Sunday, February 19, 2012

"...Your Huckleberry..."


.
.
.
So you DARE to call me crazy? I'll debate that point's contention, best prepare to pay a "freight" conjectured fair! See, I'll snap your weak derision (born of fatuous pretension!), and return it with three folds—you best beware!
.
Your "insult's" insufficient! It defines your small pretension—and it frames you out, so plain, for all to see. Why, your reductionism's facile; I am shoved upon its "edge" ... but I'm absolved your self-control; of you I would be free!
.
See? You're not remotely "free," dim-bulb... you're fettered by "restriction," impeded by that cold wet fish of *class*... its "bitch" tradition!  Tradition's over-mechanized to shore-up jealous means. Its ceremony shackles us and keeps us from our dreams.
.
Who lives where you'd know terror, friend; who knows the secret deals? Who knows what kids are thinking (and that from them you shall steal!)? ...Who knows if washboard clouds must mean a sound—so low—is heard; only whales hear this music so should live free, undeterred...

.
...For me, I'd freely die out on the edge of airless space... before I'd give an inch to such as you. Your *righteous* soporific's flatly specious in its whining... what we come to find is blatantly untrue!

Why, it's you who's plainly crazy—self-defined, and then what's next? Why, it's you, a mawkish blue-nose, who contrives our failed test. It's you, your foul "activity", and your *righteousness* pretended—to you of course that can't apply... hypocrites transcend it!
.
As for you, you'll get comeuppance when the truth you hide is known. Who climbs your walls in anger, and who drags you from your home? Who will ask the questions that are answered from the heart? You shall not have your lawyer there to play his scabrous part!
.
You'll stand alone, uncovered. Who's then calling on the phone? Who makes you pay for disrespect... Who's throwing back your bone?
.
Who's had enough of *secrets*? Who'll make you rue your day... that you hitch good folks to servitude, and then make them pay your way?
.
You don't deserve the secrets that should rain from starry skies. You don't deserve that bounty, and you shouldn't wonder why!

Content to stumble blindly in the shadows of the *Fathers*, you fletch them out as heroes, and won't listen or be bothered if we later find them ill advised, aligned by specious *sight*, a shackle on our freedoms—an obstructer of our light.
.
You contrive your *little* secret in the hopes that you slide by—are absolved for your indifference so we gulp your bigger lie. I point this out, flat mad as hell, as I am off off my knees! I'd play to pay the piper, so our children could be free!
.
For this you mock/deride me, that I see you wear no "clothes"—that I mock your lack of balance, and your ethic's full of holes. That the 'man' would squeeze your gonads, and you'd toe his unjust line. You'd spew unjust derisiveness, abusing all you find!
.
You'd encourage new divisiveness while the world slowly dies. You'd abrogate "decisiveness" to feed your fat despised.
.
Giving in to their malignity, you are the true depraved! You have given in to devils! You are wrong, unjust, unbrave!  You prosecute the innocent to suit depraved elites; you undercut our value and then push us to the streets.
.
I bite an unwashed thumb at you! I give the "secret" sign! I hoist my middle finger in the hopes that you're confined! I continue my rude gestures—I intimate contempt. Your outrage and annoyance, I portend, is heaven sent!
.
See, your lack of face emboldens me, I am DRIVEN by your spite! Encouraged by your bitter bile I fight a better fight! Your taunts? My ammunition! Your jeers? My hand grenades! Your petty— facile—comments fuel poetic fusillades!
.
I've strength where you have weakness 'cause I understand your plight. I hate your jealous shadows! You hate that I want light!
.
So I fester in your kill file! I shall not go away. Like Jefferson's black progeny? I'll know the truth one day!  'Till then I'll be so "up your nose," your pea-brained head distends!  Your lips will feel my scrubbing knees, my boot heels feel your chin.
.

alienview@roadrunner.com
www.AlienView.net



  • Yeah—too!  Those you'd criticize—for all their competences, talents and integrities—may have feet of clay as all do. Their mistakes have been made. Their credulities have been strained. Their assumptions have been prosecuted. Their confidences have been betrayed.  These are significant still for their consistent sincerity... even as I can't agree with them in all cases...
  • ...Yet they are as GODS of absolute HUMILITY and perfect certification when compared with your boundless, if groundless hubris, tedious self-promotion, and abundant lack of wit...
  • "You grovel at the feet of these, a piss-wit's toad on scabby knees..."
  • See?  You are especially obnoxious given that the "fruit" from your metaphoric "trees" screams "dolt," "lack-wit," "troll," "fatuous bore," and "coward"! Your production is laughably homocentric, hopelessly narcisisstic and your pathetic explication evidence of rank cowardice, intellectual and otherwise, only.
  • That's an exposing exposé worthy of an exposed exposure, eh?  Still, entirely lost on you, I suspect.  That's what reflex reductionism will do for you: enslave you to a mis-applied Occam... See, it remains that sometimes it is required to "complicate the hypothesis," klasskurtxian swine.  Occam never ruled that out contrary to what you might have believed.  He said, "not without necessity"!  Necessity commands!
  • Step off, there's a lad.  Then pound cement past a prolapsed pore. There, that's better.  Know too: "I'll be your huckleberry...," and strike the sun were it to provide your offense!  It's.  My.  Job!
  • You know who you are.  Bunched up, inbred, and mutually supporting, one metaphoric or literary grenade gets you all!  Read on.

0 comments: