Salad Messiah

(413 words)

Our rule: we do whatever the fuck we want,
a heavenly kakistocracy, the Host on High:
flâneur, stumblebums, mollycoddled half-humps
handing down a queasy quadroonerie of essentialism,
an Aleatory principle, WYSIATI. A carceral state
on this side of the multiverse, one eternity in eternities,
waving Ludwig Wittgenstein’s magical bracelet of meaning,
dropping spiritual gems cattywampus into the matrix.

Weltschmerz, Temple of Tears, a Gruen Transfer design,
shopping center with pews, an overwatch choir over the throg:
a Cucuy, a boojam, a 52 hertz whale, Pomgolians,
an American without an opinion, werewolves, in short:
an assembly of chancers in life’s lobby,
all carne por la machina, singing with drums
a solastalgi psalm of Schadenfreude, a beating:
kto, kogo, kto, kogo, kto, kogo, kto, kogo.
A pointless, stochastic cacophony, burning incense,
the smell of hobo feet, el zorrillo no huele a si mismo.

The ushers, Kunga Dhondup and Jára da Cimrman
the hardest men on the cobbled corridors,
enlightened Buddhas of subterranean impulses,
meshuge Sicario, shtarker, and enforcers.
Specialists in killing, kompromat & reinigungskrise
forging mind manacles, permanent Radio Rental,
physician/operators of Tausk’s Influence Machine,
projecting paranoias, diagnosing Mean World Syndrome,
a closed ideology echo chamber of glossolalia and/or
inconsistently applied crypto-Saxonist bafflegab.

Before the altar, the priest Charvaka, panjandrum,
a factual Laocoön of the money-based caste system,
a rectum-faced MC, barking, 40 and Ω decibels,
crafting modern bube meyseh, studied sciolism built on
the illusion of hindsight, authoritarian deliberation to rewrite
the Hottel memo as scripture using a Rube Goldberg device,
a kugelblitz in the Overton window, the fourfold vision:
(1) neltiliztli of ourselves, not selfies; (2) omotenashi;
(3) seykhl in facies hermeticae and demolishing Thomassons;
(4) chance is a roll of the disdyakis tricontahedron.

The Antikythera Mechanism points to the Age of Ophiuchus,
Orber’s light so bright, aphakia, focus on the fuzziness.
Forgotten arm of realization, a rossignol with delta v,
death’s rathskeller is open to all and needs no key,
The Pratfall Effect, is the sign on the door, situated
in the ghetto for grinds, the district of busyness
where life is cheap, but it ain’t ever easy.
But no one ever made it to beyond Kraken Mare,
using Lojban: magical, pure but also wrong.

Semden is the the akoisexual prostitute, a non-believer,
bête noire of the margins, with cynegetic tendencies.
Lojong, aware karada living the one-man rucksack revolution.
The long road to hektemorage: métro, boulot, dodo.
The only buona morte, kodokushi, redeemer of the age.
Auftragstaktik: enlightenment, then blasting off, higher.