The Schizo-Stroller

He’s a propaganda vore for
Cambridge Analytica propaganda lore,
swallowing it wholesale.
Then when caught with his trousers down
passing the buck fast.
Like Johnny Depp in Dead Man,
believing he’d get a job at the end
of the train to Dachau.
I am trying to remember what
Gary Dale Farmer would say,
or was that in Ghost Dog?
Pass the RZA
Pass the herb
Put a smile upon your face?
Or did you just try to out
dub produce King Tubby?
It’s an act of creation,
Man-made
Not a genetic fallacy
Of how you’ve always behaved
Always followed.
I told you
I don’t smoke.

Cybernetics is an old science
Whether hieroglyphics
or memes.
Or the Behavioural Unit
Nudge brew crew.

But I wasn’t brought up
with an authoritarian demand
and so can learn quick.

What belief made you
A victim of the nudge
Thinking passing is all that
There is
When Wayne Rooney
Has the skills
Cos he dribbles.

But in the end
There were at least two narrators
In stories from Africa’s Legba and Esu
To Choronozon in Gaiman’s Sandman.
And so it goes
whether we talked Icarus
Or Bellerophon, we knew
Nemesis’ nemesis was Hubris
Not the Trickster,
Hel’s sometimes sister
Or at least so the Blacksmith’s say.

For after all it was Daedalus
The Artful contriver
Icarus’s father who whispered in the ear
of Theseus, master of language
After learning the mistake he made with his own son
When in the labyrinth…
Do not do what anyone demands of you
Do not believe anyone
And whatever you do
Do not do what you are told.

But he then left one more tale.
A conundrum of Kantian proportions
A second critique of pure reason.
If we are duty bound to tell the truth.
And if…
Satan is a sadist
And God forgives.
Who was it who bound us?

Ask Loki sometime,
In between drips of serpent poison.
and with such agony
Bernini’s St Theresa
groaned in ecstacy,
As the demon murmur
Came with increasing complexity

Still if this is the reason
I am going to hell
And as someone once sung
“If there’s a hell below
We’re all going to go”
And if Jesus died for our sins
As St John of the Brethren
Of the Free Spirit suggested
If we don’t sin,
We are letting the man down



When Hitler compared decadent art
To that thought worthy of the Uber-Mensch
So did the fallible mortals
Go in droves to see what the decadence was all about

So hey, like the Song Thrush
Let’s do it with such stylings
It will never be sung again

Like Great Grandfather
Or whomever was buried under that mound
Who’s name was forgotten
If he ever had one
But worshipped nonetheless,
Whispered about Nanna Nelly
The elephant
Who packed her trunk
And said goodbye
To the circus lions
And their venal pride

It’s Mel and Colly,
The invisible cunts.
The Beth
of the Unknown Verneinung.
There’s always at least two.
The girls from another planet
Cumming to blow my world.
Boys will be boys.
Hands up if you’re not the only ones.
It’s all fucked up.
I’m not
your mum!
*you’re.

Plays be!

I believe in Kleist!

Get you, and your war machine!

*you’re a war machine

*you’re is a war machine

A new revamped Schizo Stroller blog will be rising from the ashes!