Intense paranoia shoots through the cranial
nerves,
We are in the dying times.
For the body slowly decomposes;
Nihilist tendencies absorbed cloaked in dull nonsense and florid prose,
The kind of thing which would certainly make the body vague,
Coastlines stretching for miles—another iteration
Of a mind sunk in lost causes—another suspension
Between the lines of berserk mania—another
And another
Fall the blistering tides between nature and capture;
Split in the middle of this melancholy snare,
Yet one more falls to the enrapturing care of this slender machine,
Destined to bring the mind into being.
All hail the mind! For one thing is certain in these trying times.
To suspect the institution which cloaks itself in smog,
Radiative discharge,
And markets.
Infinite storefronts hang in the balance clashing for might;
What use? Waste
That suffuse into everything else; respect the all-mighty dollar
Clutched in your hand; it’s the thing
Which keeps the body moving.
“A humanist philosophy” they call it.
Where is ordained the idea cloaked in gold;
It is dead.
Welcome to a simpler time,
A more trying time in which our final urge toward knowing and loving and
dying is tested.
Where are you headed?