120712
03:11 cypher
--H.
P Lovecraft
"All
life is only a set of pictures in the brain, among which there is no
difference betwixt those born of real things and those born of inward
dreamings, and no cause to value the one above the other."
random
rogue
rage
no
privacy
Was I
born in the wrong time & place
or am I
merely in a bad dream causing rage towards
The
Thought Police, Inc. & US Patriot Act Rape?
Wishing
now I could remember exactly the sequence and time of reading Kafka,
Mencken, George Orwell, Ambrose Bierce “Incident at Owl Creek”,
Aldous Huxley “Brave New World”
may
have been before I could drive an automobile or die for draft dodgers
like Bill Clinton or George W Bush The events so significant the
above Governmental Agencies having my sperm count blood type current
pressure heart beat, urine and fecal analysis plus attendant probes
trailing invisibly as I masturbate watching mothers carnal play with
goats
“Oh
Gee Mom I thought I could play with myself in private?!”
“You
mean I'm on Fox Fucked World TV? Too!”
How
humiliating it this life become not merely cheek/jowl extremely rude
riding elevators The Cathedral of World Rape, Greed, Pillage, Burn,
Berserk, Amok, Outrage & Sons Inc., conveniently located
centrally A perfect target with which to Twitter Facebook Google +
the collective ideal representation; The United States of America of
thee I adoringly sing?
“In
God (the once all mighty holy dollar) Trust, l a geek gleefully
inserting his proboscis in my posterior no lubricant The Property
Manager orally raping my mouth while sodomizing my mind gleefully to
mindless die fly downwardly free fall sighing pleasurably GET ME THE
FUCK OFF THIS CHAOS MERRY-GO-ROUND NOW!
Falling
peacefully floating the sidewalk rising to greet my face slowly
thinking of the pigeons shitting upon my falling failing soul Odd a
reprise my three meetings with G. H. W. Bush how in touching him I
remember how vacuous G. W. Bush merely seen seemingly vicious by Dick
Cheney anally fisting his jaw speaking nonsense Putin's eyes mirrors
of my soul then flying out the Saudis who control Chase financing the
entire enterprise
Yes Mom
I have grievances. I'm wet can you dry me in the microwave? D'ya
think there is room for the the congress of baboons too minus tutus?
Before
you do, do you think my half-brother Stephen Norman Spratt will
psychologically abuse dad stealing any or all parts the life I wasted
putting him trough Maine Maritime instead of going to The Coast Guard
Academy tuition free plus pay.
Did you
know he would sexually assault and insult his then good friend my
adopted daughter with racial epithets? Or that he insured his
elephantine mothers death purchasing with the profit a lawn tractor?
Riding her, his naked porcine self spurring with spurs her forward
while frantically yanking his one testicle pagan penis. Her bridled
mouth pulled right then left as she mowed his four acre retirement
cottage in Maine where the manikin G. H. W. 'no more taxes!' equally
retired fully health insured guarded by Secret Service personnel
enough for a party plus Foreign Aid from Saudi Arabia lives. . . .Her
mouth yanked cruelly yet giggling jiggling the massive flab breast
swaying
“Where's
the beef son?”
I don't
really know but I have these visions poetical. Just thoughts; words
and rage my soul's song sung.
Maybe,
perhaps, maybe not; never/ever forgiven; the greatest expression of
love after gratitude.
“I'm
still wet Mom microwave me now”
. . .
were any person or politician actually harmed and before me dying I
would give them a cup of water and at their entrance into the true
Democracy -- death – hold their hand or body weep into their
witness the last and best friend seen before dying. My loyalty
behaved demonstrated; even my half-brother who I wish would change
his name
© 2012
by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved
