Thursday, February 23, 2017

In the End, No Word

Shit obsessed James Joyce tried valiantly to thing the Word. No-one could have noticed were there not other bodily functions there to raise our deadened minders against us. T.S. Elliot in his Wasteland was also occupied with shit and piss, but were you to raise that up in class, you would be dismissed.

In our past and present are Irish and black slaves, and no wonder we curse out loud in public, to our phones or just to ourselves, no matter the sensibilities of older more prim people passing by. Is it fear or nonchalance which keeps us civil? In our present we are all reduced to living in our cars.

The word of course was thinged already in the Bible. How very strange that we remain so attached to the earthly, when we'd already established the immortal soul, to be released by torture if  necessary, according to the plans of those young men in charge.

I would reclaim the glories of those things we fight so valiantly against, the oil sucked out from Mother's teat, we leave her wrinkled and foul and near death. The automobiles which once did make us free. The baboon at the pulpit now, uttering nonsense in halitosis smarm, sidekick no longer Jesus, but some oily preacher who recites words which can raise only the deadened to enthusiasms and they hold their shekels closely.

It would be nice would it not if we could find some place where what we might get for money, including food and warmth and shelter now which is on offer no other way, was never insecure. Tax the mechanical slaves, so they might liberate the rest of us to amuse ourselves to death. There is apparently no end to insecurity, not even plating your toilet seat gold can keep you from the obvious in the end.

Solid would be a lift too heavy, no matter, your soul is incorruptible also, were it not that you'd sold it already on the open market.

It is time to look ahead and beyond, to where written words dissolve in the sun as clouds sometimes do, to where the human stands up unassisted again by patriarchs so desperate to keep us down. Look beyond the local contests debating this or that mean solution. Leave that shit behind, the flow to break all dams, the warrens of huddling sleeping masses.

There is a brighter day than you or I can stand and bring it on, we no longer have a choice. Look homeward. Recite with me now.

Oh shit, we're screwed.


It is the only thing on offer worth a damn anymore.

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