There's no guy
on this
hemisphere
deserving
of your
nonchalant,
otherworldly
gaze
when you
decide
to skip
the skincare
routine
every morning,
my own
routine
is to
look
into
the mirror
and whisper
gently:
"Fuck,
fuck,
shit,
not another day
in this
god-forsaken
world."
I can't wait
to die
alone,
can't wait
for that
sloppy burger
to reach
my doorstep,
I can't
live
without
one last
puff
from the
magic dragon,
you're the
undisputed
wizard
of almostness,
in the time
it takes
for Plato
to smoke
a cigarette,
you can't
reach
the bush
in time,
Zenon, Zenon,
but you can
jab me
straight through
my right-eye
retina,
and I still
wouldn't
blink,
I smashed
our old
gong gong
in solidarity
with the
hunger strike
on Anarres,
and I just
found
a cover
of "Sweet Jane"
by Miley
fricking
Cyrus,
out of all
people,
and it
slaps
ketchup
straight up,
not the
cheap one,
yeah, yeah,
the one
in the
back,
the one
for $5.99,
so add some
cough syrup
to that mix,
baby,
and we're
home
as home
can be,
I think it was
Butler
who said
that all theory
is inherently
political,
so why not do
the proper
Hegelian turn
and just call it
politics?
The negation
constitutes
an object
of itself,
there's a
cheat code
for that
stuff
in Minecraft,
but I should
let you know
that I don't
even
play tennis,
but I think
you're
really hot,
could that
be a
compromise?
There's a
stubborn
sorcerer
stuck
in a tree,
she's demanding
deeper wells,
my apologies,
I misheard,
she's demanding
cheaper spells,
and the reason
I know
how to
unhack
a computer
is because
I know
how to
hack
a computer,
Cult
of the
Dead Cow,
if you know,
you know,
I still
remember
when you
told me
that the
world
would not be
moving
so fast
if it
didn't
have to
constantly
outrun
its own
collapse,
but if
Trump
really
cared about
working people
in the
Midwest,
he would
make Pluto
a planet
again,
can you
feel the
cough syrup,
baby?
Can you
feel it,
can you
feel it?