The Schizo-Stroller

Speculating,
Wildly.
During a period of apophenic flight.
To geschmad
like a meshuggah.
Sweet!

What’s the fuss?
Why won’t you accept
Our contradictory
Common sense?
We’re not authoritarians,
It’s just that you
Have to put up with it.
Poor us.
Getting upset
When the snowflakes
Answer back.

You can do what you like
As long as
You do what you are told,
And try to fit in.
And if you don’t…
It’s your own fault
You’re not free.

The tyranny of conscience
stems form
the failure of the charist to heal themselves.
And therein lies a contradiction.
The preservation of which is is a spiritual plateau
Where everything is true
And nothing is permitted
An aporic koan
Based on contradictions in Entäusserung

In zen
There is a koan
A double bind
Where the master holds a stick over his student’s head.
He says
“If you move I will hit you.
If you don’t move I will also hit you.”
The enlightened student refuses his master this right
And moves the stick away and stands up.

One should be able to stand up
And say, “I do not need healing”

The tyrant refuses to move the stick.
The poisoned charist.
The original sin.

In such a situation.
There is no alternative
But to fight.
All other roads
Are shut off.

If you believe
I believe in this stuff
You are more credulous
Than I am

L’inconscient
de la machine moules
avec le pomme frite
sur l’épaule
en raison de le désir
pour la belle âme

The nine-to-five
theses of the Protestant
work ethic,
nailed to the door
of the church
of striving.
Nine to Five
of Pentacles.

You might like to think were you to be whipped up by a mob it would be King mob, but you weren’t.
You might like to think were you to be whipped up by a mob it would be John Wilkes’ mob, but you weren’t.
You might like to think were you to be whipped up by a mob it would be John Reeves’ mob, but you weren’t.

You were whipped up by Rev. Lovejoy’s wife’s mob, and the remnants of your political integrity burnt with it.

I am not here to save you
Through your game
Of needing to save me.
I don’t need saving
And I don’t need you.

Ooh, look it’s Al’s lettuce patch in his allotment.
Let’s stamp all over them.
I don’t know why he’s upset.
It’s not my responsibility.
He was asking for it.

Weren’t the allotment gates locked?
Yes, but I climbed over them.
Weren’t there guard dogs?
Yes, but I fed them poisoned meat.
Weren’t there armed security guards.
Yes, but I killed them.
Then I stamped all over his lettuce.

But it wasn’t my responsibilty

He let us.

It’s his fault.