Showing posts with label Open Letters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Open Letters. Show all posts
DEMIURGE by Case Wagenvoord
Gooor-geee,
Thunderbird and toking—Jesus I love them!
Earth spinning,
wailing my prick to the heavens
the demiurge Jehovah did embrace me
and joined me to the St. Vitus’s Dance of the free and the mad,
spinning spin in the putrid green glow of the screens blinking
on the pale faces of the crazed made wise,
pumping their keyboards in a frenzy of abstracted passion
‘til they spunked the milk-maid evil
of the brain-decayed intellects
to explosions of blood and the viscera glowing in the vacant stares
of the pinched-faced powerful farting not flames but platitudes
as their manicured fingers squeezed truffles out of road kill
to the rattle of abstract equations made elegant,
as the broken and the shattered sing praise
to the greater glory of the demiurge praising the martyr’s death
as he suffers the little children into the purifying flame
ripping open their wounds with his nails
that their blood might sanctify the holy ground of battle
to the dry chants of formula and policy,
consigning the dead to the glory of the Homeland
as the scalpel of peace cuts away the rot of the old,
slicing to the sound of a little child at play,
then a blinding flash and a red smear and a torn sneaker on a sidewalk,
to the boom-boom symphony played in the techno-fetish dawn
of the new age of the St. Vitus Dance of the free.
moi
A poem by Case Wagenvoord.
DANSE by Case Wagenvoord
O, children!
Don’t you know growth
is but a dance of death,
a slow march towards
the grave?
The Devil’s Bell Curve
of ascent, apogee
and decline
‘tis but a neon glare
telling us
decline is ascent;
decay, perfume.
O Children,
don’t you recognize
your death?
Poem by Case Wagenvoord
IT'S A WONDERFUL TIME TO BE ALIVE
“It’s a wonderful time to be alive, George.Nothing stimulates like madness.”
The mad gardener looking to dig a hole
A mad scientist searching for the unknown
The mad teacher ranting `bout Shakespeare
And the mad artist striking on violent veneer
Madness stimulates madness
Violence begets violence
Poverty consumes poverty
Humanity cultivates humanity
Yet, of all the mirrored tempers; tyranny
Tyranny inflames tyranny
Mollycoddles the wealthy
And smothers the needy
In all dreadfulness shall those mad-thrown lie
In their slipshod crypts of ruin
Swilling from the inky spring;
A ruse, a fake, a farce… a king
Nothing stimulates like madness
Not even itself
(Open Letters to George W. Bush Opening Madness line.)
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OPEN LETTERS TO GEORGE W. BUSH
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Your Baghdad surge is a stroke of military genius. It will surely be the ejaculant of victory. The English poet John Donne foretold you when he wrote, “...therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.” Believe me, George, the bells will reverberate your name through out the eons, such is your infamy.
Greatness never errs, and you confirm your greatness every time you peer into the yawning jaws of defeat and see only victory. You inspire us with your grit, the grit that irritates and blurs your vision, allowing you to see what no other man can see.
Lead on; lead on! We who are the coalition of the stoned are sprawled in our gutters, cheering you on with our whiskey voices as tears pool in our red-rimmed eyes.
Your admirer,
Belacqua Jones