I–lie-dia (dear): a Love Let-her to Justin Clemens punctuated from the other side of the table of sexuation. Purely logical, Helen, your absence in your presence is worth every-thing.
The state’s the bully-boy for the drug cartels
(Anything that is, is the bully-boy said the addict in my cartel. Onto Logie)
bovaxxing you up on experimental treatments
(They tues-you on Tuesdays in your tutu)
& a cascade of paragovernmental surveillance apps
(Jeremy Bentham has his eyes in his pocket, utile)
just so you can hit the nags and booze
(I, woman, lay-bored the sausage sizzle stand all weekend)
by flashing your phone at the gate
(QR code-did Freud initiate this pathway in the Project?)
while the billionaires race to space
(Hannah Arendt died with Judgement on her typewriter)
with the withered trace of a face
(Prosopon: Eyes without a Face: Give Voice to an Idea, Billy-eidolon)
from some creaky-arsed cold-war claptrap
(Fabricate the emperor’s new clothes, awake from the pajamas of repetition-JAM)
when shows were still on weekly in segments
(just a slice of the whole)
built around untrammelled product placement
(l’on l’a, l’on l’a de l’air, l’on l’aire, de l’on l’a)
& experimental psychosocial whining
(Slipknot? Pas de Tout)
& civilisation was just getting into
(Barbarians and their sauerkraut!)
pumping its newborns with microplastics
(Dis-contents)
& thalidomide & vitamin c & chemical
(Defective organs and promises of well-being)
foodstuffs with no nutritional value
(The stuff of signifiers-trou flée)
O those heady days before we taught
(Heads will roll, Führer)
toddlers to cough pandemic for the LOLS
(Surprise Everyone! The hysteric coughed, Pas tout-ler!)
wreathed in the smoky melancholic air
(Mirrors do but show us Masks)
though now you spruik yourself shrieking freedoms!
(Spruik Bruce: How do you sing the lord’s song in Austraaaaaaaalia?)
like a full-grown loon into the shadow’s mouth
(fly away from the City loon, like Thebes through the mouth of the Sphinx)
under a gyrating pyramid of hot-desked riot cops
(or at the disc-0 beside the River of Babble-On?)
& twitter punditry, the butt-ends & the ray-bans
(A learned man, sure did Pun-dit, Array-Ban)
of social life crunching like bone spirits
(Society does not exist, life, on the other hand has a Bone-y-M)
beneath the baboon boots, and the swell
(Ça marche-these boots were made for walking)
of jibing clicks on the Geiger’s chary face
(Chary of telling the whole truth, she-burn)
telling a hoary story of glory for the boys
(Oh the whores who declare the King of France is bald in 1905!)
popping horse-dewormer like click-bait
(Is a horse a horse or an i-dia of the horse?)
in a Wittgensteinian confirmation abyss
(Meaning is Use-less, sat-y-sfaction is use)
this I guess in different ways is like
(Always equivocal Being-ob-via)
an end, not only for us, but for whatever kept
(Austossung baby-it’s a hole new You-Tues all-bum)
the whole burning like the eucalypt forests
(burning the bush of jouissance, the Plus Personne can emerge, Eu-cover Compactly)
& a billion screaming creatures foaming ash
(Oh the enth-ousia-sme of one-in-a-billion mistaken for knowledge-Vociferate!)