Last rites of Spring
Persephone is taking a swan dive
Into the big brawny arms of Summer
Saturn is spinning its rings
Princess Leia had cocaine, methadone and heroin
In her star system one lonely night, but at least she died in ecstasy.
In London, van plows into pedestrians – muslims near a mosque
Along the Champs-Elysee, a driver dies after ramming
Into a police car in a “probable terrorist attack”
Every attack is a terrorist attack in the know-why zone
Even if all you’re after is a Big Mac
Acts of deliberation
Acts of desperation
Terror has no limits
It’s an equal opportunity deployer.
Whether you’re afraid of gluten or daleks.
Australian tourists were tricked into buying dog meat kebabs
Russia warns the US to keep its dick out of Syria
Jet Airways gives free lifetime flights to India’s babies
Born mid-air – I wonder what the life expectancy of those children will be?
Supreme Court takes “partisan” gerrymandering case,
like there’s such a thing as “non-partisan” gerrymandering,
and I don’t give a shit about any of it.
Christ, I read Facebookers loserbating over Leonard Cohen and threw up my quesadilla.
Fashion, fashion, fashion… everything is a fucking fashion show. I’m sick of people telling
Other people what is right and wrong to think, or not think. To enjoy, or not enjoy…
What is worthy or unworthy… fuck that.
Let people suck down big gulps & watch
Celebrities scratch their asses, if they want.
Or let the cognoscenti drink their Pu-ehr pee
And juice their neonaturalmegolalorganic vegetables
While they suck each other off
To Zizek’s pissant pharmotopic dyspeptic rants
On Marxo-socio-capital-anglo-jocko-homo. Who cares?
Let. The. Epic. Fail.
There is nothing sure, nothing safe, nothing certain on this earth, or off it.
The universe isn’t filled with atoms or stardust.
It’s filled with imponderables.
Fields and fields of probabilities.
From chaos comes creation, from creation comes chaos.
Entropy reigns supreme.
Destruction is not always senseless, even when it isn’t sensible.
God (if he exists, and I doubt he does) doesn’t play dice with the universe,
He plays Blackjack, the Devil is the dealer, and the house always wins.
The trouble is nobody owns the house, so we’re all losers, but hey…
It’s the only game in the multiverse, and I like playing games.
All I actually know is the sun set a little further North
Behind the Marin Headlands tonight
Gave me a wink and a smile
I smelled its Old Spice
It will set at its northernmost point tomorrow
Before it begins that long sad snail trail back
Down the same via dolorosa hamster track,
Except, the sun never moves, we do, and I’m twirling at 1600 kph,
But I’m more numb than the phantom limb you’ve become
Since you’ve gone – you’re so gone I’m not sure you were ever here.
Why do you fight me? This? Us?
Why do you fight yourself so much?
Did you take a vow of obstinacy?
Mr. Black & Decker Koenig Steam Generator Iron Santa Claus?
Ophiocordyceps unilateralis hippocampus hungry shame
is the name you baptized yourself with in the Tigris River
one lonely solstice midnight flight from fright.
Taking Mao’s great leap to famine.
Beating Moses to the Exodus.
You are always the same.
How many moonlight sonatas can one man run from?
Occupying your K-141 submarine cities full of empty people
I see your pictures on their wailing walls
Frozen smile plastered over the bricks
Of your faux-happy triple-flip schtick,
You can fool them but not me
Because I must see, and they have no need to.
Your eyes can’t disguise the black holes they sink into
No matter how much you dance and pose
The La Brea tar thick ooze
In your Albert Speer Spandau ballet tiptoe
Through the tulips of your Han Solo’s soul
And I get J Edgar Hoovered into your gravitas’ wormhole
Because I have this Jesus complex,
Mary Magdalene want
And an Elektra-fried mind,
So I skip blithely into your event horizon, singing my
“I Don’t Know How To Love Him” nursery rhymes
Pretending to be Goldilocks blind to your Papa Bear bed,
But my Agamemnon was long gone before he ever died
I didn’t even try to resurrect his memory.
It melted on my tongue a long time ago
Just like Coney Island cotton candy
I never saw him dead, I barely saw him alive…
But I feel his pulse in mine and that,
My sweet Ulysses, is the shady part
In the Venn Diagram
Where you and he coincide.
Pretense is such a fucking waste of time.
And time may not exist in quantum space
But it makes ripples in my cerebellum.
I’m not vying for your attention
I’m trying to prove your existence.
There is no reality without observation.
Our bits and bytes aren’t alive until they
collide, the name of the game is interaction.
Why pretend if the game isn’t fun?
Feel or don’t feel. Be on or off.
Children understand this.
Grown-ups, not so much.
Kids don’t worry about consequence
Their alive is in the moment
Splitting infinity with every blow of their bubblegum.
It’s too bad adults actually grow down as they grow up
With roots too gnarly to re-graft
With nerves fossilized into rock salt
For last chance tap dancing taphonomic fetishists to lick
Getting their peeping tom kicks performing autopsies
Rummaging through the dirt, looking for dinosaur fossils
In rabbit holes, pissing tempests into tea cups
Maybe they’ll finally find Jimmy Hoffa’s body
Oh Captain Glyndwr Michael, would you have led a better life
If you knew your death would have helped the Allies win the war?
Is this what we defeated fascism for?
People signaling their virtue online – one pride rainbow flag like at a time?
But I do feel, oh how I feel your space needle on my record
But what are you? Are you an iMac daddy guru? A Djinn of sin?
A lark who sings in the dark? A tinfoil moon that spoons sugar
In the medicine to make it go downtown?
Sometimes I believe you’re a satellite.
That blinking light I pray to that rises high in the night.
Circling the earth and watching us all stumble along
With your critical but indulgent eye, helping us
Find our roadmaps, lost keys & forgotten passwords.
I only speak two languages: Body & Spanglish
My passwords are easy to remember
They are derivatives of my favorite nouns – kiss, love, fuck, you
All you speak is mime, and I struggle to understand the rhyme of your reason.
Because your cosine doesn’t add up on my abacus, and my angles are all obtuse.