Notes from the Subaltern

In the past, I would set an alarm when I went to work.
The alarm was my master and my time surrendered unto him.
Today, I sit at the feet of love as children, wide eyed and rapt, the wonder of all flowing through, the blood of the poets dripping in primal theater.
I take a hammer for a hammer is a hammer and not something else and I take it in hand and use it build by smashing my alarm clock to fucking pieces.
I love to say fuck. Fuck is a watchword of freedom. I wish I hadn't explained that. You must justify yourself to me, to the love that soars, to the sweet dynamo of the stars, incandescent, burning hot ball of fire.
Oh, How I love you! How I weep fearlessly for you. A canticle unto you. I feel that burning warmth inside of me.
But oh those who flee from the sun, who hide themselves in caves thinking it will protect them from the open sky.
Look behind you you raving frightened writing people deriving fear from an ersatz equal with yourselves. There is a gaping hole that sucks the warmth from our cosy commune and it is the cracked ones that the light shines through anyway.
Blind yourself, gouge out your masters eyes. Lick it, taste it, it is holy, Ah, ça ira, ça ira, ça ira, the masters art will never release the chains from your heart.
And please, I beg you, I plead with you from everything that is holy to me, grab a fucking hammer and start to build. Listen, be here now, you hear me, don't you? I know you're in there somewhere, submerged. It's okay. Come here.
Come here to the space within me ,within us, it is the kingdom of heaven. I have tasted the fount of all that is good and I AM ON FIRE.
How beautiful it is to burn. How right, how just, how free. FREE. FREEDOM. To see the left lose their way and forgot who we are. YOU ARE NOT MONEY. You are people.
And I have come down from the misty peaks of the mountain to suffer your blows, suffer your recriminations, suffer the attempts to lock my heart, try to paper it over with your disgusting money
But what you do not know is that I like to lick men's assholes and I like to prostrate myself before my own fear so that I can tame it.
Please tighten the cuffs daddy.
My hands are dirty. Yes, I know this. You do not need to tell me. I till the soil of human experience. I wipe them on the bars of the cage that I build for myself. I hope one day I will not need the reminder.
And so what you do not know is that I am revolt-ing. Utterly revolting and disgusting and hateful, well, by most standards but what standards are these?
Why you can't you look me in your eye? You know this is who we are? Why are you running? You're running because the sky is coursing through with purple thunderbolts.
Utter vengeance to strike fear in the hearts of the unjust. But what you do not know is that this is only you. This is only you. Because you are not money. You are society. You are the wrath of heaven.
The kingdom of heaven is within you. It lives within that tension you keep rejecting, that you reject now. Choose fear and not love. Weep at the feet of the sages.
Find yourself in bygone ages. Merge the holy fool with the philosoph. Try and try and embrace the fear like a Chinese finger trap. You will shake. You will shake yourself to pieces and find the grit at the heart of it all.
Lick it! LICK IT. LICK THAT GRIT.
Spit dribbling down my chin, drunk on my own haughtiness and daring. Lick it like a cat licks its asshole.
That asshole will become a pearl. Shit out the pearl. Rebirth yourself. Kill your parents and hit the road. Become a child again and wring your hands at those who hold you in their clutches. Then raise yourself.
Raise yourself to nature.
Let nature raise you to herself.
Become it, live it, sing it! SING IT! DANCE IT! SCREAM IT! LAUGH IT! CRY IT!
with passion dripping from every pore,
dressed as an elf or a wizard perhaps skipping arm in arm playing the flute with the drum of war beating at our heels. It drums for us.
Point your fingers like guns at the cop in your head. Coopt the dead and be a thief with gratitude. Take freely from those who give of themselves freely. Just as your mother does. Just as the sky does.
Talk to the birds....
Talk to the birds If you need a big fat joint first... then fine. Only don't stay there. That is not truth. That is a plateau. Be like Bruce Lee, be cool and wise and shit. You don't need a six pack.
You can be great by embracing the void within you and letting it swallow you whole, only return and do not borrow love from illusions. Become a mirror to hatred.
Purify yourself by realising that you are already pure if not for the greatest human tragedy that is still writing itself.
And if you cannot weep for yourself then who can you weep for? Howl at the moon, slink down alleyways, bite that silver bullet, I'll pull all of the hair out of the bathplug for you.
It is joyous for me to ferry tissues for you all, to listen you to be there for you
only you cant be there for yourself and so I leave to find myself amongst the others, the others who have cracked. Who said, I just can't take it anymore? So fucking what Fuck off!
I'm going to grow carrots and yell at an empty sky. And that's the wisest thing I've ever done. Just press your ear close to the ground and be still. You can hear it. It's not the ocean. It's your own heartbeat.