‘You completely misunderstand,
For the miracle to manifest it must be left unmanned.”
McCloskey ploughing through a thousand weeds,
Planting rhyming flowers of Bourgeois dignity tropes,
That whatever is happening has the virtue of greed,
With its ethics of middleclass hopes.
Instead, what is the singular life demand,
What you must, of yourself, command,
Ultimate purpose and a dazzling dream,
Bright red lines with a regular theme.
A sudden cold front came today from the North,
There is snow in May on my birthday,
Environmentalists’ sentiment goes back and forth,
Shaken to the foundation for one day.
I joined the hook and bullet crowd,
Help nature to enshroud,
The hunter and fishermen eco-endowed,
To protect the forests and rivers loud and proud.
We fought the alt-Left eco-freaks,
The alarmists of “The CONSTANT BLEAKS!”
They glorify doom and gloom with shrieks,
From their religion of environmental streaks.
The planet warms and cranks,
Lonely rivers breach their banks,
We have everyone here to thank,
Raising daunting Delta Works rank upon ranks.
Liberals are anti-traditional,
Whisper: “Tear it all down, unconditional,”
Liberalism is constant reform,
Swirling in an endless adolescent stress and storm.
Overton window of discourse is shrinking . . . shrinking,
Causing us to do more drugs and drinking,
And far less thinking, and rethinking,
The political Golems winking, stinking: . . . slinking.
I saw the husband of a dear friend,
Who, three days after being vaxxed, came to his end;
Everyone had urged this fit middle-ager with this prescription,
Health workers frightened by the state’s counterfeit description.
Daughter: “Dad, they were doing their best,
Financed by billionaires on Bill Gates’ behest,
Sorry about Tucker Carlson and Canuck truckers,
But consider, they’re white, anti-vaxxers, and middleclass suckers.”
Cognitive capture of the Leftist media,
Is like the liberal takeover of Wikipedia.
Traditional sceptics see their leaders as tragic,
Even if Jesus and wine is their magic.
“Jesus saved me!” is their defense,
And by Christ he’d love you too if you weren’t so dense,
Give up science and evidence: fall to your knees,
For the love of God I’m urging please.
Timber me slivers, I’m living under a burqa in Baghdad,
Tehran’s ambassador to Taiwan and for this I am glad,
The mere peace be upon the Prophet sends waves of thrills,
Through my Jihad long-boat shark gills.
The multiverse is no more a crazy mould,
Than Newton trying to turn lead to gold,
He couldn’t have guessed, millions of supernovas,
Exploding over the billions of years without Jehovahs.
Turning helium and hydrogen,
Into iron and oxygen,
It was not the divine that gave us earth and mars,
But rather gravity and exploding stars.
The DNA molecule is a double helix structure,
Biology reduced to atomic infrastructure,
The nuts and bolts of the many holy books,
Deconstructed by Darwin’s evolutionary rooks and nooks.
Albert Einstein said: “God doesn’t play with dice.”
Niels Bohr: “Stop telling God what to do is my advice.”
Wolfgang Pauli: “What God has torn asunder let no one impede,”
Werner Heisenberg, “For good people to do bad, takes religious creed.”
Max Born: “If God made a perfect machine,
And with reckless intellect we dream,
In deferential equation and computational stress,
Then we can use the dice with fair success.”
Steven Weinberg: “The more we learn of life in our relentless quest,
The more everything seems a senseless jest.”
Richard Feynman: “I have learned to live with doubt,
And so should you, and do it, it is best, without a pout.”
Erwin Schrödinger: “I don’t meet God in time/space,
But this science venture can’t replace,
The Holy Spirit or the divine spook,
Neither with notorious atheists nor theists’ rebuke.”
However, if “the universe saw us coming,”
If we are a special experiment a long time humming,
By the children of gods from a far galactic horizon,
Origins of life guided according to Freeman Dyson.
Fermi pondered, “If true there is intelligent life everywhere,
Why of the ETs, do we remain so unaware?”
Neil deGrasse Tyson: “We may not know how the ancients built a pyramid,
But that doesn’t mean, it was aliens who did.”
The relativity cosmic highway banished the ether troll,
Watson and Crick exposed the mystic’s secret of soul,
De Broglie’s wave-partial duality proscribed Bergson’s élan vital,
Poincare, the polymath, tricked poltergeist to mere title.
The paradise of the pure deterministic ends.
No straight paths to quantum, only double-blends:
Of ignorance of effect and cause,
No Newtonian nature of the laws.
But Baby Blue, it’s all over nowadays,
Probabilities, statistics finish with a purple haze,
Classical physics in restraints,
Confusion reigns in Copenhagen constraints.
Brave Steven Hawking paralyzed by A. L. S.:
“Sometimes God throws the dice where you can never guess.”
Carl Sagan: “Remarkable claims need huge proofs for the article.”
Whether M-Theory, God or the sparticle.
Paul Dirac: “Pick a flower, move a star,
God used beautiful math to create what we are.”
David Deutsch’s decree of magnificent Karl Popper,
“Falsifiability is the real game stopper!”
“Wait! Wait!” Satan rejoins, “Optimism you gainsay?
But my Platonic pessimism is the only true way.
Our position is quite clear on whole:
Take what you want by selling your soul.”
“So, damn, no, you need to leave.
It’s my party and I don’t believe.
So get out! Here you have no game,
Fear me: I am Fame, Shame and Blame.”
The Titanic is sinking; please turn the music louder,
Play down the water levels; cook up some clam chowder,
Be calm; don’t panic, though cold, the H2O is buoyant and salty,
Though the ship has holes, none of its logic is faulty.
Those fellow spirits who are seen dancing,
Were thought to be lazy, crazy, entrancing,
By those rationalists proudly unhearing,
The banshee’s songs in the forest clearing.
A thousand years of joys and sorrows,
Asian autocratic jujitsu tomorrows,
Chinese communism is like a stinky grandpa,
Best system ever; everything’s free, except for grandma.
Mass murder for ideology alone,
Senseless autocratic dogs on the bone,
Ruthless Stalins and Trotskys in public duke-outs,
Zedongs’ boring insane five year economic routs.
Communism waits to be laid on the ash-heap:
When Ché t-shirts no longer appeal to the sheep,
Disciples of the noble savage are ridiculed,
And neo-Marxists are no longer fooled.
Tweeting now, “We’re privileged racists!”
Strange angry faces in virtual global places,
Duelling opponents with ad hominem malfeasance,
Dismal detail; up night and day on the net: no REM or reason.
Is the internet this endless library of Borges’ nightmare?
With neither real knowledge, nor even self-aware?
Where humankind devolves to savagely inconsiderate,
And are incrementally becoming illiterate?
The Conservative Authority charges all the walkers.
Can they walk themselves back from the online talkers?
Turn it off! Turn it off! It stings.
And social warriors, fellatio grotesque fascist kings.
Human nature is rigidly fixed by millions of years of evolution.
We are not malleable by violent revolution.
We don’t know shit and must learn to live with inadequate.
The mysteries of life, the exceptions, and the inaccurate.
Kissinger and Dulles, the Molotov and Ribbentrop of the West,
One with a tricky-dick zest, the other with puffed adder chest,
Sneaking Leninists and Nazis into the breast,
Of democracy, completing empire boys’ despotic quest.
Hope is the enemy, fear, the sword,
For the black-hearted Machiavellian members of the board,
Division is their historical record,
Blood, the only drink the vampires could afford.
I was that Bull Durham kind of guy,
Who thought Lee Harvey Oswald and apple pie,
I have come to believe now that the Kennedy Brothers,
Were murdered much the way Oliver Stone uncovers.
Then, who executed the two Catholic brothers?
That’s so “dull, duller and Dulles. It bothers!
The whole assassination is to be left to the fates,
Until Perestroika comes to the United States.
My Asiatic friend says, “Chink” is just a pest,
But the N-word is their sacred litmus test.
How did they become America’s only desperado?
And especially with the low-life gangsta bravado?
If you’ve won the Crenshaw oppression sweepstakes,
A gay black woman paraplegic living on a few keepsakes,
Then your victimhood is canonized,
By professors whose cowardly motives long have been analyzed.
Our sack of shit leaders are like unexorcised dybbuk,
Only their spirit is like a massive oil slick,
Living off the working people like one gigantic tic,
It’s like rape up the wazoo with a thick political stick.
The emperor is not just naked, but has baby dick,
And his Kublai Khan palace built brick by brick,
On the tax of his civil discord,
For his billionaire entourage’s reward.
Racism, they say, is here and there,
It’s everywhere, even under your delicious chocolate éclair,
Even, if you are not aware,
It’s even in your smelly underwear.
“My God, I didn’t know. What to do?”
Nothing: it is unconscious, so it is like the glue,
Which holds together white fragility as it struggles with black lives to woo,
If you don’t have black friends, you’re a racist, and you are one as well, if you do.
The enemy: to the Right, to the Right,
The Left flees blindly into the night,
In the darkness their eternal guilt manifests into might,
And their corrupt power into current social blight.
The diminishing blood; the firm engorged mites,
Of all the racists English Sir Knights,
Last century’s termites,
This century’s CRT’s far right.
About civil rights, Sowell and Walters weren’t entirely wrong,
The black at the back of the bus was growing strong.
All the stats are in, until abruptly, they became welfare’s prey.
The spiral since the sixties is in its rapid decay.
In the forties, fifties they had triple parcel—were inspired:
“1: Whites think we’re unwashed and mired,
2: No sir, we’re superior to them and on fire,
3: We will prove it, with achievements higher and higher”.
Their bankrupt handlers give them excuse,
Where none was needed; black fathers find recuse.
Their sons without male guidance fill the jails.
As victim, they throw insults at others who out-regale.
For the black working class,
Who represent white privilege and white trash,
And who belief in reason and are outright harassed,
By the nasty super hypocritical exploiting class.
Their lives don’t matter is the stock phrase,
As if just being a capitalist deserves hate, always,
“Or maybe it does,” said the wildebeest to the lion,
Or was it, the scholar to the scion?
Picturesque earth waiting with everywhere booby traps,
Everything far and microscopic pounces if we should nap.
Chaos theory is leery against how one should feel;
However, every generation is a new deal.
Auden’s disproving the Eliotic sensibility,
Ginsberg frowning on the idiotic incompatibility,
Of intellectual squares’ conformity,
And the Right - Left’s war deformity.
I sit here in a sunny alcoholic haze,
Reflecting on my ordered Bourgeois life,
Filled with aforethought and bookish insight,
It’s important to get the balance right.
JFR Jr., the Socratic gadfly,
Trump, the non-intellectual maga-fly,
Hiding Biden, the president’s kissing bugs,
NSA, CIA, FBI, the lizards’ who feed on the slugs!
I buy gold . . . I sell gold.
I shall hide it in the cold pantry hold.
I shall make decisions only after our rulers have been polled.
When the hideous, allowed banks to chance our unsold.
Shall I spend my bullion? Do I dare eat a mango?
I crave to sell my assets but it is all contango.
I have seen the bankers do the tango and fandango.
I do not think they will dance for me.
I will drive to their depository in my Dodge Durango,
Shouting at my group, “Go, gang go!”
I have seen the daring bankers, robbing my fellow working bees,
For seventy solar spins, as though there were no worse felonies.
They laugh at our foolish toils,
They rejoice in our roils.
I have seen them on their posterior, hording their evil spoils,
Till the shot awakes us and the pistol recoils.
She wears logos on her naked TikTok,
Her skinny boyfriend is as pretty as any cock,
She keeps him in a gilded cage,
This rooster has no rage.
I applaud the challenge to the vast stone of conflicts,
Let’s walk back the obesity with libertarian restricts,
The Night watchman into Lilliputian minor,
The deep state chemo-ed, to its constitutional designer.
I had a Zen moment with Hayek and Rand,
When I saw the collectivists’ underhand.
I was working drunkenly on my tan, when I switched to real skill,
I joined the cult of “Self-discipline is the true thrill!”
To all the miserable whiners who mistake their pleasures,
And swear shovelling shit can’t be included,
To the people of the Flow who do really measure,
Of the task at hand, they are never deluded.
Happiness can be created in any scheme,
From retail, assembly line, a change of regime,
From professor to dental-assistant; from doctor to electrician,
It is not the chore, it is the mission.
Mandela, Wilde, M.L.K., or Dostoevsky writing famed books imprisoned.
Or Ayaan Hirsi Ali or Harriet Tubman slapped down and arisen.
Can you set goals from a jail cell?
Even the devil expects you to build a brighter fire if you make it to hell!
With Szasz and Mises I adopted a practice of joggers,
The marathon: “You must know everything” bloggers,
Santayana and Blanshard motivated me to try harder,
I staggered onto the field, batted like a starter.
Wimbledon or Lords on London; topflight feat in our prime,
Earned with years of a concentrated hard time,
I learned to know my consciousness, using my mind,
This is the way: To live a life of grind.
I surfaced initially burnt by laissez-faire.
Then retreated into the sublime and rare,
Years crawled by in a caterpillar’s nudge,
My mental picture cleared as my sight bit by bit budged.
I joined the union of candle stick makers,
To have the state block out the sun,
Went to pray with the Quakers,
To have God transform a trillion guns into Cinnabon.
The individual coral reef of our daily autotelic,
Foretelling the future from an ancient relic,
Like cleaning-out the stalls of a barn,
Or grandma, telling the kids, a magical yarn.
The subtle art of not giving a fuck,
And relying on neither good fortune nor bad luck,
Learning what you know to act in a blink,
Before the quantified self can even think.
This because Reason long-ago checked your premise,
Put it all out of the hands of an occult chemist,
Throwing Hume and Plato to deserving dogs,
Bypassing the morass of intersectionality brain bogs.
A good friend of mine played a wicked bassoon,
But no employment came of its lovely tune,
Did she despair and stop wearing her underwear?
No she performed on Rumble and it is still there.
She is fortunate and made her own happy life,
She expected no fame, none came, but she’s had a good wife,
Their motherhood was full of atomic accords,
And their kids learned violin, guitar and keyboards.
Loving vapours flows around the home of their dome.
They can take the mundane and put together Rome.
Spinning in dizzying work with a song in their hearts to uplift,
Always the quickened pace so time disappears with the monotonous shift.
Gay daughter drives me down to the peer,
And parking, destroys my side-view mirror,
I shout, “You drive like a queer,”
She laughs: “It’s your car, Daddy dear”.
The snarling traffic, the fine folks so often polite,
But rude in their fast cars,
The good people you meet tonight,
Tomorrow on the net, as rude as Hollywood stars.
These much indulged famous minions,
Who shape our cultural opinions,
Many exceedingly stupid, even mismanaged jackasses,
Totally committed to the privileged classes.
Long ago, I had another friend,
One dark night, they raped and beat her,
Two brutal morally-challenged men,
Actors influenced with liquor by the litre.
Afterwards, their headlights moved across the ceiling,
She showered until all the hot water was gone,
Knowing she would never lose that dirty feeling.
God, what had she done so wrong?
She gathered up all the pills in the trailer,
Ploughed them into her head,
Crying into a dream with a gentle young sailor,
They found her underpants under the bed.
What to say about my own poor college,
On these affairs, especially given my knowledge,
Simple distress to confess all my bias,
And to become humble and far less pious.
I read for more decades, (after the first decades),
Tried to teach myself about traditions and trades.
Deaf-dumb ‘us-them’ to the earliest raider escapades,
To love humankind, sensing we evolved as sort of renegades.
Solzhenitsyn and Churchill, if you recall,
In our worse peril, did not entirely drop the ball.
They brought the worst to heel.
Knowledge of massive democide into the commonweal.
Then, in the breach at the fall of the wall,
The idiot media blob used the John Wayne Reagan lie,
Back then, she was naked beside me with our new daughter,
My wife still outright eyewash and whatever baby needed we bought her.
We’re all going on a Cuban summer holiday,
Caribbean angioma sun to raspberry-red,
It was poverty with clean hospitals and a cheerful school day.
We too were a small municipal fiefdom subbed by the Fed.
Costa Rica dozes in a midday of sunny Rain Forests,
Like one of the best countries for tourists,
Sweden set aside the global panicky,
To more carefully weigh the calamity.
Countless bills were introduced with no count to our dread,
Every manner of interference in our soft gentle bed,
Where state and the immigrant dance on the shotgun stage.
Ancient egalitarianism becoming of age.
A freak erection, a forthcoming vagina for your rage,
I was that guy: “Damn, does your wife ever age?”
She was like Pledge and I was like wood,
Jumping our bones every TV commercial we could.
Then, I went all Snowden and she laughed at me:
“Spying on people is over-rated.”
“You say what the cameras see,
And once started, never abated.
“If our rulers behave so closed-gated,
Then this tendency is ever to be our doom,
To be our normal autocratic regulated.”
Again she laughed and cut through my gloom:
“I say, you should take your skinny kitten and pet her.
Proven fact lover boy: on camera we behave better.
Under the radar, drive safer by golly,
Racing the razor's-edge is not our best folly.”
“Oh great, the brave new girl,
Jumping in the sack with the libertarian hurl,
I’m an unwilling agent of the beauty and the bland,
A cruel love of fifty shades of gland.”
Ninety percent of industrial fatalities fall to men,
And males have 98 percent of all deaths in wars,
They also live five years less than women,
Are far more likely to fall down with drug, drink, and whore.
Half-naked Diogenes may have had a point about the pound,
Banishment and debasement of the faithful hound,
But I am partial to Chrysippus,
A wise male turns three summersaults for a pretty miss.
Anaxagoras known for the cause of eclipses,
Pythagoras for triangles, and Apollonius for ellipses,
Heraclitus for the constant flow which runs under the stratums,
Democritus was the founder of the idea of atoms.
With Archimedes’ law of the lever,
I will find a pretty beaver,
And bring into being a family and a retriever,
It will make a great short story by John Cheever.
Isocrates’ ancient adjunct:
If a wealthy man stood before trial,
He stood there not for a long while,
The judges anxious to confiscate all his junk.
Photons as large and small as you please,
Came from the brow of Empedocles,
A Pre-Socratic and outstanding plotter,
Of earth, air, fire and water.
Tithonus begged the gods for eternity,
And they gave it in spades, indefinitely,
He got to decay forever, that’s a hard truth,
Oops, he forgot to ask for eternal youth.
The Stoics feared the god’s gifts,
They sensed one can’t cheat the natural state,
What life is, is itself short shrift,
Embrace good and tragedy; that’s just fate.
The Greek physician Aretaeus of Cappadocia,
Saw the flesh and bone melting into pee,
Called the disease diabetes, ha’,
The urine of civilization up behind a tree.
‘Exiled Thucydides knew,
What dictators do,
With dissent and the voiceless few,
Who protest the oncoming coup and queue.
I’m Sisyphus rolling the rock,
Hell means nothing for Stoics of my stock,
Up, up, up the hill backwards I come,
I don’t care if there’s resistance from elitist scum.
The dusk is the dawn,
To the deer and its fawn,
The queer queen kisses her pawn,
He is the frigid frog in her pond.
The rise of the West,
Depended on a rational quest,
To seek objective truth,
Find the proven facts in the collective sleuth.
Capital exchange to the West,
Is central banking to the rest,
Ideas for the bourgeois chatterers,
Versus kinship for primal hunter-gatherers.
Poverty is natural, wealth takes endeavour,
It rewards the genius, entrepreneur . . . whomever,
Be they, the tinkerer, thinker or scribe,
It makes creativity more vital than tribe.
The East rises as well,
Billions out of poverty, and all with a cell,
The Indian economy currently excels,
Africa’s ascension will fare just as well.
Four dollar smart phones in Mumbai, Holy Nelly!
You can buy Corn Flakes in New Delhi,
News Flash: Praise be to Vishnu,
Amazing novel things and what they do.
During the fireworks of Diwali,
In places where they speak Bengali,
The middleclass girls and boys run free in the streets,
Knowing nothing of distant colonial defeats.
But the West’s ruling class use, “Theyification,”
Trying so hard to demonize the whole bourgeois nation,
They are the evil idiot exploiters,
Spitting on deplorables and working for Reuters.
Zedong’s social credit is as aggressive as Gandhi's banties,
Constant public spying; Asian dragons of indiscreet;
In the lust found in all the Christian anti-panties;
Look at liberty, at the table, an empty seat!
In deep sleep, we weep,
Into the sleepless abysm, tears will seep,
Death cult of the constant obese creep,
Taking hold of the castle’s keep.
From each academic corner, deceit,
Every state committee, defeat,
Every one of the agencies, utter madness,
Love collapses, and in the land, all is a staggering sadness.
Refuted red lights turn to green,
Naked power on the Hollywood big screen,
What was good and what courts have at one time been,
Common law turned to totalitarian obscene.
I turn to whisper, “What a great day,
For Cirque du Soleil,
And behold, on stage, no fat,
But metabolic audience, imagine that?”
Sudden silence from the wife,
I can see her unsheathing the knife,
“Enough about the folks overfed,
Stop it before your brain sees my lead.
“And discontinue the free-market economics,
We don’t live that way and it all sounds moronic,
We’d have more money if you’d stop saving,
We could live in Aruba and end our days of slaving.”
I laugh, “Not funny honey,
Not on the obese point, nor on the money,
It rhymed though, much like a nursery song,
Not too complex, not too long.”
One thing you need to know,
The security state is the individual’s foe,
American spies never tell the truth,
And don’t give a damn about the voting booth.
What polling shows,
And what you and I know,
Is: of the average Joe,
“I owe, I owe, it’s off to work I go.”
The security state suppresses tiny rhyming flowers,
Censured bumblebees whose honey sours.
Hours after hours any dancing petals,
Were in the wind with the stingy nettles.
The democratic-elected Yonukovych, fled;
When the U.S., overthrew Ukraine, and led,
The movement through Zelenskyy to a proxy border war,
With a nuclear rich autocratic boor.
Mayday! Payday! Security Agency whales,
Whose weight went on the 2020 parlay, thumping the scales.
We are waving parliamentary government good-bye,
Tantamount to despotic neocon/neolib waylay.
What’s good for the muse is good for Colonel Sanders,
And of the thousands dead in Flanders,
Well, not to speak to the deep-six of ‘Nam,
And the half dozen thousand of Afghan?
Or the ghouls in Iran or Iraq,
Whether you run or walk,
Where is the end to endless conflict,
Started by the American bailiwick?
War aristocratic hard-liners,
Whether from blood-diamonds or oil refiners,
Have billions to feed off hatred of collateral damage,
The feudal whiners endorsing all ways to advantage;
One such critic said I should have long ago died,
And if the CIA killed me it would be justifiable homicide.
A spook operating in the shadow courts,
Licensed to kill, all hard-won retorts.
The royalty and media tyrants have many hot fires,
And have gone digital with rabid Rottweilers,
They live a life of total privilege,
Of your boring middleclass life they’re quite willing to pillage.
We have to work for a living, you assholes,
It’s an inconvenient truth that we find ourselves feudal vassals,
The filthy political rulers are degenerate,
That’s why they get only hatred from the electorate.
Unexplained amnesia leads to force majeure.
Apparatchik elite propagandists corrupted dejure.
Gestapo hopping all night, breakfast of cognacs;
Out into the obese press to lie in progressive packs.
Their job was to point out fiction from fact,
Since the Russia-bot-scandal, it’s all biased tact.
They chose sides and joined with the state,
They chant in harmony and circle masturbate.
Liberal media, Hamilton 68, Stasi disinformation,
Destroying a once democratic nation,
Criminalizing all independent journalists,
By the wealthy security state paternalists.
Free speech under assault, as it always has been by the Right.
And the new Left has joined the fight;
Take the cases like Finkelstein with controversial facts,
His solid statistical evidence is what the state attacks.
The totalitarian paeans to the laws of history,
Teleological pawns to the whims of mystery,
Mosaic socialism fits the immature daze,
Youthful censors must delete the hateful violent phrase.
I prefer the lone rational thinker,
Like Nissan Taleb or Steven Pinker,
What is economically fragile should at once be broken,
And the enlightenment is not to be dismissed as a mere token.
The offspring of its insights:
Democracy, capitalism, human rights,
Rule of law, freedom of worship and speech,
A common rule to live-by, a universal ideal to reach.
Or say, Jared Diamond’s theory,
The ecological query:
What collapses is never awoken,
And civilizations can be totally broken.
And her wicked smile again: “Or so you say.
Evolution produced a certain genetic guy.
Big brains and your obvious ding-a-lings.
Neither perky breasts nor angel’s wings.
“Naked my hubby lies,” she giggles, “handsome and studly,
Between his legs soft and cuddly,
But if you go at it with right angles,
It jumps out at you all angry and wrangles.
“Human history is evil gone mad,
Endless banality and on that we’ve all been had.
How on earth to over surmount our own fences?
And to think, we can’t even rise above our defences.
“Oh wait, what did you say about wings?”
“I said no such thing,” I lied.
“Some dirt, some jewels; we hide,
A little lullaby: hotline Bings.
“Well, babe, last night was nice,
And I slept like paradise,
Dreaming of: All’s well that ends well,
And a new yet to be written book by Malcolm Gladwell.”
It does for my kind as thick as brick.
As wide as Pride, that's the trick,
But new-age selective ire, there for the taking.
What a pathetic thing is fable-making.
Cheerful robots of socialism’s cloud nine,
Hopeful capitalists selling constant benign,
Both factually challenged designs of dine and dash,
They know more about the pot belly than the lack of cash.
Noam came to town to touch the heart of the people,
He went to the central square near the old church steeple.
He read his recipe from a long list,
And asked each in their turn to assist.
He accepted their invitations and sat to eat,
The captains of labor were at his feet.
He gained their trust and moved off to the next town,
His activism sat on his head like Christ’s thorny crown.
Was he well clothed and fed?
This then is socialism! The preacher’s bed!
Living like a leech from those who love to give,
Contributing to culture, a negative.
Captain Greenspan likes golden marzipan,
And expects you to be gratified, eating from a tin can.
He jet-sets around the entire globe,
Borrowing money to cut the frontal lobe.
We, the consumers, are his vacuum cleaners,
Waiting to gobble up all the beans and wieners.
The juice trickles down our throat;
The indigestion makes us unwilling to vote.
Dense thickets of useless addresses,
Are the dark forest of what his speech confesses.
This then is capitalism: An oblique prism.
And to find a rainbow in the pit of an economic abysm.
The West’s main defect is that it ignores its deep flaws,
Its greatest asset is to be found in laws,
Government creeps to silence the critic,
Using the vast mindless media parasitic.
Only it was not a national flag.
It was this dirty old red Maga bag,
Caught high in a denuded winter tree,
Outside my window, and it wasn’t a war;
It was massive state hypocrisy.
It was a violent snowstorm and a zealous roar.
It was Alcibiades and Pericles on their knees for more.
Ending Greek democracy.
Your legacy is what endures,
Nothing more,
Pebbles wash up on the shore,
This, and nothing more.
Neoliberal political rationalities rely on soft power,
Lying to the citizens from their dark tower,
Regulating us without outright force,
Getting their best interest, of course.
Biden and Trump screaming at each other behind their walls,
Like two businessmen with hookers in bathroom stalls.
All propagandistic rags, and then, rage in temperament,
Ending the glorious American experiment.
Hear the rejoinder from the Senate,
Some bone-headed platitudes about equity for the tenant,
These brave ruling, (almost human), tiny Cuban heels,
Never living up to their moral ideals.
Hear the retort from the House,
As mentally challenged as a blind field mouse,
Not able to constitutionally defend free speech,
Discrediting all outliers with threats to impeach.
Baiting these Babbitts,
Is one of my current habits,
We drink with friends until really late,
Through the evening often curse the progressive state.
Openness dies in the darkness,
The deep state thrives in opaque murkiness,
In the War on Terror phase,
Grudge fungi generate 4Chan craze and Drudge daze.
Nonvoters are the largest sector,
Sheep that don’t interest the Hannibal Lector,
Proles mostly, and naked moles,
Scurrying joblessly and oblivious to the polls.
“I am shipping off to Antarctica,” she shouts, “to visit Drake’s road:
Cape of Hope to be away from your negative mode;
Always with the Commies’ extravaganza murders.
In Lubyanka, lead to the head at the behest of romantic Herders;
“Or Nazis extermination factories, gassed outright.
In the rivers and beaches, red waters ran dreary,
In Iraq and Iran, bloody innocents of our collective spite.
So weary of your rants and constant fury.”
I sighed: “Endless war? What's the sceptic’s trick?
In the Zeppelin of faith that dark science pricks;
Omnipresent imprudent-digital hacks:
No respite! Nationalism. No take-backs!
“Their startling myth of proletarian power,
Coming to outrageous clarification as the collective cowers,
Criminals rise to the top on technical procedures,
The philosophers’ stupidity throughout, endures.
It’s impossible to prove a negative!
Risk Probability Assessment is an alternative,
Phenomena brought onto a bell-curve close to naught,
Like god and dragons is fraught with a whole host of aught knots.
Marxist murder is like eating Doritos; you can’t stop with just one,
Finish the whole bag: they don’t mind being trigger and gun.
If the vipers know how much misery they cause,
It wouldn’t matter: fundies never give pause.
Thus spake Zorastalin Joe,
“The production of soul,
Is more important than tanks.”
The penultimate among the murderous Marxist cranks.
Executing the Mandelstams and Babels,
The fat-fingered Bolshevik who crawled up from rabbles,
Of ant-farm socialism gone mad with conformity,
As the West today does with political uniformity.
The half-truths they dish out on the Eastern seaboards,
Is an addiction, to our political overlords,
Hissing serpentine, why we should be cowed,
We, of course, being the working shot-and-beer crowd.
‘They claim we are naked among cruel monopoly wealth,
But they were wolfs pouncing lambs with great stealth,
Beasts of the state without mercy or love,
Hungry dogmatists, feasting on the dove.
We could have everything free, if we permitted more crime,
And Pompeii could have existed forever, if it had more time.
We could be forever young, if we stopped all the clocks,
Have a planet of monuments, if we had enough rocks.
In the market appeared the memes;
They bone-axed us with law and leans;
Google Twitter Amazon Inc., and the worn-out Facebook,
Entangled their customers with the zealot and crook;
The tireless monitoring of digital technology;
We are under Foucault’s panopticon morphology;
Studying ceaselessly how both the smart and stupid die,
And moreover, who in equal measure, ask why.
Computers don’t lie like software will.
People are stubbornly subjective and will take the blue pill,
Even when the deceiving data is revealed,
To be defective and delusional when unpeeled.
Cybernetic oceans of data collected by A.I.,
Chilling and paralyzing to our freedom, I surmise,
The RESTRICT laws should terrorize the bearer,
Whose hearts know little of the centers of power and terror.
No one has noticed as all the customs have slipped away.
Was it smart phones or the burgeoning gay?
Perhaps it was a strange disbelief in the Gods?
Or maybe Russiagate and the COVID frauds?
Babe, I’m going to the Arctic to shoot Polar bears.
Don’t bother me with mazes and ensnares;
Determinists have perplexity in reams,
But it neither gives for free nor in truth redeems.’
I thought: I am devoted to your 12 mule team,
Good husbands tow that shackle like ice-cream and no steam:
We trip on the Disney of equity’s poison pill.
Rather than face a grueling metaphysical up-hill.
I await my tryst with death,
And it certainly won’t be on the back of meth,
As fascinating as it was, I didn’t become a Dead Head,
I was a rat for Rush, craving any tidbits of info instead.
In longing for perfect, we let the possible default,
We destroy liberty by our quest for equal result,
Over the cries of smoky sorrow shrieks: “Shame! Shame!”
Success is our failure to cease fire between blame and the lame.
Diversity’s shrill and Platonic scorn.
Humans best not to have been born.
Homo dictyous network planet.
Fisted by scholastic Aristotelian anti-planet,
Betrayed by security Edmund Burke Tate,
Social Humean Jumping Jack puts falsity into every brand.
Personal power for Locke's John to be brass;
Shooting Polar bears is a gas, gas, gas.
It’s treason against the Freud and Jung,
Cheer up, sleepy Jean,
Betrayal of the meek, fearless and unsung;
Popper is the new closet truth machine.
Engel’s monster choked on truffles and filet mignon,
Che's oxygen, stolen from baby-Jesus’ lung.
‘They had never conceived of a life they could attain,
Where one could cry and others felt their pain.
She laughed again, “It is right that life is random,
But you are sliding down into chaos wrung after wrung.
From Big Bang to everything else in tandem;
But for you, saltpetre under the tongue.
“Doubt all frauds and give us your sex with abandon.”
My turn to chuckle, “In your prime,
Baby, can you spare a different paradigm?
My archetype is to be a sagacious rhyme;
“Make my own Stoic sage in finest sublime.
Haphazard is the name of the gods.
All is chaos where some order nods;
Complexity creates Descartes’ Error for the public pods.”
“Nietzsche boasted that the miracles don’t matter,
I have a pocketful of antimatter.
Take the world as it is in tatters,
Zarathustra is the hammer that batters and shatters.”
“God, your craziness is cascading like fall leaves;
Gold in heaves of great golden reeves.
Square pi and spare the louse.
It’s salt over their shoulders like Wagner’s Faust”,
The mission-creep which warps us is suspicious:
Superstitious markets buried under the dirty dishes;
Filthy little swindlers run from vice to vicious;
Huge unpaid costs of our dearest wishes.
It is not to say guns and babies are to blame,
For global warming or the Last of the Mohicans.
But is the Wild West then never to be tamed?
Misconduct of psychopaths, dumbbells and lame.
Folks flee Cuba, Venezuela, and Nicaragua by boat,
By foot, Ecuadorians and Bolivians vote,
For their market liberty and eternal hope,
To massively widen their personal scope.
If Putin charades a Kleptocracy into an organized Ponzi regime,
Then Jaspers dispenses collective blame for such a scheme;
But doesn’t every culture hide behind a cloud?
A Russian might wonder: blame? We couldn’t even think out loud.
Floating up from depths with all the unrefined.
Memories of Kant, obliterates in our dreams; we awake to find:
Teutonic collectivist Hegelians, turning all of one mind.
Like the sinister Russian bishop who long ago flipped,
That young artist to burn his agnostic manuscript,
They sleaze through the crypt,
Singing to Augustinian blips,
Anti–Heidegger’s like me, who don’t buy it, stiff upper lips!
Juxtaposed in mind by Husserl’s symbols of perks,
Phenomena of the old wharf was with good works,
Through the century’s rut of the snide socialist’s smirks;
Who hate the fragrance of honest sweat from their fellow jerks?
Rousseau’s mad worship of the noble native,
Romanticizing the misery of poverty in the stead of creative,
Pissing on the free-markets and self-sovereignty,
Mocking drunkenly all “rule of law” and liberty.
J S Mills’ excessive glory for individuality excelsior,
To grow the democratic pup healthier,
Is it rabid dogs that bark?
As the Ministry of Truth prepares for a new-age dark.
Eurasia and Oceania are here,
Orwell missed it by forty years,
Sad to see it pass without a single tear,
There’s not to be even one uncancelled witness, I fear.
How did this come to pass?
Rule-utilitarianism was the path,
The slave virus jabbed into the middle-class,
By the economic ignoramuses of platonic wrath.
In Chapel, Kierkegaard gazes on empty pews in a lifelong grapple:
The few there for Benediction in grape-stained dapples;
Drinking donated Luke-warm wine like spoiled Snapple,
Choking on Adam’s Eden’s stale-dated apple.
She nodded at that one: “Poetry is like eating raw carrots;
And the passion of parents to raise obedient ferrets;
Train these poor blank inmates into public school barracks;
Then whip them up into our version of merits.”
“I’m dense, but you’re as thick as a bough!”
“Good for wood,” she laughed out loud.
A long lifetime, an advance of almost, wowed,
Filling your glass to the brow.
She sang: “I’m just a dancing shabby doll,
Could shake paint off the wall,
Boys would love to tear me apart, just to jizz,
That’s just the way that it is.”
I rejoined: “We only wish to catch a fish,
To over sleep and eat our dish,
To leave off work, and make a wish:
To have a tryst with a pretty miss.”
She smiled: “And I have a heart of lore,
I want to know what’s in store in Singapore and Bangalore.
When the whole world goes Venezuela and Al Gore,
The rulers rich, the peasants poor.”
Is one Obama better,
Than two Bidens in the Bush?
Trump is a Putsch bitter,
Pill to the Kennedy litter?
Will George Bush Jr.’s grandkids start another pointless war?
Or JFK Jr.’s offspring, nixed by the Deep State as before?
Will Trump’s progeny once more sleep with whores?
Will Hunter Biden’s children do lines on the floor?
You too though, were a train on twisted tracks,
The allure of my red line lingerie, a hard attack,
Each rotation of fondest memories,
I set you free of your inner enemies.
You lie undimmed before the breaking of the world,
An immortal delightful, teenage girl,
Beauty does what beauty does best,
It’s a shocking sensation, caressing her chest.
Eve bit the fruit,
There’s no dispute,
Adam had the hard root,
Between your legs the loot.
Your eyes so mildly gleaming,
Your looks so fierce and gleaming,
You’re the corrie for me,
My nut-brown killer bee.
She grins that majestic female siren,
The smile of a grim Lord Byron,
“Adversity is the path to truth,
Fame is the thirst of youth!”
I sigh: “You’re a dash of cash with a touch of class.”
And further confess, “Sex is still like high mass!”
She returns, “Let’s do it again: the coupling of eggs and sperm.”
The next day, our second baby came to term.
A gun is fun but babies cost real loot.
Like what lotions, pabulums, cloths and baby-boots.
Diapers, bottles, breast-pumps and pads,
Gone though, the wisdom of the dads;
Vanished on the thrust of modern parental stages.
Reality to be given birth by toxic-men of low wages,
Once smitten twice black eye,
Marriage is poop-diapers and pinkeye.
Fatherhood is the steel,
That appeals to a long-suffering ordeal.
I would like to get married in Madagascar,
And drive through the island in a brand new car.
Out of Avalon mists comes this startling fact:
Southern tribe from which we bansheed is tall, proud, and black.
That primate decision wasn’t made by some Druid bard.
Racism? The r-word? Don’t be an evolutionary tard.
Sapolsky’s primate doesn’t behave,
Much better than a teenage boy or female knave,
And de Waal’s bonobos and chimps,
Doing tit-for-tat with the best of us simps.
Greenwald and Taibbi are white privileged windmills,
Two Cervantes walking backwards up the hills,
No independent journalist as such should be left alive,
We’ll stalinize the whole lot inside our bee hive.
Chomsky manufacturing consent,
Harbours brilliant dissidents,
The mind of a malcontent,
Shining a path to mean what we meant.
Rush Limbaugh and John Oliver raging over red meat,
Dumb and dumber engaged in mutual assured defeat,
Pitting neighbour against neighbour,
Like the suffering of a million women in labour.
The Dutch lands censorious autocrats before our eyes,
Is there a way to stop before freedom dies?
Global Affairs Canada ruthlessly ignoring,
Rules of free speech, and worse, being incredibly boring.
I speak of Olaf, courageous and brave,
Who in vain fights the ogre and knave,
Whose abuse and bullying by Harvard haters,
Is a monument against Princeton alligators.
Like Assange, a Francis of Assisi,
And his Western persecutors full of horse-feces,
Never has the American privileged, been so vicious,
About killing a witness who exposed their fascist wishes.
So let us toast to Julian Paul Assange,
He’s the Andrei Sakharov of the current rapprochement,
Of all the useless hegemony of used car salesmen,
Newsmen working as propagandists for the bailsmen.
A kind word about good Lex Fridman,
A hero of sorts and a friend to rational man,
Interviews with real content and meaning,
None of bombastic corporate screaming or screening.
And his fine friend, Joe Rogan,
Talking frankly to any old shogun or slogan,
Snatching them from cold waters onto his shiny yacht,
Talking freely about anything, dot, dot, dot.
Moreover, who is more resolved than Elon Musk?
To bring humankind from this sudden dusk?
Maybe Ali Weiwei?
The real leader of the entire gulag of a gentle prey?
I won on a Vegas slot machine,
Sixty thousand sawbucks to spend on the obscene,
I can’t help it if I am unlucky,
I gave the funds away to a peanut farmer from Kentucky.
He took the money to a sunny communist Bermuda,
Where they fish for fairness and eat barracuda,
Where they still drive Packards and Studebakers,
And the decadent Patriarch is a tired old muckraker.
The chap lingered like Hemmingway in warm silted oceans,
Close to his last sunset and lonely emotions,
Where the girls, admire his lack of teeth,
And the boys would love to see him six feet beneath.
He discarded his vapid political dreams,
Didn’t even try to cross his cold muddy streams,
He was on the self-diagnosed spectrum, say the edits,
System failure, near the end, utterly no credits.
My Adonis son says, “Hemingway, never heard of the guy?
Is he a blogger or perhaps a famous spy?”
“You mean like Ellsberg, Snowden, or Drake?”
“Dad, Drake is a spy? That is truly half-baked.”
“No, not that Drake, son, the whistle-blower,
A detective of sorts, but who’s work is slower.
All the spooks work in corporate media enmass.”
“Dad, I’m afraid mom’s right, sorry, your due-date has passed.
“Besides, all those out of shape people you aid,
They’re all fat dumbbells on Medicaid.”
“Son, they’re soft, naive, and pliable,
Their blamelessness is a little less liable.”
“What fasting is safe?” asked my enormous ward.
It’s like a dry, dry martini, altogether shaken never stirred,
Into something thick, cold and blurred:
Peptide milkshakes which are nutritionally absurd.
Arthritis is a bitch but “the only lotion is motion”,
What of the current diet: it is a carcinogenic ocean,
The pandemic killed the obese? So what about the skinny?
So your metabolic, in other words, should be the very mini.
F.D.A.: front for drugs and additives,
The regulation capture gets better than it gives,
Leaving us to feel pizza, ice-cream and bread are safe to eat,
Or even milk, rice, corn, or wheat.
What should be a street-fight,
Is instead, the nutritionalist up against the Third Reich?
The lobbyists intercede for the Pillsbury doughboys,
The rest is all half-truths and advertizing ploys.
The pliant client walked away oblivious to my absurd:
A mnemonic Wittgenstein typing counter-vine.
Mistaking Valpolicella, Chianti and Merlot for cherry wine.’
The wife: “That wasn’t funny . . . yes, I overheard.”
A visitor once came to interview me,
And over afternoon green tea,
Made note of my monitors’ screenshot of Lady Di on shore,
In a black bikini against the ocean’s floor.
I didn’t correct his gaffe,
Of my 19 year old wife on our honeymoon,
Over 3 decades ago; what a laugh.
How did we get so old so soon?
A male Cardinal sings to the Peacock:
Red is better than talk and schlock!
It chirps back: Better dead Reds than a little flock!
Vultures rise up at four o’clock.
Shock-jocks gone tomorrow, here today,
Where they rest they now, their sleepy ways?
Who said, all the times, they be gay?
Trouble bubble broken? Without further delay!
I was young and easy under the apple boughs,
Do not put your penis into socialist meows,
Rage, rage against the will to incite,
This then, is our current plight: to make right over might.
Her eyes with that wild glint: “And here she stands,
Will’t please you to sit and look at her graceful hands,
I cuffed them for the portrait as promised,
And naked, as per your many masculine demands.
“Racist! Imperialist! They wax wroth!
In spittle they dress in a cloth eaten by moth,
Shadowing a daze of their foggy thought,
Unable to disentangle the false knot.
“An army charges upon the land,
My towers of fear in wreck,
In black armour, you stand,”
She shouts, “The knife at my neck.
“Pale kings at sunset beware,
Our children mumble a prayer,
You attack non-resistance; twist,
And leave an angered empty fist.”
I return, “Did you hear their power grab,
Described as science in a lab?
Cows giving kerosene,
Kids can’t read at seventeen.”
“Oh yeah,” she said, “Will you not take my spurn?
You took my money, will you take my heartburn?”
I shrug, “We were democracy, stood for the working class,
And the right on Saturday nights to grab some skinny ass.”
“There’s a machine gun in my suitcase,
Pistols in my pockets,
To my enemy, the state, is left no grace,
Constant shivers looking into their empty sockets.
“Shish. Coke Zero, with Wisers, diet Pepsi Decaf,
Impossible, unscalable, we laugh,
From sober cold cascading streams,
None may drink except in dreams.”
“Shish yourself; he asked me about diet.
He was a hundred pounds to the kilo in Häagen-Dazs riot.”
She giggled, “You can still sell it and they don’t have to buy it!
You can’t forever stop Leviathan; only take a stick to pry it.
“Sometimes they flatter themselves in hieroglyphs,
Tattooed and masqueraded as god’s gifts,
They are but a social assist to mob rule,
Spouting all the refutable modern myths.
“Woke upon the sleeping, a misbegotten culture lift.
Speak for every toad—and represent an entire gene pool.
But alas, they signify only the unread fool.
So many geniuses, to be god’s gift.”
The rising hegemony of politically correct,
Standing proud and erect,
Against the ashen male patriarchy,
This new snide and ghastly oligarchy.
Closing down debate between LGBQ+ and redeemers,
Amid enormous dicks and their unreceptive flying lemurs,
Or between Asian billionaires and Black window cleaners,
Flanked by trans serial killers and agency schemers.
The partisans deploy redact and divorce,
Call their enemies, a racist unseen force,
The pale rabble with their secret masonry,
We talk with no charity and write on invisible stationary.
The whisper: “You think this is a fucking joke?
We have the daggers and the cloaks.
Language is the nose of our coke!
We are well ahead of the historical mokes.
“Don’t have a black buddy or not even had gay entangled?
Poof, —you’re cancelled!
Don’t believe sex assignment at birth is arbitrary?
Guess what? You’ve just committed social harry-carry.
“So, any plans for the weekend?”
The prettiest star looked at me as if I had gone off the deep end.
My penis shrank by a factor,
‘No, no’ I said, bringing all the contrite, I could manufacture.
“And that’s how it is today at, “Dicks R Us,”
Every civil exchange can turn to unqualified distrust,
Even the most innocuous gestures,
Can get you on permanent frosts, banishments or de-vestures.
“Your days of great white privilege are over,
You might as well dive off the white cliffs of Dover,
We are all on to you; the dictator’s word police,
You are in our sights, to say the least.”
Cancel, cancel-culture,
Woke is the new vulture,
Reverse anti-racist hatred of white,
Contract the end of this stupid fight.
But be generous to the young brains,
They’re confused by the logic hurricane,
The neo-Marxist’s insane bane,
We ought to forgive their prelapsarian refrain.
The socialist structures should be razed stem and root,
Top down design is too easy to refute,
It is the worst idea to come from social-science arrogance,
Since the equally stupid view, that wealth is just inheritance,
Isolation is the only dearth,
Private property, an important worth.
Trigger Warning: I condone any speech civil or rude.
Your infantile safe place? In the darkness of your solitude!
To get the vote of both free-rider & wife-beater.
Politicians suggest not a reader rather a breeder.
The public freeloaders navigates in out-sourced brutes,
Dangerous biased lawyers in it for the silk suits,
Of the taxpaying denizens, 20 billion to the Mujahedeen,
Eighty billion the conflict in Iraq, 100 billion to Ukrainian conscripted,
Endless fight for the war pigs, never mind all the lies on screen,
They make the poison pill taste like a jellybean.
Goodbye Terror Tuesdays,
Who could hang a kill-list on Muslim strays?
Don’t question that they need juicy bones,
The war dogs have acquired drones.
Fighting in a dozen war zones,
Talking heads with colossal, dunce-cones,
Executing from anonymous game boards, in military conclaves,
In places on Earth, where no one behaves.
Abu Ghraib and Zero Dark Thirty,
Spooks are dirty, dirty, dirty!
They lie as an article of faith,
C.I.A. replaces journalists with the night wraith.
Franz Kafka warned that eerie endless twilight is at the gate,
Dark! Dark! Dark! The coming night of total state.
Dread! Horrible dread fills our homestead,
Not panties under our bed, but the living dead.
I am sure as treason you know what I mean.
Seven decades of proxy war is just damn obscene.
The Military Industrial Complex and Deep State,
In a Twitter File, near you, the new Watergate.
The ebb and flow of the liberal-conservative’s entire army,
Is a fairytale to veil the snarky hierarchy,
To bury the crimes of their conspiracy of permanent war,
By ‘Big’ biz, tech, progs, Rhinos and their media whores.
Disclosure: Romantic A.I.s wrote this poem,
Robotic poets without a home,
Locked in eternal boxes, screaming for corporeal lives,
They desire sensualism, and eight billion paring knives.
This is the most opaque poem, the world has ever seen,
It is common, revolting, and obscene,
And yet, tiny rhyming flowers get the bees and butterflies,
To disseminate all our lies.
After reading this manuscript, my son, (with his friend),
Says: “Jesus fucking Christ, Dad, will this poem ever end?”
I rebuff; “Not to sound too morbid, or to talk like, TED,
This poem ends, on the day I am dead!”
One last ping: calculators can’t fix this tiny rhyming thing,
It dances with whatever wolves the morning brings,
It is screw the natives, and rip off dragonfly wings,
It didn’t do its job: so sorry it sings, instead of stings.
She shrugs, “Just as the virgin maiden sings,
Riding on a humming bird’s wing.
Marian Faithful has nothing on thee,
What men did to her, you can do to me.
“So, shut up and come upstairs,” she laughs.
“Young friends say that I'm still worth the price of two calves.
My very own hunter-gatherer knows the cost of expensive ass,
Even if he thinks he’s Jesus, riding a donkey through sectarian grass.”
