Sous Rature

Russell Pascatore


2012, The Bummer of the Sheep

The question concerning 2012 is not what is gonna happen to everything we’ve ever known like will we become lovely animals living together in peace and harmony beneath broad swaying willows absorbing the sun light that’s come to rest its revealing flow upon our road weary brows made cool and easy in that relaxing mixture of imagining the sweetest expressions of natural reality combined with pretending we haven’t already experienced this but with some wicked twist for example the sun’s shining and we’re all having fun until things go horribly wrong with the surface of things stretching across our view and out of sight when everything’s suddenly back to normal and everybody is changing their minds about what is going on because things change and then they change back again before you have realized you had been taking it for granted everything would continue exactly how they had been until they swung out control into a fucked up nightmare constantly reminding us that nothing stays the same people change the world is incessantly developing and evolving into new versions of how newness keeps appearing despite the changes we were all assuming would alter novelty’s mode of coming across in a world where things happen on a daily basis to perfectly ordinary people who just want the usual components of a healthy fantasy life imposing itself upon the currents and textures representing only one aspect of the multi-valanced swarm underlying the regularity with which we continue to encounter reality according to the dissatisfying mediation established by the complicit programming responsible for creating the illusion of intelligently executing intentionality within the context of the completely repetitive version of experience most commonly advertised to appear as the dominant mode for organizing the most mundane details constituting the moral fabric of our day to day opinions about the nature of what incessantly demands the attention we would rather save for self-betterment rituals and spiritually-nourishing activites and listening to the cool music our friends make instead of having to put up with the consecutively accelerating frequency of my body’s frail attempt to discover a source of satisfaction amid all the destruction and poison and weapons and coercive gestures and sharp objects being applied to the sensitive areas of myself for the purpose of teaching me to go with the flow and confess my secret passions and sex-ploitation scenarios for the sake of the greater good of the public’s knowledge concerning the inner workings of geniuses and famous composers and even average individuals with nothing on their mind except who they want to get some attention from next, as long as it won’t produce the kind of disaster their friends secretly envy for the subtlety of mind implied by great feats of stupidly rushing into painful situations without considering the broader implications for the loftier goal of accumulating massive experience points in the opinion of a social community obsessed with every little thing we try to do in the privacy of our own social role of being the best we can be until disease and loss invade our ability to perform with the decency in exchange for which we are awarded with general acceptance and approval by the group of maniacs pretending to represent what it thinks cool people are like instead of letting us be ourselves despite the impossibility of inhabiting a world suddenly made bearable by the newness of new love even though we obviously couldn’t be less confused whether or not we are willing to admit the mutuality of some pretense creeping into even the sweetest moments when we would rather just let go and not worry so much about everything I said before I started sweating it about coming across differently now that you suddenly realized precisely what I meant to have been intending to stop myself from making you feel bad for wanting me to be sensitive and caring instead of horny and destructive but what’s to keep me away from what I want as long as I am honest with respect to the natural allure of ruining it for old times’ sake before I miss the chance to tell you how much you mean to me who has longed for you to take me into your arms allowing me to forget the sorrows of this life which will continue changelessly through the impenetrably armored succession of days like the immortality of the least expected occurrences resonating at a frequency exceeding even the most useless gestures toward the formal requirements of a previous age when men walked in the footsteps of gentle forest giants and swam in the primitive stew of happy comraderie far from the wicked horny demons of modern factories and global exploitation and selfishly delusional attempts to dissimulate the fundamentally self-centeredness at stake in going about the motions of daily life just so the motherfucking forces of control won’t starve us to death in the isolated positions of emotional compromise implied by accepting the impossibility of happiness just to make the unbearable weight of being alive in the worst of all possible excuses for a piece of shit example of one of the biggest mistakes in the history of mankind’s grand narrative in the face of all peril surpassing nature in speed and agility of speaking like an awesome homie badass skateboarder or tattoo artist inflicting his totally un-fuck-with-able experience of reality on the surface of every NewGod destroyer of worlds totally amazing dude you always see around but never got to communicate with because you were both too busy minding your own business of paying attention to the only thing you care about doing for the sake of the mental happiness involved in answering to a higher power instead of acknowledging the natural anarchy at issue in a world so fucked up and out of control that at least half of its inhabitants have never even considered giving in to acting like they aren’t gonna have to keep pretending not to be enjoying something essentially mistaken concerning whether or not they want to be tricked into doing something they didn’t want to do of their own accord instead of just doing whatever their powerful influences commanded at any given instantaneous confluence of many invisible instances moving in the general direction of opening up toward the other ways to do something interesting instead of really boring or fucked up and out of control for a change in their quotidian lives reading all their stupid fucked up shit instead of listening to completely amazing warriors around the ancestral fire veritably shaking a spear beneath a century of mayhem and fucked up attempts to get ourselves happy when everybody knows happiness is the kind of thing you just don’t get because it is a fleeting glimpse of child-like expressions of being needy and annoying if you don’t get exactly what you want despite having to keep going about the activities of a pretty annoying life of solitary destruction concentrating on not fucking up the good things which remain in a universe of wildly unintuitive events coupled with never knowing the right way to treat everyone you love and admire and cherish as the only amazing wonderful friends the absent gods above will grant you as reward for ignoring the horrible reality of the world the parents of existence forced everybody to have to have the opportunity to go around in as if it wasn’t so bad enough suffering the unpopularity of non-existence that we should have to undergo the requirements of being inarguably incomparable instances of the universe’s wicked individual-producing potential to get things right for just the second it will take to acknowledge the personal gravity of our splendor and rejoice in the half light of the full dawn upon the advent of being righteously in sync with one another while the happy gods sing songs of love, exploitation and other foolish examples of succeeding to respond to the only difference between freedom and reality.




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