The punches that transition to the story include the fighter’s daddy,
But I could tell that of the discovery
Was only meandering to the ring as of dada.
While fighters seemed to be, Announcers made jokes.
Fighter matched professional fighter.
A few about the questionable got the first punch in
Evenly and up.
The dissident, the activist, the PC police are ignored, pushed to the sidelines and discredited. They only find themselves an echo chamber of likeminded maniacs. They insulate themselves, differentiate themselves, and separate themselves from the mainstream. They create a world where they are the outcast, where they are oppressed, where their words have no power falling not on deaf ears, but on angry argumentative assholes.
Only the whore, only the sellout, only who is reinforcing the status quo can change the world, does change the world. They work within the system. They speak to people who listen. They create the larger society as their echo chamber. Only they are not echoing society, it is echoing them.
You change the world by increments in the language of the majority, as the majority. You lead a following of the patriarchal racist establishment to the world you want to live in. You do this as art for art sake, Language for language sake. Your words are personal for personal sake. No one need listen to the content because the content does not matter. Only it does matter.
Those exposed to your words, that hear your words, those that made you their whore are not turned off to what you say, do not argue against you, do not close their minds. They hear. They follow. The sheep change the world. Don’t be so full of yourself. You have no power to change the world if you separate yourself from it. You must make yourself a whore. To lead the sheep, you must become a sheep. Join the heard. Follow the sheep.
Amiri Baraka’ s lecture can be found here: https://archive.org/details/naropa_amiri_baraka_lecture_on
I needed air, and I showed no signs of a lone truck
Weaving tiredly in the tiny opened vent.
I had ever seen trucks decomposing by midmorning
And poured the seeds to find an open spot.
Looking back to make sure
He doesn’t give a hot meal,
She meets his gaze.
The camera’s gaze.
The masculine gaze,
When he sits to respond.
The offended woman approaches.
That is a beggar.
Just give some money,
Anything, everybody, all this,
And look him in the eyes.
Charity is there.
No need to pray.
Rise since a spare is one dollar.
You can give right.
The young man,
Walks quickly to work.
Not being followed
Who helps, he calls
When one passes from stage right.
She the greedy little heathen
Could needs the rapture.
God hates the giver.
Graham waded into the fatherly tone
And took a water to clean his catch on a man.
You are not from the cooler.
If you can’t clean your swig
Before baiting another,
Step back of thee own fish.
Robert inhaled from the seats,
A larger bed of one, a bottled expanse of blue,
And exhaled large rings of amber.
He was lost in the fumes through the vent hole.
The fictional nostrils
Smashed against one wall and died.
Human armpits imbedded into
Sunlight streaked diesel, and sleep,
Death’s interior, was perfumed with my feet
And a bittersweet mix of husky dwarf.
I know from sweat that tough
Where the oils from the long expanse
Dangled from the stained blacktop.
He would not regain the armrests,
Nor his sense of smell for a month.
There is still love straight ahead.
He snatched the dollar out and moved on.
One dollar charity and wonder.
In this, the far side of the sidewalk
You have no nice clothes.
Would that I could be Hindu.
Run dream on deep clay.
The white line up from the rock strewn
Friction chips that signaled himself relax.
Float counter to the pleasures of the day.
Smear in as much fish smut to let it
Break his six pound soul.
By myself I cannot this task,
This notion to be.
It is sin.
Mine enemies, the flesh, and their influences.
Christians thunder because pride is a churches name.
I am Christian child of American God,
White beard and white coat,
Corrupting mist hand,
Shimmering stringer of the shadows.
Morality he tamed as he shouted and pulled closed
His other hand around the back lake.
Because Jeffs’s Hinduism
And his polygamous gospel
Of patriotism and hypocrisy reincarnated,
Every kinship that indicates the word
Believe as someone
Who were to leave every time
We think it is deem fit
Will still make it to be out of touch
For long thought and all experiences
Required to make a full religious bowl
Where their children and
A complete being or designation
Fight back the word as good folks,
Just and independent from turn, might.
Therefore, therefore, therefore,
And therefore but if therefore
Or therefore, however, and therefore.
With so as in fact,
And then a where.
Or was it?