Fragment on Geek Culture

Geek Culture is a technocratic cult.

It produces and distributes everything in the most efficient and stylish fashion possible(slave labor it relies on remains obscene--in every sense), at hand for all to enjoy. Here it echoes Heidegger's dream of an "at hand" culture in unity and totally mobilized. From the banal pretensions of a Joanna Newsom album, an Uber ride, to tearing down "slums" to provide "upscale" housing for young "tech savvy" professionals, it incessantly boasts this relation to product as the summit of free human experience. It is the gentrification of all cultural production/consumption.

The Geek is a well heeled and efficient navigator of the "global culture", an Uber Flâneur.

Sunset II

At the Concourse

They speak bloodless portmanteau.
Nothing they'd own,
but assume is their own.

No talk of morals.
No prison camp cadavers
or tear gas tears,
pass over obscenities.

With bold hued cloth dicks
and flag pins bright as Sun
they have grave matters to run.
Please keep the lines moving.

Nuance

Real Fascists

Wannabe Fascist

Pretty Dissolution

Bruised Heel

A Cut

Locks fell like one hundred lock-pickers broke into my head. Cat was gently solemn, an accomplice.

Eye is the First Eaten

Where to Put It

Head Lost in Representation

       Bizzarie di Varie Figure, Bracelli.

She Bakes Kicks in the Wall

She bakes kicks in the wall.
She briskly climbs to fall
from atavistic monkey bars,
and bumps her head 'gainst spiked stars.

She augurs holes in dark skies
where furnaces sear raw eyes.
She charts a hidden home
above that all, alone.

Selene

    Amber eyes rise
    warm rays stroking cheek.

Dew kisses as
fragrant heavens speak:

         "A million needs to tend."

 Numbers arbitrary, sleep is certain.

Turn back cheek's eccentric measure
and serenely net surveyed pleasure.

La bonne donnant remerciements

Thetis

Obsolete Edit of Old Slogan

                 

                       "Globalism is the last refuge of imperial scoundrels."

I Buried It

To Parveen Shakir

Where are you?

In the cool breeze or colder stars,
    stroking my hair, shaping destinies?

The moon's silver dulls,
  my love's ghazals indifferent.

Bright sunshine reads street signs
and evening downpours account for us.

Deep thought pliant as
Jasmine in a gale
blooms to tend this ache.

A Gorgeous Killah

Heroes

Interrupted Sleep

As Far from the Bullets and Bombs as They Fall