Fuck                                                                                                             

pleasesomeoneanyone  tell me this shit aint the wave of the future                                                                          

                                                                                          if consensus  Ill wave it goodbye 

right now

and when my time comes  Im crawling off to die with the dignity a wild animal knows and musters

                       not one of those poor crazed bastards we crush dismember and mangle 

alongside our roads and superhighways      tempting       one to wonder          how many 

might be suicides                  

Im not inclined to believe that homo sapiens have cornered the market on self-annihilation

 

                                                   however   for the most part I believe wild animals have a   

base  sense of dignity    and retain a modicum of Naturalness                                     

                                                                                                         while our Nature 

leeches out of us  and seemingly from every aspect of our lives        were slavish         

unto ridicule    what the masses approve of       and we fit and tailor ourselves to its 

wanton appeal

    

I can scarcely bring myself to acknowledge that animals are upping us      apparently 

theres no end to the extent of our vanity  and our tightfisted entitlement

                                                                                    she had fought a long battle with cancer 

of course she had                                                                                                             

she had insurance                (its unfortunate whos allowed to fight long battles)

and was diminished at the end of every round

an oldfashioned bareknuckle fight

fighters convalesce in their corners between rounds and return to its center when the 

bell rings                                                                                                                                  

until

either theyre too badly injured during a round to continue fighting   or are coldcocked

or they refuse to rise from their stools   again     to meet the bell

she answered innumerable bells

but her cancer was formidable

her cancer realised early

that its superior reach could keep her at bay   that barring any extreme risk on its part

it could circle and circle

cut her off 

work her into the corners 

and pummel her as it pleased

it fought a game of Cat and Mouse with her

the oddmakers saw it too

almost as early as cancer had

some   might have called her valiant

putting up the good fight

but they werent in the ring

suffering her blows

                                                                                                             

                                                but no one loves an underdog more than an undertaker
                                                      

they could almost taste the funk on the fingers that peeled off the greenbacks that were going to pay for the prettiness they were going to attempt to resurrect

its an inexact science

but they were going to try their level best    according to what the bereaved were willing to pay

  

it wasnt unlike a wedding

or guilts worth covering up

to the ooohs and aaahs of expectant partakers

participants  pantpantpant  that would shame dogs who snarled over stripped bones

plastic surgery

for the dead

I can barely stomach to-days gaudy elective plastic surgeries   strutting around on high heels or on-the-quiet not-to-be-spoken-of maleness                                                                                 

                                                                                   when I see unattended cleft-palates

when I see misfortune begging remedie

and people  --  grieving people  --  rather would bury their cash

                                                                                                      than correct suffering

I suppose we have Pharaohs still

I can see their stones and temples from the bushes Ill be crawling off under

2222,  Twosday,  24  6. 14

All around him he had his shit stacked

some of it was stacked keenedged

                                                                like skyscrapers erected in the city to the east       

that he could make out if the lake breeze was blowing out

                                                                                                      usually the citys fetid air   

yellow-bruised like bad fruit  by exhaust fumes and factory emissions  shut that down

but on a really  really good day  he could make them out

on hot days  if a really good day

the skyscrapers quivered on the horizon like Indian smoke signals

                                                                                      he wondered what would they say     

if he could read smoke

his reading comprehension was lousy

he argued with his teacher that he read for the beauty of the text  and the thought it imparted

it was hard for him to tolerate English in junior high  for some ungodly reason it tried to create a mill of him   separating seed from chaff   and he wasnt going to become a machine by force of a pedagogy of grades 

    

some of his shit was stacked precariously

                                                                   appearing as if a piqued fart might toss it over on its face onto the worn parquet and the threadbare throw rugs under his feet

he stacked how he stacked it according to what was riffing through his head

it was of no matter to him how disparate it might appear to someone outside of his head

if they thought they could possibly know what made him tick

Christ even he didnt  all he knew was that the mad confusion made sense to him  and thats 

what mattered  

                                           they outside had better hope he let the ticking continue

cuz if a day came and he ceased ticking 

                                                                                            

                                               the bombd go off
and itd make those cowardly IEDs detonated in foreign countries look like childsplay
                               

theirs were intended to maim

fuck bodies and minds

although it was the minds they truly wanted to fuck  to fuck em raw and then roll off to a side smoke a cigarette   and admire the gore happening in behind their wideopen vacant 

black eyes

                                                                                                                       

eyes
evacuated by religion
theres nothing illlogical or irrational about religion
  

a bundled up  strapped in  straitjacket of Faith 

                                                                                       Faith   where Reason goes to die 

Faith   where you throw up your arms  your useless hands    and surrender 

                                                                                       hoping they dont shoot you first

one would assume theyd allow you a thread of hope

at the very least he hoped they wouldnt hear the click of the hammer drawn back into its firing position

 

if his ticking stopped

the annihilation would be severe 

scorched minds                                                                                         

                          wide black plebeian eyes

                                                                                    

it seemed to him it was time to learn what we failed to learn earlier

if he could stuff all that shit stacked around him into his head

                                                                                                                if                       

a mighty big word for two letters

if  --  thered be no stacks 

                                         if  --  thered be no helter skelter

but then he wouldnt be who he was

 

he needed the stacks like the atmosphere needed trees to scrub CO2 for Oxygen

2246,  Sunday,  15  6. 14

1459,  Sunday,  22  6. 14