Trump's Pussy Poem for Presidency

Consider mankind's enormous shift 

When Marconi's wireless radio
Successfully transmitted that first message
Through time and space.



Until then, a line existed.
It went from Point a to point B.



But then,

The line from point A to Point b effectively disappeared:

Let point A = 0.

Let Point b = 1.

Let the line itself become quantum,
Because the zeros and ones transpose 

And twist into an ampersand

That says at once both either and or.

The quantum leap

Continued further when radio waves
Bounced through the air
And the sender, message, and receiver

Became less theoretical
And more fractal.




Our collective thoughts converged on the television screens

Broadcasting pixelated images from another place.

All of humanity's thought

Found a form

To shape
And be shaped. 

Question: If we had no constant connection
To the continual stream of information,
Who would we be?
If we cut off electricity,
Would we think the same?
What would we think?

Or if our connections entirely disappeared, quite suddenly,

What would we mean?

Take for example this:
We have settled for the classic 4 conflicts:

Man versus nature
Man versus man
Man versus self
Man versus machine

But what if we accepted four conflicts
When there are actually 5?
Have we limited our perception
By what we accept?

Never forget:

The enslaved are kept from knowledge

That could free them.

What exists beyond the accepted laws?

Sometimes,
I think it's Shakespeare's fault.




Why?

Sometimes I think Gutenberg started it all

When he put the printing press

Into the hands of those untrustworthy scribes
Who mass produced

The disembodied words
Now forever preserved
With no context.

Shakespeare, that collective noun,

Remains the voice of the Enlightenment.

Sadly,

Countless people,

While living,

 Follow the machinations of Renaissance poetry.

Condemned to the island,

That castellated abbey,

Each is a Romeo

And Juliet bound

in the

KJ

V

 Such blueprint-designs were

Manufactured by the scholars of witches.

How sad to think that the star-crossed lovers

And rebellious teens

Were reciting lines from a page of a scene,
Already scripted
And already expected
And simply handed down
Through generations.

Perhaps this is something we cannot help,

And perhaps that is where we find meaning.

But be wise,

You rebel without a cause,

Your story is used--as counter information--
By wiser more sophisticated men!

Is all the world a stage

And are we indeed the players?

Yes...

And have they manipulated this truth?

Yes!

Who was the Occidental Star, John?

Why did she state her name so emphatically
 In the wake of Gutenberg's great creation?

Was she waiting all along for precisely that moment
When she would conjure

Every word into immovable text?

   The message.

"Message!  Message!

I designed every trip I could trap.

King James is divine and of God.
You cannot touch the living word.
The living word is immovable!

Message!  Message!

Long live the queen!"

Here I speak metaphorically:

Are we better for books?

Certainly books of substance have their place.

Even books of leisure and entertainment

Serve their purpose,

But at what point did they become fast-food of the intellect?

They are cheap, mass-produced, and generally unhealthy.
Void of the nutrients found in conversation and the oral tradition...
Books serve up mostly tasteless garbage.



They make you feel full,
But they are unhealthy
Because you did not create the meal yourself.
Books are fast-food of the soul.

They are fast-food of the soul - So maybe radio was the next logical step.

Human thought was replaced by signals

Filling in the silence

With a steady hum of useless information.

Television came

And told us how to be.

Through signals,

Disembodied thoughts

Became the cultural norm

And thus standardized status quo

And made the real world flat.

The constant hum of our electronic world,

The tangible, breathing collective consciousness we accept,

Builds daily.

But what if it

Disappeared quite suddenly?

Who would we be?

Where would be?

Would we even recognize our own human thoughts.

Is there a human baseline to consciousness

Somewhere beneath the pulsing, flickering screens?

Who would we be

If there were no films

Or news feeds

To confirm or deny

The thoughts we relay?

How much of your thinking is in fact your own?

How many of your thoughts are truly free?

And what are the machines building?

Surely, like Shakespeare, it is a myth of archetypes.

What collective experience does it wish for us?

What does it need to destroy and replace?

I cannot recognize myself

In the dream.

S-

I took the pill last night.

I don't remember its color,

In case you were wondering.

Once I'd swallowed it down

I felt it in my blood.

Monsanto owns the patent

To most the food I eat;

Pfizer has the cure

When my neuroplastic brain

Shifts from the chemicals

In my blood.

The crazy thoughts are geometric shapes

That respond in some way to the D'Wave.

Have you cracked open
The new archetype
Myth?

 Here is the new printing press...

It's a honeycomb

Stop-sign, and

For every conduit,

There is a cog.

______________________________________

We avoid evil by diving deeper into it.

Evil seeks evil by defiling it.

But those who avoid evil

Divide it.

Higher order thinking

Appears and

Disappears

While the symbolic beast sleeps,

The petty criminals seek

Trump as the anti-christ.

           "Let's not mince words.

           Let's call him out for what he is:

           The electronic, liberal media

           Gave birth to his fame and fortune,

           So now, he manifests as a hell-bent father

           Come home to discipline the kids."

           Place your hands on this side

           Of the brick wall.

Trump is the punishment we want.

He will punish the infidels

Before they get the chance to become infidels.

That's what we want, isn't it?

Trump is the father to a people with no father.

They cheer him like teenagers snapchatting a schoolyard fight.

Secretly, we cast our vote in wide, gaping circles.