CWV 4

A passion untamed

a directionless desire

I read the rantings of Allen Ginsberg

I feel the homoerotic frustration of the urbanite beats

I'm not a hipster, but I too burn for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night.

I understand the frustration of having a vision.

To see in a world that is determined to keep us blind

the frustration of a world that would have us feast on delicious nothings before allowing us a taste of tree-climbing nonchalant autonomy of thought

-the grass is so complex, if you give it a second glance-

I see the wide-eyed santa clause mall spectacle of a prepubescent tike

to amaze to awe to disney world us into complacency

and those who can see

(not to be confused with those who know)

feel too the frustration of a language which has pragmatically denied us the tools with which to verbally dismantle the system of subtle oppression

which wages a constant war with our minds

all the while our subconsciouses, suppressed for decency, rattle and dent the cage

I look back to days of beats and hippies, of revolution and passion, flowers and fucking, freedom and pot, acid test moon-pie skip down 42^nd street naked with peter days

I look to burning passions of ideas unformed of questions asked of vision

I look to harlots and charlatans, to big words, mental masturbation and social perturbation.

I look to writing a paper that catches my brains spattered across the table an early death picked on in middle school columbine children of the corn gone to soon Marilyn Mansion

I looked to the past for inspiration only to find that what was said in their prime remains there

ideas fade and melt forgotten but for the dusty pages of a library book unused

of a buddhist philosopher in a suit of armor mankind's weakness was always apathy

sitting in front of the TV rotting your brain dulling your mindfulness is the key to liberation

Marcuse wanted to let you know

this is a capitalist society

and language has bent to the will of the subtle oppressor my ass!

Billboards displaying half naked beauties cows killing chickens over hamburger deals of cars and cigarettes of suits and slots of happiness of content of lifestyle of intelligence

I learned I could loose 10 pounds in just 2 weeks and threw myself up overboard gone to live in a commune full of sluts and hoes of killers and thieves of the scum of society riding the foamy waves of their generation

there is no autonomy without slaves

there is no freedom without the filthy view of millions eating their ways to early deaths half-lives cut short by a radioactive decay of the nuclear japanese reactor destroyed by mother nature

she was always a bitch

my son will die for his country proud mothers praying for freedom

the bottom of the barrel is dark molten combustion driving a 3 ton car

freedom is at the bottom

I'm talkin' king lear poor tom Led Zep drug abuse use fightclub anarchist cry of the wolf of a life cut short by a clown

there is no redemption

there is no content

there is no freedom

I'm talkin' seeing jesus in a waffle, glass of milk coca-cola lifetime Hallmark baby jesus in saran wrap porcelain nativity scene destroyed by puberty

there are thinkers among us blinded by the spectacle of necessity

I saw the unfortunate truth of the captivity of my species behind bars of Jack Daniels and a fine piece of automotive ingenuity

behind Armani suits of masculinity purchased

behind hegemony and marxism behind fornication and jerry springer behind 37 world series and the highest rate of HIV in new york

of wars fought over baseball and dirty diaper politics that need not be changed but destroyed burning down to the butt of the cigarette in the mouth of a 12 year old girl

Walmart has what she needs to fit in at school house rock and roll as a scapegoat for Columbine machine gun bad parenting

I feel the beat of a heart with murmurs

I touch the cold brick of a Philadelphia neighborhood gone to shit

dilapidated house microcosm

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by apathy

I'm with you in Rockland and theres no way out but in

the next time you walk past the well manicured grass of our priv-a-ledge please lay down and let your life begin

-Joseph Vito Ramírez