The streetlights rubbernecked 

threw their caustic amber lights across the ground twisting the shadows of objects they 

spied 

then illuminated  splaying them like crimescene outlines atop the very-same objects 

shadows in a scintillating tick–tick-tick fashion 

                                                                                blurring and radiating them

into queer miasmas

inconclusive   effete evidence

which their operators would deem

unimpeachable

                         they were odd  disorienting visions

                                            skeins of venom undulating   curdling atop other purple 

skeins

graphic palimpsests

                                                                                                                   

sought  and then seen according to what it was they wanted seen

                                                                                   for no matter what they saw

they insist Reality was twisting beneath their eyes                                                                                                                                           

                                                                                           their Eyes  . . .  Cameras

--   mounted like a Cyclopean eye beside their brights    informed by their discretion   

mechanical discretion  --  Unerring

                      nothing is discrete under the distorted reality of rubber streetlights

seeking violence under the guise of diminishing violence

under the guise of lawbiding overseers

 

                                                                  personae   who readily took things from videos   

and informed the public they had proof  they could validate the appropriate authorities  

but couldnt share it in the public domain because such evidence might be reverse-

engineered  destroying the effectiveness of their schema       

                                                                                             not troubled that they would never be revealed under the streetlights fixated glare

                                                                          the streets and the streetlights werent for them

with streetlights averred   per directives   they found the RFIDs woven into jackets and overcoats 

shirts and even thin delicate silk clothing

                                                                        you were a fool if you didnt know they were there

if they werent

it was obvious that actor was going to be guilt of something at some time

and in societies best interest

the operators and streetlights were going to be proactive

than reactive

they were going to provoke

provide guilt

and it                                                                                                                                          

               better sooner than later
 

he wore his embedded RFIDs

and when the cameras swept him

he turned to face them pointing his finger

pointing his finger on a hyperextended elbow

                                                                                 they zooming in  zooming in tighter

he was sure

and the while he smiled  licked his chops  imagining his pointed finger larger ever larger 

ever larger

                   where then  he stabbed his finger and put out the offending eye

there is no difference between fabrication

and fantasy

2242,  Wednesday,  16  7. 14

1451,  Friday,  18  7. 14 

People are ever-eager to identify things and bestow to them fatuous titles names 

and monikers

                       believing    perhaps    in some distant scintilla of themselves that they can be 

made more than who they are                              

                                                                                              When

what and who they are is all theyll ever be

                                                                          and shouldnt allow themselves considered 

less than another

a step behind

or

secondary

even if he tried

though he wouldnt

he couldnt buy into the premise of illusory addresses

these applied Worths were nothing than smoke or dirt in ones eyes   making them smart  

water  red and irritated

blurry

           and stifling

                      he reasoned  if he were Worthy wouldnt he want everyone to see through 

such eyes

he  otherwise  could be made to confess that he recognised himself                             

                                                                                                                  a dribble 

from dribble to dram and dram into drum                                                                                            

                                                                     and it pounded and pounded and pounded 

splashed   lacerated    flung                         

                       an indistinguishable gob                                                            

                                                                           and then a gob  rarified  in spatters

drips and drools 

gobs     he could torture its b  twist its skull onehundredandeightydegrees 

so  he thought  lets drop the pretext  our pretense of being ascribed  promoted  as anything other than who we are

please                                                                                                                      

 

0115,  Saturday,  10  5. 14