Nietzche
Bluelighter
Our truth disturbs me
And deception delights me
while the snake digests its own tale
Godel smirks
An effigy constructed for perception
Denies alterity
But your truth is as recalcitrant
As the contingency you castoff and disguise
“I place these words in quotation marks, but simultaneously
deny possession”
Always mesmerized by the myriad of unmeaning
Lurking somewhere in the realm of shadows
I can only mock your discourse of simplifuckation
And wage a guerilla war of (mis)interpretation
Look to me and call me
Other
And we may prefer praxis to theory . . .
But I can deconstruct your myths and produce
A bedrock of shorn fragments
offering as much comfort as a handful of dust
Which you may scatter, but I will retrieve.
Seek your stable ground,
It will be your ruination
For the vibrations from the horses
Will unsettle our accord
And I have been told that once
Things feel apart
But what the speaker didn’t realize
Is that the spoken
Was misunderstood
And the voices of the weary
Clashed with the voices of the sound
So I play my game of dominoes
But what you don’t realize (I do)
And what I don’t know
You will have forgotten
But we will assemble our truth
From the shored fragments of our ruin . . .
And deception delights me
while the snake digests its own tale
Godel smirks
An effigy constructed for perception
Denies alterity
But your truth is as recalcitrant
As the contingency you castoff and disguise
“I place these words in quotation marks, but simultaneously
deny possession”
Always mesmerized by the myriad of unmeaning
Lurking somewhere in the realm of shadows
I can only mock your discourse of simplifuckation
And wage a guerilla war of (mis)interpretation
Look to me and call me
Other
And we may prefer praxis to theory . . .
But I can deconstruct your myths and produce
A bedrock of shorn fragments
offering as much comfort as a handful of dust
Which you may scatter, but I will retrieve.
Seek your stable ground,
It will be your ruination
For the vibrations from the horses
Will unsettle our accord
And I have been told that once
Things feel apart
But what the speaker didn’t realize
Is that the spoken
Was misunderstood
And the voices of the weary
Clashed with the voices of the sound
So I play my game of dominoes
But what you don’t realize (I do)
And what I don’t know
You will have forgotten
But we will assemble our truth
From the shored fragments of our ruin . . .
