Thursday, January 6, 2011
Kraeplin's Precocious Madness
powerful voodoo love money. feedback mirror consumed in a mighty marketing schizm of rehearsals and legends. the Eristocracy makes me poison your children so that I might die like Socrates on an overdose of anti-psychotics. they see the creative principle and call it a disease. right now psychiatrists mull about this poem like pimps in a warehouse playing dusk at dawn. their thunderbolts are electroconvulsive shock machines. they fantasize about their names on diseases. they cut out frontal lobes and declare their wishes, scientists, magicians, operation mind-fuck. speak their names and they hear yours. speak your name and they hear their own. normal killers with drugs fetishizing their own name in a wellness sensation of synchronized singing. tumor voices in the reality tunnel. their interpretations supplant the beautiful in a dismal echo of chemicals accompanied by renown. the florid false indolence of a psychic graffiti. scrawl your name in the mesenchyme of a selfish voodoo. snakecharmed philosophers in a sooth of oblivion. connection confirmed bacterial putty suckling instruments which fantasize about being people. synchronized by virtue of their fetishes to be addicted to an ideology of happiness in a cloud of normal water, clear.
you can tell an ideologue by the uneven distibution of their rage
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