Thanks a whole fucking lot, DepSixFlags!
Outsider artist James Poulos wrote a psychoanalytic prose poem which appears to be about how badly he wants to trade his tats for tits. But in realtity, his poem is about how badly he wishes he were a robot with tits.
Enclosed below is his poem, Translated into its True Meaning.
- “women” → “robot”
- “liberal”,”gay” → “biological”
- “conservative”,”Republican”, “Christ” → “cyborg”
Sunday, February 24, 2002 9:12 PM.
This is not the place you hoped it would be.
Was it ever that place? Did it really happen?
Is this even pizza?
What can we hope for when pizza is involved, really?
We seek comfort. We seek company.
We seek the closure of a pie, even a failed one. We fail.
This is not pizza. This is not home.
There are shadows here, burned in by a slow florescent fire.
There was an opening here, once, a passage through.
But this is not your dream architecture. This is not pizza.
You must trace your own maps. You must cut your own pie.
You look at me like I’m the weirdo. Like I’m the asshole.
Look. This is not my pizza. This is not even pizza.
Were you not listening to me?
This was a passage between.
And you are late.
An essay by Jasper Bernes with all references to “The Internet” replaced with “Language.”
In the spirit of spontaneous group discussion, Jasper the Marxist Revolutionary deleted the following comment from his blog:
I’m genuinely curious about how you imagine “the revolutionary seizure of the means of production” would occur without violence. You do advocate “force” (how quaintly passive). You’re railing against the status quo. You’re calling for Action. You even use the traditional Revolutionary’s justification for revolutionary violence (“they’re worse than we are!”)
Well then! Shouldn’t you clearly discuss the violence you’re calling for in unambiguous practical terms? Because I would hope that your ad hominem attack of Stan’s wan cosmetic gradualism is based on your own clear concrete description of a practical alternative. Surely you wouldn’t be advocating Forceful Revolutionary Seizure of the Means of Production as a mere fashion statement? Surely not…
Unless your description of quiet pranks is in fact your full vision of the Force you call for?
Ways this is painfully amazing:
First of all, finding real live academic poets who actually quote the Grundrisse, and then do a little victory dance because they nailed it! “Ba-Bam! I just Quoted tha fuckin Grundrisse at you, bitch! Try not to cry too hard!” Wow…
Also finding a genuine Revolutionary/English grad student who makes a mashup Manifesto combining Society of the Spectacle with some 20 year old Hakim Bey essays, and then declares it a new moment in anti-capitalist resistance. “Hey gang, check it out! Poetic Terrorism!” It’s like watching the kids re-discover Jack Kerouac. So cute! I can’t wait for the Marxist version of Burning Man.
And having a brave culture warrior call for widespread social disruption. Indeed, call for the de-sterilizaton and re-politicization of Language Itself! But then he deletes a mildly taunting question from his blog.
Oh, academic poetry. Is there nothing you can’t make small and petty?
How are you today and how is life over there in your country? Am very happy to inform you about the succuessful transfer of that fund i told you that i will like to ransfer into your bank account sometime ago but due to ome circumstance you opted out of the deal. Perhaps you are dumbass? Is not for me say. i am like you, my friend, with the dumb and ass and such.
However in light of your stupids, i late found someone who helped me in the transfer, he is the CEO of RV PLATINUM SHIPPING SERVICE based in venezuela in the person of Mr Antonio Elortegui. You are familiar with the fillms of Mr Elortegui? i having many many DVDs with his essentials!
Meanwhile am on investment project in venezuela and i cannot forget your tireless effort then to help me succeeded in this transfer and i have decided to reward your kindness, even though you are dumbass. Henceforth, i left a cheque of (US$1.2m) one million two hundred thousand united states dollars under the care of my personal assistance Mr Peter Ebuka to send to you as soon as you contact him through his personal email address. Are you ready for his personal email address? Please get pen. His True Personal Email Address (i would not lie to you, of all people) is: firstname.lastname@example.org
Please tell him i asked you to contact him regarding the bank cheque i issued on your half.
In the main time I am going to be away from my email and wont ! be able to check my email box, as i will like to concentrate on my purpose of coming here to invest my money. You do care about money as much as i do then you will understandings that i am most busy. But if you so desire to speak with me you can reach me on phone with +5851525750. Let me know as soon as you receive your cheque so that we can both share in this joy of you having the cheque. Dumbass.
Thanks and have a nice day.
Barrister Frank U. Ajana
“So you’re swordfighting Scooter Libby.”
“What kinda swords?”
“EpeÃ©? No wait — sabre.”
“Fine. So you’re swordfighting Scooter. His bejeweled rapier has an evil oily sheen on the blade — one nick means slow death!”
“But after a long struggle, you finally get him backed into an ornate grotto in the basement of the Executive Office Building.”
“He can’t maneuver so well cause of his broken foot.”
“Right. You see your opening.”
“You lunge! He waves one of his crutches at you — a futile gesture. He is skewered.”
“His sword arm is pinned behind him against a life-size marble mermaid. He drops the weapon and falls to his knees. He looks up at you, helpless.”
“As I give the blade a gentle twist.”
“And gasping in pain, he gives you that sorta come closer last words kinda motion. So you lean in to hear what he has to say — ”
“The secret identity of Officer X no doubt…”
” — and he suddenly plunges a tiny dagger towards your neck!”
“One of those little triangular ones that you can hide in your boot. The kind with the sideways handle and the blade sticking out between your knuckles, so you can conceal it in your hand and then punch someone in the eye with it.”
“That’s my Scooter.”
“So he plunges a tiny dagger towards your neck. You catch the movement out of the corner of your eye, and dodge just enough so that he misses your jugular — ”
” — but the blade gets buried deep in the meat of your trapezoid.”
“Well fuck… So then what happens?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Aw, man. That’s bullshit.”
“Oh well. Empire was the best Star Wars movie. Maybe I get a robot shoulder.”
The case against Libby is strong. The trial will bring more focus on the Iraq lies. The investigation against Rove continues. Long forgotten details like the Niger forgery now get close attention. Conservative politics… criminalization…
Once it spring leaks, it can take a long time for a huge ship to sink. Tilting slowly into the water at a sickly angle, until in begins to dive under, it’s fat metal ass lifting into the air, propeller pointing at the heavens, unholy and doomed.
Until finally — at long last — nothing is left of the entire majestic edifice except a debris-filled froth and a field of floating corpses.