How are you doing?

 Queen Anon, 

empress of chaos, who poisons information, who kills minds, who leads society into a shit pit.

Your Satanic Majesty, QAnon, consort of MAGA —

Fuck you, and the pigs you rode in on, 

shitting pigs shitting pig shit in the Halls of Democracy .

Your warriors, your Christofascist Crusaders, your lynch mob,

and your evangelists who wipe their asses with pages of the Holy Bible and feed it to their ignorant congregations as communion.

Holy consciousness give me adequate malediction, give me the profound profanity of Ezekiel to speak to White Evangelicals.

Never mind diplomacy 

with MAGA and his Queen, a Non-entity, 

Hey, she looks like Rudy Giuliani in drag!

How am I doing today? I’m OK, I’m fine, can’t complain ha ha ha

My vital signs are good

I’m trying to stay negative, Covid-wise

Do I feel alone and insignificant?

No, not remotely.

Despite uncertainty about my financial future, despite PTSD, despite compound bereavement, and being in quarantine for nearly a year and really no end in sight and despite hypertension and not enough good cholesterol and the neuroma in my ear and the torture chamber of rightwing social media and the corporate colonization of consciousness through these devices we are leashed to, I don’t feel alone and insignificant.

Not at all.

Not remotely, because I have remote control over my life.

I am a boomer, a white boomer blessed by our idol, our sick white idol formed from pig shit and paper.

Hey, boomer!

Boom boom boom boom

Dig the legacy of insanity passed down the generations

Boom boom boom boom

Our parents were driven insane by their war

Boom boom boom boom

Their parents were driven insane by war

Boom boom boom boom

Our parents’ parents were driven insane by war

Boom boom boom boom

Born of war, for war

Our civilization is a war machine, the empire of war, the empire of conquerors and Christo-fascist crusaders

Boom boom boom boom

Do I feel alone and insignificant?

The limits of my body

the limits of my self

the limits of my world

the limits of my perception of all that and anything

By the time my body disappears in crematory smoke, 

even before the loss of any memory or record of my existence —

more than I can say and less than I can say, because the microscope of my language can only see so small —

so, both more and less than I can say.

So I smoke

and throw ink at these walls of zen.