bain my bane

(or four core tits)

for ol tee es ee

((or get rid of your idealisms, idealists, this is the bain, the global village: its here))

claustrafuckia

everythings here, right under your armpit, every one equally real, legitimate, final, like marriages, the christian horror, its makeup, the affability hurts as much as the madness, we cant help each other by sleeping together, the tomb is in every smile, its the middle ages, you dont choose when to go public i do, i dont choose when to go public you do, love is my booze booze is my love, wired very wired or wired, it goes as slow as marriage, like a marshmallow thats good for you but still a marshmallow, its the schizoid seductive obnoxiousness thats everywhere, why you cant sleep with it, like sleeping with a hindu god with five thousand heads and a thousand cunts and so many arms it would blow the fucking universe up, india is here you moron, stuffed up your nostrils with extra shit as a bonus:  spiritualize the fucking galaxy and everything is good dammit the christians were right but in all the wrong ways

the stupidity of mysticism, everything is mysticism

unable to remain detached enough, like trees, detached enough, like trees:  i emphasize global you emphasize village ok, i dont transgress you until you transgress me and the reverse is true and aint that delightful, so many codes, like a galaxy with telephones, were all as smart as each other in that special way, what you mean by youre as intelligent as me is that youre an aristocrat which in nowspeak is a princess, some false ones some true the usual:  prove yourself  i expect awareness all the time you expect ... its all so tiresome, the objective subjectivity, the incarnate mysticism, no wonder those freaks just wrote about it and killed themselves, fucked fucking into god yet all those parisian idiots, just a necessary response, the mirror funhouse (but ok, now, back to the business of whateveritiswedo ...:):the circle of        ([{|and people sing along to that? dont they realize what theyre singing to?)]}| mysticisms far more fucked than the mystics told us:  you never get there, like a bodhissatva, there is no there only here and thats it and thats what pulls the gun and what americas resisting fly you fools said those winged things of our midnights and this is it, the ideal of no-ideal, what you say you practice on your mats and with your gavels and with your tears barbed and barbied kenned and kinned and kind, you know your kind of your kind how kind we are to our kind who are kind to us amen but no amen and so we go like marmite in the cupboard or a girl with flowers in the meadow in monet or milk commercials or what we cant say because it too much resembles what the mystics wanted in their trains and nuclear reactors, in their stupid cells, like ours, just painted different, this their point, our different paint, the same old craving, like the cravings like the cravings like the cravings like the cravings like the cravings like the ...

alice was right (again)

you dont say enough articulations below the articulations, you say too much, and the below and the too are birds of prey  i dont have money i just have the appearance of money and i can have the appearance because of the knowledge and knowledge and money are squabbling sisters, litigious, bound, you have to throw out both, you think you want to just throw out money or knowledge or whatever name you give it but, the names, the church is in the sewer and youre all losers and you say too much and you say too little and the earths victorious and youre an ape

            i need to be surrounded by calm people im too intense but ... fuck ... you all want the same thing ... (call dentist and parents) ...

            its a cult no its mcluhan its a bubble no its the future its a compound no its a meadow its a its a magicland no its mars its fucked up no you are

 ... so the only difference between us seems to be that language is slipperier for me, no, slipperier in a different way, for me, for me, than you, i think, which is why i write like this and you dont or you dont let people see or you dont let people see in this way, and language isnt word, some thing, but itself and so unnameable (though full of names) youre all christians, these words forever on a cross:  lewis & alice were prophets:  words are eggs, this the collapse of patriarchy:  the humpty dumpty alice duo crucifies god on itself in itself and rolls along, cracked, broken, it doesnt matter, once an egg always an egg, in the beginning was the egg and the egg was with dog and the egg was ... glory is an omelet ... its no slipperier than what i say it is ... if i can make anything mean anything it’s slippery ... and this is what should be said as youre lowered down, through the looking glass, our liturgy, more vatic than nietzsche, its all the rage ... slide, slide, slide slide down with me on rotten glass and monsanto carrots and a barrel of monkeys or giraffes or ... what is it anyway, wit?, another flower shop? a coffin in a daffodil, traffic in bombay? you know it, raging cunt, that funky name given you by the downthere spirit, euphemized as gaia or a song, you know it, christians, in the nails, sitting on your shelf, crack up, crosses are for graveyards, thats what the eggs are for ...

            and its whatever you want it to be, like an elephant or an alice, sand or a lover

and here it still is, like some four quartets that want to be written, dragged across time to be whate ...

            dumped in this toilet, ours, the one we clean, two thousand and thirteen, it shall be flushed:

flush flush flush twenty times a day

that little act keeps the dentist boob away

but what they dont tell you as they fuck your teeth

is that its act five and youre a hunk of death(oops that didnt work_)

overeasy

                        over to you how am i supposed to write the future  ﻕשּׂ_l ^{(the past did a lousy job)}

^{[there should be a chinese character preceding the hebrew character; blogger seems to censor it ...] [this is not part of the poem] [maybe it is]}