MADE FOR YOU AND ME 2: hive Being (Stanzas 2017—part 47)
Let's workshop this stanza sequence about Bloods, chimpanzees, Hollywood, pedophilia, flat earth, fetishes, jasmine, time paradoxes, theodicy, courage, hymen, revolution, PubMed, tumors, niqabs
scent of the day: Fate Man, by Amouage. My personal favorite in the labdanum-cedarwood-sandalwood genre (which is saying something since we have both Tobacco Oud and Laudano Nero in here) and my top cumin scent (beating the more aromatic Opus IV and its sepia sibling Kenzo Jungle) and likely in my top ten fragrances of all time (up their with Royal Tobacco, Silver Oud, Figment Man, and Overture Man), Fate Man—a spicey amber discontinuation of which I have over 200mls hoarded away—has an aura that, although rooted in the orient, feels as cosmopolitan as its ingredients would suggest: a warm and earthy copaiba balsam from South America, an incensey olibanum from the middle east, a curry-maple-syrup immortelle from the Mediterranean, a bitter-medicinal wormwood connecting it with the help of licorice to European absinthe, and a load of Indian spices like anise and cumin and saffron and ginger
will you are least poop and pee before you hang yourself? blunt perineal injuries in toddlers what mysterious ways explain why the lightning killed the infant instead of the pedo? those for whom you honor by refusing their ensorcellings scandalizing your family with art courage is no basis for truth—in fact, for humans it is often the other way around days channeled, not to philosophy or piano, but to keeping your hairline where it is the loophole of a “hymen” Google search—“hymenal trauma” for the vinegar strokes drug addiction transformed into addiction to staying on top of drug addiction Street Life Intelligence and Money is Everything—the monkey motto of Trump SLIME. excessive smiling means nervousness with chimps (as still with us), so one wonders what electric-rod threats Hollywood must have used for all those cigar-smoking sidekicks to stay locked in celluloid rictus we love our fetishes too much to eradicate all taboos— those who demanded women be covered up from head to toe knew the room-traversing ejaculative power of why proving flat earth would be much too hard to resist for almost any career scientist—weak like the rest of us when it comes to fame temptations—to conspire in coverups of flat-earth proportions another lady of the night, twerking up pussy plumes of shitty indolics on the corner, calling herself “God fearing” not just by day if you go back and kill your grandfather before you were born, the back you went to is necessarily inside a different universe revolution seeded in footnotes and marginalia nothing comes from nothing, but something comes from your doing nothing it would be so poetic to glorify humans as a rupture in the cosmic indifference, but there is anti-indifference all around: plants exhibit tropisms (helio-, hydro-) and even rocks have a way, a style, that orients them toward sinking in water when it feels wrong to evoke coincidence to explain something extraordinary (streetside stickup thwarted by a flower pot defenestrated in a domestic rage), remember how finite our intellectual grasp is compared to the vast grandness neither empathy and reconciliation and sharing (even out group) nor warfare and vengeance and abandonment (even in group) is limited to humans dig down please, into extra-extra skepticism, if someone—especially a turbaned man in a booth at some county fair—tells you wildness you desperately wish to be true (such as that your child, God’s leukemia victim, is communicating from the beyond) it is said that we have things to learn from the past (about community, environmental stewardship), so perhaps human females should return to grooming one of the angry parties to break up a physical altercation those who see cures for character flaws as poisons to whom they are can still be trained to believe in a self behind traits daydreams and anticipation of the beloved (all blocking out the absurdity), older folks do indeed enjoy the courting long game robust diversity, that of viewpoint, prevents parochialism— something crucial in a time when parochialism masks itself as pro-diversity, pro-inclusion, even (and especially) in universities no longer able to hit the flageolet registers of Mariah, can you bow back to the version of yourself standing on that peak—or does jealous anger sting even here?" coming out at the Thanksgiving table, 1988 brain tumor chicken scratch PubMed colposcopic photos of genital devastation in prepubertal populations lulled into another unplanned nap by the nudging face purrs of a kitten doing the math on the mortality of loved ones the haphazardness of a non-circular ball’s bounce upset him just like loud engine revs the common western fear is writhing in the throes of death with no one to call who could do anything anyway to stop the long-anticipated nightmare even if they did pick up despite having shaped their very beings, which then shape the very beings of countless others down the line, you fear the oblivion (that true oblivion) of even loved ones soon enough living their lives as if you have never been the ghost in the machine is just one type of machine—to say otherwise is to say there is no ghost, for a machine at root is what logos fully pervades; what never acts outside of natural laws or gets any oomph from non-being
