My Eden Distorted

O America!

One hand controlling the

Explicit Del.icio.us this!

This may well be

Peripheral delight.

Don’t be tender about

‘His real rut and routine’ showing

A thousand acoustical

Fluctuations of tempo.

There is no time to listen, watch

no time to know. So

Pledge allegiance to the twat

Because we can’t talk anymore --

A snatch

Liberate libido.

Hot

And ready to go.

No.

Don’t go

Immediately illicit

Vesuvius ---                                                             

                       ---Revelation of Pompeii

                                                                         Endeavoured to hide

Moveable, metamorphosed

Psychodynamic child,

With martyr complexical

Diametrical fate worse than

The super-ego-id dilemma.

Always just a guess,

Oedipus.

A slap in the face

To the parts of humanity

Not yet discovered by sin

                               

                                ---Have you got the joke yet?---

Austerity fuels perversion

They said,

If not drowning in your face

“You are nothing”

In the extortion race

Not mentioned in the bible.

Two times,

Three times,

Four

Tablets at dawn

Keeps away

Cognitive deviancy

Monsters in the morning ---

---My Eden

   Distorted.

  Banana with

flesh reading

    velvet

masked kisses

that cannot escape

      budding

in superficial light,

like the pretend

       touch that

                                      extravagantly excavates

society’s tormented

      adolescence.

She wants to be proud ---                           

                                                                                ---Can she ever be proud? ---

I stay

Wrapped in

 My

 Paraphilia blanket. A voyeur

Object on the

Golden Urolagnia

Stream ---

                                                                                                        --- Miasmatic dream ---

Yet still I sit

Polishing memories at dawn

Like the A-bomb utopia.

Eccentrically, irrationally

Ideologically

Greener grass

                                                                                ---puff puff---

The hedonic calculus.

O America!

My wiser eye

Spits venom.  

Why I quit quitting things

"Only the man not rowing has time to rock the boat"

~Jean-Paul Sartre~

The boat is rocking;

rock the craft;  

there is a rather large rock at the bottom of my bateau. 

Who has the energy to constantly row? Whether fast or slow, you will get there when you get there. [Can't argue with impenetrable, cross Atlantic logic, sir]. We are occasional rowers, taking regular breaks because our limbs complain and don't you have to row backwards anyway? Sometimes it's important to just stop rowing and look the fuck around. There are bigger boats than your's, you know, and if you crash there will be no sympathy for a careless row. 

Other times we do the sharing thing, let someone else do the work for a while, although we secretly (or not so) criticize their shy, awkward row or are jealous because our rowing technique isn't quite as sleek and don't the uptight bastards know when to just go with the flow? Should never have let the crafty prick in my schooner:

Mayday! Mayday! 

Man overboard and I bid you good day. 

The easy way to go; head straight for land, the ceaseless row. Don't rock the hard place. Yet there is always, and anticipation of such is advised, an unseen, bitch of a wave, gets salt in your eyes. At the very least.

If it was never meant to be easy, and why do you need it so? In can at least be simple: just row sometimes and other times, don't.

"So I quit quitting things, just do whatever I want now." She smiled at him, a pretty smile, slightly marred by the smoke from a factory miles off in the Gobi desert of Mongolia. "Within reason." She touched his hand.

Stranger from a familiar land.