Ignorance loves Evil for his unabashed public displays of romanticism over her adorable foibles and blind trust in his precarious cognitions of what is right and what is love and what is wrong and what must be destroyed.
Evil courts Ignorance, stringing her along, bending her over in the parking lot, bare assed and quivering at his penetration. Aware only of his whispering lies of permanence while oblivious to hordes of slack jawed gazers who sadly only aspire to replicate this rape. She cooing as he casts himself upon descending twisted knees, presenting her with a ring of lapis, azure and topaz while proclaiming eternity as the draperies draw closed and the music swells.
The audience screams while crumpling playbills and hurling their disgusted spheres at obsidian stage curtains as the orchestra pipes exit music on the heels of masses hastily making their way back to the heartless rain swept streets awash with tarnished neon prism puddles.
And the audience/chorus sings while limping...
'Always the same story no matter in what theatre I find myself. All sonnets and arias end on the same crashing triad of regret, redemption and a slim hope of recompense. Why is comedy at it's heart so tragic and broken? Why is tragedy so goddamn funny? Especially when it happens to somebody else? But why when she deconstructed so painfully alone in mid song at the end of act five did I see myself in that waning spotlight?' 'Greasepaint smeared and breathless?' 'Eyes cast down and ashamed before her audience with only tomorrow to fuck it up all over again?' 'When will it end?' they fume, 'When will the stupid bitch ever learn?' they grumble. 'Fuck her and that stupid mask, when will I ever learn?' 'When does the playwright release us from circular narrative?'
Probably not until some enflamed and inspired fallen angel like us, seeking redemption creeps onstage into their naked bedroom in the middle of act two with a gallon of acetone and a pissed off match and says 'Yea and Verily, Time Has Eclipsed To Rewrite This Fuck'd Opera!' then scraping a spark off the bed post thus fueling holy ignition. After that, the condoms come off and it's going to be hell all thrown to the wind. Be forewarned to pack an cast iron umbrella and a seat belt woven by Archangel Michael, but, until then, the forecast remains unchanged, circular and predictable with a 100% chance of forced anal sex in the parking lot.
If you're in need of a huge heap of righteous indignation and a grand smattering of profanity, the poem that follows has got your name written all over it sweetheart. You're welcome.
The shit I hate
starts with a whisper
promising never
to raise its pitch, volume or tone
to fade
into the commonplace,
everyday drone
never to disturb the fly
caught in the strands
it has woven
by flinging through space
silk trailing from behind
in a cascade of faith
across the darkness
pledging to
‘contain its venom’
preferring to
‘implode’
it lies to my face
silently serenading and siliquoizing
its concealed agenda.
Gathering a flock
of morons
opening a soup kitchen
charitably ladling ignorance
into their nonexistent cups
cracked with age
upon the edge
of their teeth
scraping a living
from the forgotten remains
of a cremated altar.
The shit I hate
has no shame
and a bottomless appetite
for the antique filigree
of outdated philosophies
clamored onto
by the insane
the destitute
and the lame
who scramble to substitute
rumors in place of life
illusions for travels
and coma for dreams.
Hitler and his bitch
feasted on it nightly
reveled in its glory
tangoed, fornicated
and romanced it
delightedly.
The shit that presents itself
in a plain brown wrapper
on a silver platter
a book of revelations
providing fodder
for masturbation
that pointlessly orgasms
into a void blue sky
preserving none
destroying all
not giving a shit
or asking why
The shit that I hate
has its mission
and I have my gun
bomb parts
acupuncture charts
and a damn straight on dead aim
on the shit
that passes itself off
as cologne
frankincense, myrrh
the genuine article
the phrase complete
without dangling participle
No flies, no salt
no addendum needed
The shit I hate
petulance of all
I hate you unto the ages
You’ve lingered too long
I know where your grave is
I’ve got a crucifix of almond
and a bullet of silver
I’m chomping at the bit
to disburse and deliver
your death on this earth eternally
I’ll gladly follow and fight you
to the next planet
you decide to disfigure
How calm I will stand
when I have
the blood of this shit
drip from my hand
Thank you as always, so much for reading this glad labor of my heart and spirit.
Don't take any shit from anyone. You're too good for that.
All my love always,
Max
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