Through this age of blindness, of noise, of—cackling, screaming, pleading ...
this age of masturbatory self-dealing, wheeling, groaning ...
this age of destruction writ large, of the purveyance of all things profane,
this age so insane ...
This climb along the curve. This celebration of the unworthy. The parties for
the dead gunned down so that highly salaried hit-men and –women can
breathlessly shriek on. This hit, this finely cut insta-gram of social cocaine:
show me yours and I’ll show you my better.
Cancerous ennui. TL;DR!
Everything is worth looking at; nothing is worth noticing.
Orange boil twitters lies as his mind shrinks with the speed of Moore’s Law.
Bloody semen gushes from his head, spatters over his deluded followers.
They celebrate and lick wildly at one another, and post photos, and squirm
and writhe like the MAGAts they are. News isn’t news anymore: it’s an X-rated
beta-max video, wah-wah music and licking and spewing.
Nothing matters. Purpose has collapsed from termites. The hills are aflame.
Sky orange, orange hate, wimpy laws passed by wimpier lawmakers.
Orange boil comes on them, and they lick wildly at one another.
Fractal Art: Navigator