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  • artahammer

SCOWL

Updated: Dec 26, 2022

I watched as the simplest minds of our vapid culture found themselves consumed over the least complex assignment presented in the endlessly brutal and craven University of God where the perpetual test is our only constant, our failure of it the given by which we

proceed with vainglory and pointless self-adulation,

where unfettered thought has turned to thinking unfettered by reason or ethical requirement, the bellowed pronouns meant to compensate for the decided absence of

rational sense, or meaning deeper than the voice offering it’s blathering emptiness, where volume and frequency obscure substance noted by its utter oblivion in the face of screeching emotion and passion that provides no governor to the circular discourse, only bilious rancor upon fetid breath,

sig heil! sig heil!

where the dandy’s with their 40k Madison Avenue tailored sharkskin Armani bank statements wearing their mortgages upon their sleeves in the constant upstagement of their ravening likeminds, squeal against the iniquities levied upon them as theirs’ is a suffering equal to the cruelest enslavement of the hearty human spirit ever levied upon the humblest human, where the proclamation of worth is of grander essence than the appreciation of the splendors of wealth or the basic understanding of privilege from on high, not from a high, as the cratering nation steeped in its perilously owned greatness rends itself asunder under the assumption that it deserves what it gets unless what it gets was not what it sought, cowed in blonde fealty to the witless Landlord-in-Chief of the stolen truth, the manufactured truth, the lost truth,

where the old venerable words were hacked and hewn into oil can kindling as the dejected congested battled for prime ground with the expectant expectorant hockers, jammed up and jellied, sputum sluicing forth in barren laments of vacant portent, so underserving of the ill which befalls them and so ready to blame those of elsewhere tendencies, where it was they who caused all things to deteriorate in their desperate grasp for adulation at the cost of a future habitable to the readily enamored majority who vacantly recited back the ritual incantations driving the reputed dialogue between the supposed communicants, with their purported grievances,

where the statement of it acts as its irrefutable verity and conditional proof until the contrary statement drives the hard cover, the diversion, the misdirection, the failed responsibilities of the predecessor, and the innocence of the inheritor, where the inheritance costs the resource of a kingdom, the mad clawing at numerical superiority self-bequeathed, the good parts hiding behind the questions and endless refutations, where the numbers only exist upon a screen in an ever changing pixel wonderland of images to consume the viewer in a smarmy narcosis of relevance and deeper import than the You Tube cutery and Facebooking of individual intent providing the overt security apparatus a constant tab on the users movements, motivations, and sensations,

where fake news is challenged by fake facts from factually fake fucktards fomenting fundamental falsity fervently forever, stratification where it always lies, between those with it and the fools who think they can get some, not even it, just a piece, a taste, a little roll of the scabrous tongue across it with leering eyes and slavering lips, sure, a taste is all one needs, like smack, the first lick is free, then the costs accumulate, skyrocket, explode,

where the questions never asked hide and the answers never known disperse into the dairy air where the milk of human kindness has given way to the lactose intolerant and only the curious enjoy the butt honey from bees of stout constitution and butts of firm commitment and open inception,

where brain poison is lapped up as drops of that honey from the brackish irradiated sky slithering down the rust consumed rain gutters in high praise of its high nutritional content and constant sacrifice to the bigliest of things, where you slept with an illegal immigrant from a communist block nation with the speeches of Hitler on your headboard imagining you own memoires Whine Drumpf, where were those hands, those busy little hands when something other than self-gratification could have meant something, a virtue in a realm where the virtuous have become cowed into opinion sections for their unquestioned diversion from common thought and especially

where was your laughable little member when your daughter needed a father and not a boyfriend but you posed to tell us all you saw yourself as both and her choice was only

go along for a future of excess and attention – who wouldn’t take it where the sun didn’t shine for a few years knowing you are set for life if you stick to the script, the powerful script, which guides the national play and makes the show perform as expected, to function as per instructions -

where the nattering sickness expands from the tip of the pen to the tip of the tongue the only point made squirting drivel as from a hypodermic nozzle focused and deadly laying forth edicts of national consumption and rapine devastation indicative of a man who only

sees the future as his future, after he’s gone who gives a fuck?

where such a question is posited the only rational answer must be US!


Arturo Hammer 2/18/17 (Writing challenge to contemporize Ginsberg)


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