Notes:

“You don’t need a formal conspiracy when interests converge.”
--George Carlin

PREFACE TO MAD

      i don’t know how to start this. but, many ideals in life begin similarly, not knowing how to start. sometimes bedsheets feel too good to leave, sometimes tub water is too comfy to dry away, and i’ve heard that drowning is, on the whole, painless. an ex-private told me about drowning, when they held him down, beneath the waves ov a tax-funded pool, cinderblocks strapped to his ankles. i don’t remember the civics courses about our american men, women, whomever—but, surely we do not drown true-blooded americans to teach revival. speculative teaching is a mad camaraderie lesson, a great introduction to being re-introduced on earth.

      birth is not exactly beautiful. yet, the birther tells ov an experience to be a grand life-altering, love, irreplaceable emotion, their most beautiful experience. i don’t understand awing at birth. as we misunderstand subjects around us, there tends to be a bit more self-misunderstanding.

      you scream as you are pushed out ov a womb. gasping air, carrying a heavy white temporary blindness, grabbing for imaginary pitchforks and invisible goosenecks to strangle with newborn hands, bottom bright red, i’m unaware if spanking has been outlawed, pray for the missus; i don’t know. i ain’t a baby. i ain’t a doctor. i ain’t birthing a baby out ov my pussy. 

      his discomfort must be a small spark, realization zap, your first learning experience, breathing. then from breathing, to not crying when warm because warm is a womb and baby likes womb; anything other than an optimal womb is an initial discomfort, a new life, a snap, cry. now, you must crawl—god considering, if lucky. now, you must war—god considering. now, you must politic—god considering. now, your mental ailments— consider god. now, your mental-ailments bearing arms—god considering. now, you must police—god considering. now, you must blink—god considering you were born without eyelids. now, you must eat—god considering. now, you must touch—god considering. and now, if you’re lucky, love—god considering. now, cry, defecate, urinate, and i’m sorry but, there’s not much left.

      where one acts out the mentioned actions, is inside a fundamental society—our whole learning experience and homo-sapient social development. prophesizing society objectors reside in a society ov society objectors, fundamentally they cannot escape. rebellion itself has the potential to evolve into a society; run away from ovshoot seven-day Adventists(!) we’ve watched the same atrocities, we saw waco in mad fire, too. citizens and non-citizens: terrorists, immigrants, the homeless, lobbyists, proletariats, wrinkly housewives, police ovicers, united states military veterans, the modern negro, and puerto ricans, must comply within brackets ov their own interpreted dominant law, if not, one either rots or dies.

      to comply within your society is to compromise to an intimate relationship with similar actors: (mending a society, uniformity within their means.) to compromise with madness then, since utopian philosophy is critically obsolete, madness bursts from introductory disagreements between two; madness evolves, there is madness in smiling while looking back instead ov forward. the madness people have to continually disagree pushes society rhetorically and fundamentally, and creates a great glue, despite select differences. 

      everything around us is mad. this poem i’m about to present is mad. we live in mad. every line is reality. every line has happened and fuels a society. every action can be traced to every hand we’re told to pay homage to: our brothers, our sisters, our mothers, our mirrors, our friends, nameless people impaled in visceral memories. there is enough to visualize and sculpt madness.

      after one develops independent rationality, the tact to story-tell, and on the whole, a blooming consciousness—then you choose life if your breath continues; to live by the madness ov others who either create it or react to it. society must be mad because a society is made up ov people who collectively are mad.


[JOURNAL ENTRY 10/11/2023]

      before driving through the toll booth that opens into the interstate, in sans font, painted white on the road, reads:			 
“DO
NOT
SLOW” as you accelerate toward the toll. there’s the natural double entendre, america, to start considering direction and perspective. easy it is to not slow, keep going, accelerate—but, it’s just as simple to imagine the construction worker laying out white paint, a good clean brush, outlining a different message:
“SLOW
DO
NOT.”