The Umbrage of Diversion: the Internet 8/26/13

Show me a speaker belittling the rabble of the crowd over the jester-pawn clowning for umbrage

I will stand silent until the waters rise around us as the icecaps melt in apathetic time

I am the walrus drowning in the demands sleeping in meditative cocoon guilty

As those too tall to climb off their steeds glaring at the reflective cinema

The circus was not the bearded woman or the devourer of fire

But the sideshow of the rubes sardonically pointing out the obvious flaws in the routine

Proselytizing their unbelief in why such uproarious clamor is unsuited for public obsession

So in the deed is done

The gawk-sheep have eaten mutton while advertising veganism

The tomfoolery churns the honey boo-boo butter cream

Until a marionette-nation is looking for an unbeliever to rant against

The bullhorns yarn until words become undecipherable,

“I cannot believe people watch this trash! How despicable! 

I did not see it the first time, but I went back and looked and it was horrid! 

Did you see how pusillanimous this confabulating mob is addicted with this storyline?

Why will not this incessant addiction to this fleeting reality pass on to what is truly important!”

Oh the kindred devil of popular avarice has mixed its blood with the brood

The sentimental virus has become the energy to magnetize the conceptual social identifier

That each link is identifying as superior to the jagged iceberg peak of ignominy

That has become the mouse’s child pop-star turned sexpot in desperation as the Lolita-fantasy

Has become blatant where before the eggshell of innocence beguiled the soccer mother

To send her darlings into the lion king’s den while the older brother’s masturbated at the thoughts

Of the posters up in his sister’s room to dissect this conundrum as if unspinning Biblical pornography at

Lady Madonna’s Achy Breaky Heart, Baby One More Time, Party in the USA of why TV-father sported

The mullet in the first place and the little sister named her vibrator Justin when she let her nickers down

So the wolves of ridicule have found the stitching to see that little-red riding hood is a sheep underneath

The P.T. Barnum is not that you will like the show, but that you will look,

Not that the magician wants you to believe the illusion, but that you will be the illusion

Damning one’s mind to the fulcrum of the science: distraction

For in the twerk-hooch there is a pearl of wisdom the carpenter got out that Nashville oyster

Every Beverly Hills 90210 housewife, swamp person, teen-mom, Hard Knocks, Hulk Hogan,  

Steroid injected and snorted cocaine line crossed is that amusement equates to diversion

To make you feel happy in complacency with your own life so that potential riots are quashed

After the hoarder has held the garage sale and the biggest loser has lost the weight

After the survivor has been voted off the island or big brother surveillance become commonplace

The healthcare, the public safety budget, the prison grid, the nutrients in the drive through

The contents of your pantry, bank account, and gas tank are appreciated all the more

Because at least you are not them; and so the floats pass one after the other

Blurb after car accident, staring, drooling at the pixels keeping the hose crimped

To transpose sufficient resources as scarce to drive up panic, profit, and 

Demand for the unnecessary like a Syrian missile strike to drive up Lockheed Martin’s stock price  

Are we not all in the parade calling out nudity?  Who is speaking?

Goo Goo g-chew on:

Who wishes you to remain perpetually distracted and from what?

Mirror of Despise

In the specter of beliefs I feel the expectation of my despise

In the logical probability of indifference I often manifest a presumption of circumspection

Hovering behind the looks, words, tones, and guises of interplay

I imagine befuddlement at how bizarre others view me, despite realizing their apathy and better tasks

This is, as I know, self-projection that I believe myself to be odd

My foundational comprehension of normality is skewed

As I assume the vast majority of the world’s population perceives

Atheism, contrarianism, introversion, and thirst for the empirical to leave me the helmet of the outsider

To adorn in battles which do not exist for the tangible, but in the sentimental

Spears in the side of men and railroad spikes are hammered to require the sight and sound

I feel like the world hates me for being who I am, which as a raised Catholic

May be my doubt that I am or am not destined for perdition

Based in no small part on this internal constitution

So therein dances hypocrisy like an electric-chair necklace to sport as totem

I ponder if whatever I tempt certitude for could crackle

Like an octogenarian’s leg as he steps on the ice float to suicide at sea for the good of the tribe

Traditional folklore as to what has happened in time versus the stories told

Twinkle like boreal sky-lights phasing in a fazed man to sprinkle tap-water and find salvation

As the drops drip follicles and ivory garments guessing who is there to explain

That all these eyes glaring are as equally confused, rather than biased towards one’s nonexistence

As if I owe a debt for breathing oxygen that could have been utilized for another

Lungs inflate as repetitious thefts and an engorging debt commensurate with hatred

As each moment expands so does the differential between the measure of the ecumenical desire

Of the populace that it would be easier on all involved if I would just go away

Quit speaking, writing, trying, wanting, believing, thinking

Silence the horde and plummet the casket into the fallow ground

So that nothing is emitted to double the damnation permeating the countryside

I recognize the apathy and in a way this imprinted anger is like a prayer

That some of these people would care, as I cannot resolve my days with her or the hers before her

So the globe has become a sea of doppelgangers mouthing such craggy- speech hurling boulders

I am exhausted and hunger for softness; a nesting ground

Stoned to life, bludgeoned with faith’s reply so that all is numb

The remaining inkling of wanting pops in the correspondence to remind me I am still alive

That after all is what pain is for.

Rawest Calling, a High Five for Sigmund

Inside each of us is an evolved animal

We exist because iterations of the gene-carrying animals

Acting obediently to their primary directive to replicate

Was achieved in the successive existence of our ancestors

The hierarchy of our older brains to our higher-functioning mammalian cortex

Is like a high-rise tower constructed on a foundation of this evolved instinct

On a base level we exist to copulate

We hunger on a raw expanse to grasp another human and thrust or have thrust

A penis ejaculating half-chromosome-allotment celled spermatozoa out from our

Or into our bodily cavity to engage in mitosis and meiosis with a paired

Half-chromosome celled egg traveling or not traveling through a fallopian tube

Into a uterus to be attached wall-in and give tribute to our genes

Through a completed cell burgeoning life

However direct or indirect whether we be hetero or homosexual variations of this calling

Are the mooring of our organic experience and found parallel to every beating heart

In the expanse of existence dancing to time

So in our dreams and subconscious mindsets

Our Id wishes to unleash in raw uninhibited action 

To fulfill this purpose; it is masked under the societal civilities of:

Clothing, monetary acquisition, aberrations from expected norms given context

Driving patterns, communication tone, facial camouflage in either dilation of pupil

Or application of lipstick to emulate a vulva, we are in constant dance of the peacock

And song of the nightingale; humans absent an alpha predator outside our species

Have traded nature’s male fashionable adornments of attraction to our females

As in birds, beetles, ruminant mammals and such the male is simultaneously more likely

To be noticed by both predator and mate and therefore the algebraic balance of genetics

Computes based on offspring birthed calculating in the eaten fathers that do not see their progeny

Our social couth is our greatest panoply of disguise like the male cardinal’s libidinous crimson

We set sex to the sidelines and frontlines depending on hour, audience, and likelihood

The entire industries of alcohol, sports, and fashion are primarily sexual

Sports Illustrated and Vogue are in a cloaked vein pornography

So as not to obfuscate the point; when one is to fuck, give in completely or not at all

One’s ego is better for a full theater of banished inhibition acting as intimate with the root of ego

Unshackled naked and core as one can muster to do exactly what one’s ego attempts to communicate

Through dreams, Freudian slips, passions and the eradication of ennui

Language, ration, logic, explanation are often cumbersome self-made hurdles for this raw craving

It is the very instruction of the gene; nothing else is required in a mutually desired healthy environment

Common volition to the experience is non-negotiable and once surpassed and held throughout

A brain is better to invert its traditional gravity

The cortex is to be repressed and demoted for the supremacy of the inner reptilian brain

No language, sub-textual interpretation, only in the present now, action shall be given the podium

In this transposition of our neurological order of operations the mathematics attempting to subvert

The normal polarity of our waking hours is quelled in a manner of feeding in these moments

We are comprehensively nourishing our being from the definitive to the abstract

Surface to cellular and ignoring the potential energy for such rawest callings

Entirely or in crucial phases or interfaces; misaligning the congruence of our thunderous

Internal sexual quakes will result in a distorted compromised structural foundational integrity

To our person until we recognize the vast expanse of metrics calculating around and through us

To which at minimum we are flirting, coercing, lusting, or discerning potential energy with in

Common computation with every single god-damn post-pubescent face we see 

Yet our armor is mathematics in the social shame and embarrassment of acknowledgment

So in the inverse of these magnetic forces one wishing to be acted upon

The other repressing said action based on the outer stimuli, calculated likelihood, attraction

Both mutual and singular are in some manner in perpetual competition

Masturbation, fantasy, imagery, and other synthetic replication of the dopamine and serotonin

And other associated neurological chemical releases created by actual carnal interplay

Can feed the physics of the matter in some cases for a lifetime,

But whether in reality or through beguiling simulacrum, our being must be fed 

Our depression, angst and counterbalances of modern society are so commonly a result of ignoring this inner theater; Frustration in pretending that we are something different than what we are

With haughty accords too proud to grunt, sweat, or present a heightened rate of respiration

Erect a clear inaction of hungering to take or be taken is a crippling damnation of our core

From the taboos of parental approval to incestuous siblings to the Lolita rapes

The darkest crannies of forbidden gardens equate as gates most humans easily keep distance

Yet inside their border-post spectrum we comprise a society juggling

Nuclear weapons, Holy books and rituals, prophylactics and abortions, hijabs and payots, Hummers with truck-nuts, taxidermy and athletic trophy rooms, Paris runways with leopard skin jackets and Rogaine commercials, People magazine covers, weaves and homophobia, Redtube and Pintrest.com, Pfizer’s 60 minute ad sponsorship, testosterone replacement therapies and Brad Pitt appearing like a pensive gay-vampire to hock female perfume, St. Basil Cathedral in Red Square and the Eifel Tower, the LifeTime movie network and ESPN;

We are led to an innumerable account of pairings as male and female offering the illusion that if not by the chance of such jostling of cells we could be another gender entirely and in some cases like Bradley into Chelsea Manning be set upon the world stage for having one set of instructions go to the psyche and another to the gonads;

We are each in our natural way at sport with our rawest calling to take action, interpret, make logical connection between how we treat members of the opposite gender based on our relationship with our opposite gendered parent and see that cascade into whom and how we copulate;

These are the gravest, grayest, intoxicating, and often repulsive reflexes built into our psychological codification as the idea of processing through the rivalries of competition with common-gendered parent so subtly layered and natural to like dreams not be taken at literal face-value;

For a cortex to be usurped and inverted such misrepresentations are required for one to be afforded the physical recuperating veil of sleep that we layer ourselves so often with the elixir of taboo,

In our dreams we are made into murderers or murder victims, caustic rebels or witnesses to bizarre realities where gravity is literally bending before the character we believe to assume

So that is exactly what our base of Id is demanding; the fundamental assumptions of life are

Cleared like a hand brazenly wiping the menagerie of ornaments from the tabletop of thought

So that nothing remains but the foundation in which our Id is now lord

Reigning a dictatorship absent of language, explanation or culpability

If one is to see this drive within oneself, without the reflex of criticism and ignominious penitentiary

One can live in balance with what one is as an organic and philosophical being  

And that is I imagine one reason why so many of us fuck with the lights off or dimmed,

To approach such mental nudity, shed of our cortex, and level the platform

So if one is to walk through our daily life with this as a more prominent consideration as how one views every billboard, model name on the rear of a vehicle, pant, hairstyle, vocal inflection, mist of sarcasm, lingering investment of time in the continuance of a line of sight, pause in breath,

One can reduce complication, mitigate disillusionment that some measures are only about sex, others an entanglement to a degree, and some entirely devoid of such and by that vacuum entirely sexual by the nature that any antonym serves as a buttressing neighbor in the circle of an interconnected spectrum to be defined by what it is not when one extreme meets its complement as the ends of a realm find union

This balances in the finite number of any one being in that our numerator is identical in absolute value to our denominator.  We are simultaneously a potential of all of these variables; in that this could be us if given chance and volition; so in our greater acceptance of this fact;

The better we accept ourselves and our world to live in peace, love and interconnection.