Poem I wrote while my other hand-eye read Jean Genet

from jg
that squealer queerer
stool-pidgeon
answerer ghoul birdfaced,
buffoon of quandaries
from soul-brigade

that rat,
that squanderer
hides-squeezing a sphinx into dark
invisibility his ass

 a conjurer of mysteries

he is equal to
a bird that eats carrion fish
sings carrion

fish from boats of Barbary lined with

white walls of prisons

guarding the sea from the thieves who would steal turquoise

cannon birds, noble swine and turquoise stone

are not meant to be eaten
by the laws
of the priests who pray law into sunlit air
of dead crossroads
hoodlums’ holy halakha

cynicism is not subversion. It is cynical to make the confusion of these two, the error is always intentional. 

 

QUIERO UN DEBATE PUBLICO CON ESTA TARADA!

thoughts for the day

A blog is a public diary, a diary cruelly ripped open, exposed and nailed to a cedar for the passing villagers to read out loud.

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Numbness and the normalcy of decadence, a decadence that is also too numb and terrified to be wildly cruel or amoral, is worse than the cruelties of war: it is the order that comes into existence after the greater cruelty has already treated the world as a slate that can be started anew, after the intensification of a violence perpetrated by lies, by a military, bureaucracies on tank-wheels and the right and careful engineering and funding.