The Schizo-Stroller

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.

Your mum’s a bit
easy Keele 23,
8 of spades.

You say they are just words.
Or are they unjust words?
And so…
If you get that signifying joke
Then…
How can they be
Just words?

The constant refrain, every statement, of a language that intends, due to a prior dogmatic, unquestionable, authoritarian prejudice on making me permanently invalid. The ignorance and the shame.

Is this koan sacred?
Is this koan scared?
Whatever, we are scarred by it.

Is this Crone sacred?
This Crone is scared.
Whatever, we are scarred by her.

Is this Creon sacred?
This Creon is scared?
Whatever, we are scarred by him.

Cold cave, cold intimacies, cold comfort.

I don’t have the time or the crayons to explain this to you.

The first missing formation
The first myth in formation
The first misinformation

Let us take it all in with a pict tour
Let us take it all in with a pitcher
Let us take it all in with a picture

Because of the belief
he was banished
But the belief did not permit an outside
So he became a non-person in a non-place.

They worshipped the all-knowing,
the answer that couldn’t be questioned.
Everything was true
and he was not permitted.

He was to be forever witnessed,
under close minded observation,
by authoritians without authority.
Denied his individual freedom,
Denied his right to be.

Wolf-head Azazel
That Lot that is to be removed.
Homo Sacer.

In the name of the Father,
of she who can neither be blamed
nor named
as she was the Lot for the Lord,
the good sacrifice.
The good daughter,
Eve,
the Martyr.

So Salome Bentham,
daughter of Tantalus,
which film shall
we watch tonight?
Atonement?
Or the Wizard of Oz?

Life is noisy.
It is death that is silent.
When you hear moaning
You are hearing people living.
Silencing them,
Because you have judged them
As not appreciating life,
Is your death sentence.

Although due to your faith
You would willingly bowdlerise
Even the workings of my own mind,
my inner sanctum.
I have to say that despite this,
I find your traditions and tyranny,
Your linguistic censorship,
Quite quaint.
Were you more honest though,
You would accept you’re a-dick
And stop saving yourself through saving me.

Five thousand no man is
an island salad dressing and grilled
velocirapture stake.

Making a meal out
of evangelist accelerationism

…and other more secular spirit
of capitalism elective
affinities. End times, end times, bro.

They usually hunt in packs.