aesthetics

a science fiction dream
of mysterious planets and life forms exotic
where the madman wizard rants his bogus mystical philosophy
and the ancient death band plays
for hours and hours and infinities
with their endless jams of droned out confusion
confusion is the music they play
like a hypnotized folk singer
drunk on anarchism and idealism
yelling at squares and they huddle on by in the streets
eating from dumpsters and
raiding the culture of all it's dying of
no one holds back their most poisonous words
there's a savage nuclear war in all our heads
that's spreading through the air all night long
jazz music is nonsense
so is poetry
there's no more need to talk
silence will save us from the horror of language
we rot away in our own cubicles while floating in space for the rest of eternity
kept alive by machines
mankind will sacrifice it's humanity to any means as long as it can survive
but that's only logical
and logic is the only thing you can trust
do you trust logic? it's usually the most sensible thing to do
but when boredom comes logic is an obstacle to liberation
and who can blame me for wanting liberation?
some moments so intense
some so pointless
but all might as well be the same