Give me proof of the existence of minds and bodies--
fabricated fort sheets of filled classroom seats,
staring strangely to the board above;
Give me proof [in writing] of the existence of God
and let me shrink out the back window
and yell at my pillow
Because this whole madness of organized concepts on
Truth, Reality, and Academic Pursuits of infinite proportion
whirl us right back around after pumping up the thinking device up
with prideful strength--
Giving us the Audacity to jump on a jet into Descartes' old, wrinkly mind
and pull out a theorum & enter it into our ipods.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
So this is it-
this self-referential giggly madness
huddling, sweaty, under the stacks of books and echoes of
dead Russian scholars.
Generation "Nowers," slinging virtual ropes around
intangible why's, owned by fabricated "Why Not's?"
Whipping up a stew of comforting
banter, enforcing their minimally present
identities with possible hopes for the future.
The pain of being held up with the
same questions, without the
arrogant plastered smirks on walls
of virtual community blog posts-
Inside Jokes against history-
An eternal selfishness of NOW
saluting Steve Jobs
making love to a nightly array of
biblically enforced 24-minute
time periods of human drama in a case,
eating the intestines of their insecurities
and drinking the bubbling vodka and redbull
of an insatiable desire to be loved.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- -
Holy shit
there's this moment when the rain stops
silence on the streets
and you ask, is this what we do?
"Do"?
Think...What should we do or think?
Engraved in the concrete as water pools up in the M of AD I N F N I T U M and drips onto my shoe.
In these words, I climb in
and out of a jungle gym.
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That which shall count as Truth will be, from now on, known as Lies, and Lies are the ultimate Truth- button it around you now before you forget. Fire burns away arbitrary assignments, and when every Tree can speak for itself, you don't need me anymore. It's a weird, whimsical place this parade of people painting masterpieces of deception and protection against attacks. Feeling cold now is better than waking up as a hot, quivering human mask with dignified, symmetrical features.
And now we see eye to eye, rejecting all that was once a Tree. Dusty dark road under the summer skies winds away from this town and it makes me happy. I'm happy now, are you? Drowning in an animal soup of concepts, falling slowly apart and loving the sparkly pieces that tinker to the ground and explode in a pool of cellophane smartness. The only thing now is a suitcase, really, and it's gotten too heavy to bring around everywhere. Fuck get off me with the lies, morally speaking, I own you. Letting it all come from within, I see with glasses and an open heart the brutal sadness humans inflect on themselves because of a desire to be free from long established modes of "Living." Thinking you're attached to an ideal, finding it, and losing it- sadness floods but it means nothing! Until you've learned to truly (TRUE-LY) as opposed to FAKE-LY shed the layers of abstractions and defenses against misfortune, you can glide over razors with poise, shit if I had that, we'd all be in heaven, right?
The point is, none exists. Organization of sorrows, maybe, cubby-hole placement of emotion and car key validation of pocket sized triumphs and failures, yes. Trekking through each day like it's a damn jungle out there-- living in accordance with someone's rules who you've never meet, helping yourself to a giant plate of Security, Satisfaction, and Subtle Escape-- there's no wonder we live in a self-made garden of constantly sprouting truths- which one will you choose today?
And more importantly, there's nothing more important if you let it be.
Dig deep into the roots of the earth, Brother, and see that this Drive is the very core of our weird, mangled, playhouse production. And who are you today?
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