You’re supposed to write a poem now because that’s what you’re built to do…

Hunker down now

With the molecules

Don’t let them know the face you’re making

It’s getting too dark to taste the water

So find a new naked self

You’re not going to find a better guitar in this lifetime

So play like the sound is real

Envelope envelope

Walking till the hairs grow thin.

Althusser Dancing on the Head of a Pin [poem]

A communist philosopher storms into
A psychoanalyst’s conference…
Have you heard this one?
He storms in
Claiming divine right
And claims it is
The analysand
Not the psychoanalyst
Who is the proletarian –
The worker –
Of psychoanalysis
He says
The brain is a factory
And we its workers
And it’s the psychoanalyst
Who is the boss
He says we must democratize
The process
He says
The workers of the world
Must own the means of cognition

Althusser looks to Lacan
Expecting the latter to agree.
He says nothing.
Althusser is rushed out of the building.

Millennial [poem]

I, 15 years elder the century, weathered the broke-brawned shelter of millennia.
The diamond dust which glistened the middle 20th, now micro-incisions the skin and teeth, makes rags of lungs.
Colonial, they say we were better. But now post, we look at the masses, zombie-tired, broodbloods’ eternal shuffle.
Nostalgia for sickly things permeates to a time when future existed. Rotary phones and VHS grain stipple YouTube longings.
Feast! Feast! Ye hungry eye. Ye huddled mass! Yearning for 30 day free trials!
The end of history came too soon.


When you were born everything was already here and they said, “this is the way things are.”

When you saw things were broken and harming 80% of everybody, they said, “This is the way things are. There is nothing else.”

Then you studied history and you saw that things used to be completely different than they are now and you said “This means things could be different than they are now!”

And they said “This is the way things are. History is dead. And if you try to change it, we’ll fucking murder you.”

So a deep anger hardened in your chest and you called it Resolve. And you began to meet other people who felt the same. And together you made plans for something better.


Discover Credit Cards
interrupted my music
to let me know
that they really care
about my personal information
and the safety thereof
which is good to know
because after 3 decades using computers
basically the whole
of my personality
can be represented by
a conglomeration of binary code

And it’s good to know that
when large companies are jockeying for my binary personality
Discover Credit Cards are looking out for
my interests
for once

The other day my friend called me
because her landlord
was trying to evict her illegally
and she was they were going
to kill her cats
(which does happen
Rich people don’t know about this
It happens)
I told her she should call Discover Credit Cards
because they have everybody’s
best interests at heart
and that they could
sort this out in no time

Then she hung up for some reason

15 Minutes of Fame 7/30


Some years ago some sociopath named Andy Warhol

said that in the future everyone will have 15 minutes of fame

and people saw that and said

‘Well, this asshole that paints soup cans is super famous

so he should know’

And people started repeating it as fact

as if there were some irreproachable quality to the

soup can man

but really, everybody wanted to believe it so hard

they tried to make it true.

There are are 7 billion people in the world

If everybody got 15 minute of fame

just with the people who are alive today

it would take

199,771.7 years


So maybe ’15 minutes of fame’

is a metaphor

So how does that metaphor function?

It says that you will eventually

reap some reward

for your aspirational toils

at some point

over the course of 200,000 years

It’s a mollifying metaphor

meant to pacify discontent

at the fuckery in the world


How to comport oneself in a celebrity fashion:

buy the right things

look the right way

don’t say anything controversial unless it serves a particular PR aim

don’t indulge a radical politic

maintain an aura of perfection, regardless of what a vile beast you are.


the promise of fame

self regulates the public

and we all want it so bad

and we’re almost there

we’re so close to our fates

so close

So long as all our content

strives for a banality

which challenges nothing

and says even less

we may just get there one day