When will the markets fall?
The ghosts of the Palatine know
this.
The futile obsolescence is
faith.
The pillaged and raped tomorrow
being the rich in this hour
with their orange groves.
The ghosts of the Palatine know
this
and yet they build more skyscrapers
in New York City
where the water is rising
and will rise before the migration
to space is possible
and the fiends of eternity will
perish.
Tag: banking
A river runs through my ass,
a ball of worlds.
Pissing and shitting,
a Neanderthal of time.
A ball of worlds. The owner of words.
Perhaps a turd.
An invitation to intellectualism.
A turd. A toilet.
A turd and a toilet,
I dig for survivors.
In the face of things
I again survive,
even watch the sunrise,
my farthest Laura of the Petrarch.
The intellectualism hast not survived,
I am Son of Man.
Amended. Amended.
A toilet. A toilet.
– from Antipoémus
Capitalism is addiction.
Yes.
Yes.
Yes, it is.
Hierarchal Order
Rulers
Dominion
Eloquent Poetry
Penises
Non-Inquisitive Loyalty
Subservitude
Individual Wealth
My-Way-Or-The-Highway
Narrative
Symbolic Order
Ownership Of Resources
– Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
from:
Antipoémus (poetry book)
We’re talking about a freedom
from money and power.
What do you mean?
Blank look.
We’re talking about a freedom
from money and power.
Looks at TV.
I don’t understand you.
I gotta go.
I’ll talk to you next week.
Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
We’re here
on the outside
close to clean air.
The green, blue, and gray air.
The beige tones in between.
The air of reds and greens
and browns in the colder
times of year.
The shifting things you want;
we’ve got them.
We shift them.
We shift you.
You want luxury, vacations,
wealth, and freedom.
We’ve got you.
You’re in our eyes;
your hope, your money.
– Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
I’ve gotten close to the people
who have things.
I stayed.
They left.
I’ve wanted things all my life.
Those stingers.
I got close enough inside the auditorium.
Close enough to vibration.
Yet, I still keep wanting.
My father did.
Is there any other way to live?
This is the best there is.
Things.
The other night was sacred for me,
I got close to what they have,
what I could have,
what I want.
I saw them inside the presentation hall.
What will I do next to justify myself,
to partition the unified and the endless?
Should I pour beans on a counter
and count them,
show up at a specific place and time
to do this?
Maybe I could use a computer?
I could ask for water too.
Or worship symbols, references, messages, anything.
I could give myself a name and
announce it to a mirror.
A particle can be the same in 2 places
at once,
that’s why Capitalism was designed
by Hitler,
in his image.
Because there’s nothing wrong with unlimited wealth or resources.
A particle, or a world, or even a person
can be the same in 2 places at once.
I kill God today,
“Odd”, it said my father,
“You live, but not in the House of Vacations.”
The jungle we can bend
with the credit cards we’ve rented
to make it to L.A.,
the journey to the Capitol
of the Good-life’s consciousness.
To see God bathe
as He who has His form and penis.
The Murderers by His pool!
By His devoted architecture!
“Odd”, it said my mother,
you live but not in my house,
for you, my son, have killed God today.
Suddenly there was a gas.
People ran out into the street to
celebrate the banks.
“The banks are here!
They are not leaving!
They have our money!”
They cheered loudly and started
collecting money.
They placed the money in a big pile
and had Big Mike bring his flatbed
truck over
to haul the money away to the bank.
The money has intrinsic value that
gives inflation meaning.
A lot of people had Kool-Aid stains
around their mouths.
They were yelling, giving each other
high fives.
Big Mike honked his horn as he drove away.
Who took the money?
Suddenly there was a flash and a loud noise.
Everyone collected themselves and their items.
They went inside their houses
and pulled down their shades and turned
on their TVs.
The Super Bowl was on.
Lots of really cool television
commercials shined that night.
A lot of people had Kool-Aid stains
around their mouths.
Everyone has to pay taxes.
You can’t cheat death, not with that
level of personal worth.
And Jesus, Leroy, isn’t someone always
watching you?
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