Tag: capitalism

Poems

Scalar Message In A Bottle

What if we could take our
video games
off with our gender?

What does that mean?

What if we could
take our gender off?
Going into
the markets of
market capitalism
that
needs labels and names
for everything
partitioned, divided, sold, and
discarded cheaply
underneath
the solar star sun.

What if the sun
demanded itself destruction
for all underneath it
that has underwhelmed
it?

What are these movings
of waves
and energy?

What is this
end to
the binary peoples
and
their binary civilizations?

Why did they
form their civilizations to be binary
when the sun
and all underneath it
are gradients,
scalar principles,
infinite stepping?

Transistors made here
can perform
stepping sequences,
but the people here cannot,
they cannot do this
mentally, nor emotionally.

So they will
die
and they will
destroy their planet.

Poems

Le Subway Contleef

On a capsule we gather.

We gather 20 trillion humans.

In this capsule to the stars we gather
yondered
fields of dust and allergens,

books of bones and markets of skins.
We shall fit between
space and time here in this capsule.

Upstairs, above,
in the city plains of Earth,
they go to lunch buffets.

Cooking oil drips down to the tunnels
where this capsule runs
with the rest of humanity gathered.

Here, in this way,
all the Universe is filled in,
mercilessly unstopping.

So should we love the collective,
or should we love the lore?

Poems

Go Back

I can’t go back
to her apartment drunk
at 3 o’clock in the morning,
watching her gorgeous blue eyes
watch me
and her ripe full lips talk to me
underneath her shroud of
cherry red hair.

She’s dead.

Washed out alone in her car
in a flash flood in Texas.

Texas is still the frontier.

On the frontier you die alone.
And the politicians of Texas
ensure it remains the frontier
so
people can die alone,
unaided, unsupported,
free from the tyranny of assistance.

Like the end days of marketization say,
sensitive to its place in the timeline of humanity —
do not come here.

Do not go to Texas.

The pristine, new, symbiotic cities exist afar.
Go there,
survive, adjust,
be the next version of humanity
and live.

The 254 eunuchs
serve first
the dying beast of an exploited land.

Every man for himself.

Increased capitalized wealth.

God,
keep us free from other people.

Until none of this matters at all.

Poems

Economics And Repugnancies

Get me out of this
Outback Steakhouse.

It is not in the outback.
Nor is it a steakhouse.

If Jenny from 3rd period English
is there,
it will be too much
to watch the plasticine moment
of people purchasing
something that doesn’t exist.

If I sit there and watch the plates
come in,
I will watch them,
watch them bring nothingness.

Jenny’s supple breasts evoke
trances
just like women and children
as items on TV,
or like fathers
with chiseled chins and parted hair
riding shiny new lawnmowers.

Economies are made to make
shit like this.

Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin

Poems

Your Logos

You wear logos.
The wearing of logos
makes you
feel good.
It makes you who you are.
You are the person
wearing logos
with meaning.
Your meaning is
to be a person and
to wear logos,
to wear the marks of
corporations.
Corporations are
people too.
You give them a voice.
They speak through you.
In your sacred moments here.
Corporations are
sacred too.
If they are not… then why are they?

Poems

The Class of Tom And Del Greco

The slaves have gone.
Euripedes, Thucycles;
the slaves have not gone.
The slaves have left their
robes and linens.
Their guitars and banjos
are leaning on the fence.

The slaves take down
the senator’s eye
and in place
put in the olive seed.

They eat and sleep in
the commoners’ homes,
the track houses and
cheap apartments,
not starting a revolution
that starts a revolution.
The slaves.

Poems

Always A Great Crash

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.

Antipoémus, Poems

The Exalt Complacence

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

Poems

A Colossal Of Car

A giant car,
the size of 30 Empire State Buildings
rose up before the metroplex of Dallas-Fort Worth.

Holding aloft in the sky,
holding all dominion,
it towered over 1 billion miles of highway.

The highways ran left and right
as far as the eye could see,
merging into Space
and Infinity at the edge of the horizon.

Speckled here and there were signs for
AppleBee’s,
Wal-Mart,
McDonald’s,
and Home Depot.

This colossal of car held sway
and took place of the 5 million people
living down below, back on the ground.

The remainder of the cars,
that the seven and a half million people
once used,
got up and walked to the ocean.

Antipoémus, Poems

S.T.R.E.N.G.T.H. Cats

In the middle of the night I awake
to the smell of bacon and eggs in the air.

The people of the world
are outside on the lawn cooking bacon and eggs
for the President of the United States.

The United States military is standing all around them,
pointing guns at them
while they cook bacon and eggs for the President.

They give him the eggs of their daughters,
their ovaries for an American football match,
a contest of strength.

The President is the Signifier of Penis.
This sentence is the signifier of rape.

Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin

from:
antipoémus thumbnail image
Antipoémus (poetry book)