“Shall I grapple with my destroyers
In the muscular poses of the museums?
But my destroyers avoid the museums .”
Wallace Stevens
The children of the successful Velveeta eaters
listen intently and properly to Beethoven, Haydn,
Liszt, in their suits and dresses, grey and desiccated
in the academic venue from which they still suck
life…. the zombie factotum class spawned from the
Velveeta lotus eaters of postwar success and yawning
hope for the future.
life…. the zombie factotum class spawned from the
Velveeta lotus eaters of postwar success and yawning
hope for the future.
These are Anonymous…anonymous in spirit unto
themselves…cultural cultists programmed to see
smell, feel and think within the lines, high on the
opiate of alleged security…rows upon rows of them
in theatres, malls, offices, schools, churches,
basketball games… fitted like bed linens to the vast
social landscape….docile, obedient, convenient…
expendable…..lost in their own lives…imprisoned
in convention.
The successful Velveeta eaters were good people.
They just didn’t realize the kind of cheese
they were being handed until it was too late;
it snuck up on them one slice, one aerosol can
at a time…and their children became processed
like the cheese itself; manufactured, packaged,
blended.
This is where we are: in or affected by
a cheesy landscape of manufactured consent…
mutual twisted agreement, if you like…
the only heroic action being to get out for
the sake of oneself and the others....."get
out" meaning freeing the mind from conventional
social perceptions.
out" meaning freeing the mind from conventional
social perceptions.