Before 911

 

 

Before 911 there was the making of the faking-it matrix , the exploit joint with questionable diligence and  a one trick policy fix fanning the fantasy of fandom, tinsel tactile institutions substituting for hands on wheel feel freedom.

 

Before 911 the aching was still in the making, thoughts processed for domination not oblivion, not yet so hyped for the hot button.

 

There was laughter as the propaganda ops got topped up to cover slights and slaughters, and after, applying fuzzy eye muzzly logic, still getting a buzz from the benefits of the Bomb.

 

Before 911 the fiction flippers, roasted in education minus realization or operational mirrors, masked their faces with nurturing numbness, not wanting to leave any traces of fabrications. Keeping on creeping on.

 

 

Before 911 concern turned on the dotcom will scam wisdom of the gizmo geniuses perfecting the art of the stock market sneak and the feeding back of circuitboard circuses to packs of public stretched out on the consumer rack.

 

On 911 one more time one more horror howled homeless and jetted, vetted in hatred, into the jungle of the lawman ,  into a symbolic bottleneck, junking the symmetry of hegemony. Ground zero unzipped in the west. Agonized eyes, more used to earnest anesthesia, zooming in on the the zeitgeist, in the zone of the mass moan. A one hit weirded out wonder flying the wrong way down monster lane.

 

Then after that the chant became a rant rendering fender-bendering of everyone’s rights to be human beings unbound and everything got piped thru the annihilation migraine. No one in an official node getting the nod or the nudge to take a chainsaw to the mendacity or to the official avenger agenda , a chaser for the policy swallowing imperial pact,

 

A  flexible pretext for amending what matters most, to most people, into the shape of a pretzel, and official death  for the unseemly undefended(kept undefined)  -- guilt and innocence just concept confabs for spinning epistemologies out of their moulds, graspless,  for the good cause of  hegemony perks for jerkoffs to puff up their peak performances  --- 

And the only drawback is the slo mo blowback of the limbless and the grimness periodically making it on television shaming the sham for a brief trash flash, but hardly any reprimand as the loonie-land band plays lunatic loops for the well armed and the dangerously inane.

 

The chances of cracking open this continuum: slim; the temptation of power, the original sin, older than the sun,  pulling on the psyche.

 

The hat , for pulling out of , sits on the table,  triggered to be tripped ---  pull the rabbit out of the facts or take the trap.

Before 911 there was a waiting list for wish lists, now wish lists are hit listed, confrontation spiked.

 

 

 

Whistle whilst walking past the planet of alienated apes working themselves into a state of hate and hit harder, whilst charting out a no nuance map

 

Out on the edge of the pledge of ignorance

 

Where the glory glow won’t hold,  where war won’t ingratiate fate or satiate the autoerotic suck up of other people’s pluses, an autonomic reaction of the wizzes of biz and bombing to make it better, giving even their own gods the jitters as they incant smash and grab because they can without even a self conscious cough , leaving the tab for the titillated bit player taxpayers and jilted grunts at the front , while laptoppin’ Homers leave digital skid marks to skim the news to be behind the lines.---

 

Wars of weaseled words and thought blocked  talk of war dimming the cognitive content of the killing component in the the war stimulating process.

 

And while there’s visions like the fission decision in a long ago lab telling there’s something  that should  be shook off , there’s no resisting the sizzle of a little insanity encoding the coldness of rationale,  enfolding  all  resources simultaneously into a cemetery for all systems. And you don’t need a hounddog to pick up the scent of something rotten in the state of denial.

There’s no more before 911

 

just  some kinda raison d’etre to sweat thru and call out for a few new hand eye coordination schematics to reset  this glory glitched hypnotic trance -- no more war dances. No more post 911 lemon trances.

 

 

 

Greg McNeill