Our culture is on life support, floating, detached,.

I want to cut the strings and watch it burst in the atmosphere.

I want to pull the plug and kill it.

I want to disenchant and point out everything that is no longer possible.

Like nonsense, or sharing, or not being watched.

Like moon sickness, or poetry.

Euclid’s equation will never find those disappearing dollars or the disappearing earth.

It’s post ironic.

P hacking the whales away,

Whispering dotted lines in case they get coded into the floor plans of the Pentagon.

I believe nothing, not even your truth as you sit all soft and gooey on a stick by the fire.

I point out learned helpless is impossible now, along with a walk in the bush.

People collect test tubes like they”re wonders of nature and talk loudly of empiricism whilst we whisper invisible lies so they don’t get caught.