Sun-burnt eyes:
sparrows snatch turtles
toward tides.

Fruity-pebble morn:
cubicle worker
quotes vid in comments.

Guaranteed
warm or your cash back–
Summer Moon™

«Mmmm…»

Hold it there, Signor Sher: I just

saw you rolling round the sun-caressed

grass villi like a cub fucking

for the 1st time—well, OK, nothing

o’ this I truly saw; but I did glimpse flashing

colors through your eyes into your mind, basking

in your soft cotton sweats &

your puffy jacket. Think you’re the cream on the pumpkin

pie, right? Wrong! We were saving this

sweet & sour sunlight. It wasn’t meant for you.

Nothing is.

That’s right: put it all back where

you found it—all o’ the slick hair-

like grass; all o’ the viney

wrinkles on every oak; every

juicy loose-leaf hugging your

shoeless socked feet; & all 4

seasons. Don’t miss e’en the most worthless

piece. We’ll count them all to ascertain

that they’re all returned.

As for you, you

need to get a clue:

snooze.

Quiza es junio,

pero el celeste gris

y el aire que es tan frío que puede verlo

lo hacen un junio del otoño,

ni del verano ni siquiera de la primavera.

So there.

What a waste. Without a taste,

stretching out for help, but found

none in suns on yellow days,

frowning drowning pastel clown.

Nothing’s sweat in salty tears,

only smeared & only itchy

make up made up of those years—

dark, & yet they still bewitch me.

Dump you down my creaky drain,

please remind me of the rain—

Please! I promise to behave…

Recuerdo cuando oía aquella canción en el radio.

No la toca no más.

…

I remember when I heard that song on the radio.

They don’t play it anymo’.

…

While an authentically equal economy may be perhaps Utopian[1], those from all corners o’ the Quadratic Inanity[2] who usually use this argument to bolster each o’ their own particular form o’ benign capitalism are hypocritical, for capitalism without corruption is not e’en Utopian, but flat-out logically impossible. Hence why it’s ne’er existed, while true equality did sorta maybe for a short time in Spain once, a’least.

It’s so obvious that capitalism @ its core is corrupt that only American’s deep discomfort with questioning the core principles o’ their dominant ideology, regardless o’ truth & logic, could ‘splain the prevalence o’ this mythical meritorious capitalism—or “equal opportunity without equal outcome,” as conservatives call it. & it’s not just the right that hinges on it: liberals like Paul Krugman & Joseph Stiglitz in their books make lofty promises o’ returning to some mythical fair capitalism that they imagine existed in the glorious 50s—well, to whites, a’least—thanks to moderate welfare & regulation. It’s probably true that these—the welfare & regulation, not the white supremacy—do improve society o’er laissez-faire capitalism, if the success o’ Nordic social democracy is an indication; but corruption is not simply a relative circumstance that’s worse than what’s possible, but an absolute circumstance that applies regardless o’ what worse alternatives may exist. In truth, ending political/economic—I only use both words ‘cause o’ westerners’ wrongheaded insistence that they’re different—corruption would require change so radical that it’d probably require outright equality, which I’ve already states is probably Utopian. If that is the, understandable, belief o’ moderate liberals, then they should honestly acknowledge that the true end o’ corruption is impossible, but that their moderate reforms are the best people can hope for. Showing policies’ relative strength compared to other existing policies doesn’t prove those policies’ absolute quality.

What makes capitalism inherently corrupt? The answer’s hid in the name: capital, the creation o’ wealth from wealth, whether investment, interest, $ itself, or through using property to gain an advantage. The definition o’ a corrupt system is that the output affects the input—a’least in a positive way. This is ‘cause it creates a self-perpetuating cycle o’ victory creative further victory. This is why the equal opportunity that conservatives tout is necessary for meritoriousness: in order to be truly competitive, all contestants must start @ the same position. Obviously wealth—money & property—is the prime outcome, the measure o’ success; thus, any instance in which wealth itself creates opportunities for wealth-creation, including the common methods I’ve mentioned earlier, is corrupt. This obviously wouldn’t fit within conservatives’ call for equal opportunity: since opportunities such as investment are obviously influenced by how much wealth one has, then equal opportunity & equal outcome are the same.

What’s funny is that this is e’en mo’ obvious when one looks @ a common metaphor mainstream economists use to describe money’s affect on “the market”: $ votes. Consumers—people with money, & thus some success already—control how the market runs, which controls how money is outputted. Such a system is the equivalent o’ gerrymandering: the rich controlling the criteria that decides who gets to become rich. &, as economists themselves clearly agree, it’s the core o’ market systems.

Footnotes:

[1] Those who argue that Leninist countries like the former Soviet Union & North Korea’s evil were due to excess democracy or equality should merely be pointed & laughed @; their ideology has clearly left them immune to any semblance o’ reality.

[2] Conservatism, laissez-faire libertarianism, centrism, & liberalism—the 4 mainstream ideologies.

I’m not ‘fraid o’ the night,

where light illuminates the dark & dark illuminates the light;

‘stead I fear the day,

when the flesh-faced hunters—Aughooo!—wake,

marching out on the open plain,

as if we don’t all know what’s @ stake ‘tween our stakes.

Day like a desert saps me dry

till I become drunk on inebriated light & stumble blind.

Contrastingly, the night makes me much less anxious,

wrapping me with its twins: breeze & blankets.

Ignore the slander that night has no light

from those who ignore electricity & fireflies.

Seriously,

everyone knows ’bout the electricity & fireflies.

Lay sorrow for the sorrows I thought I harbored but didn’t,

drain,

now listen to that same spinning disk

I’ve been frisking for days now.

How ich bin itching loud.

When I’m starving to leave,

I say chow,

I do.

« Cat, get your face off my hand

& sit in a marching band.

Bash those drums off my hand

¿& sit? ¿Is marching banned? »

When the clocks get dusty,

¿y’know what I get in my bag?

A li’l timerag.

When the rocks grow rusty,

¿y’know what I’ve got on my back?

It’s not just his 1-night sand;

it’s all hour jazz.

« I don’t want to be em,

I don’t want to be hot,

I don’t want to grow young,

I | want | to | go | emooooo.

¡So medicate! & get late. »

—Smashing Berenjenas, “So Hot”

Look what: you warped my tape;

this is why I

shook rough you wrapped in tape

in this twilight.

I wish I had jam

to go with this pop

lock rock tock glock.

—O, ¿why all the blues?

Too poor for my blood;

I need a horn that blows—.

The loudness

only e’er makes the quiet louder, too.

—Now come, I’ll trade your tears ‘fore my fear

¿How come? I’ll make your bears … my fear—.

The beer o’ cheer only makes it run out;

its taste in my mouth

is only it leaving my mouth.

—Your problem is you keep trying to make music that ne’er stops.

¿Why stop the schlock that stops?

So you don’t stop stopping

& ne’er get round to music that stops,

much less los otros;

you’re obsessed with Easy-E

& ne’er get round to the humans that stop,

much less los otros—.

« …we threw things cruel—

eliminated the crannies & twigs. »

— OVED, “The Metaphor, My Sis”

O, ¿who am I ribbing?

I can’t be on the rag,

no mind how I rag.

The nearest I ran

was mooching a mini moocher.

I need to come back to the future;

I need, too, comfort when through sure.

I’m not sure these words are worth.

« When the talk’s all musty,

¿y’know what I packed in my keg?

A li’l timerag.

When the chalk falls fuzzy,

¿y’know that I made it in my sack?

It’s not just her, 4-morn sea:

it’s him, phony. »

— Some asschasm, “CUANDO LOS CEROS SE ALINEAN EN EL RELOJ DE VEINTICUATRO HORAS”

Already it’s getting laid

& the ligh-ligh-ligh… dim

& the 0s line up on the plenty for our lock

& I don’t remember why I scratched,

but I did.

Lay sorrows for the sorrows I thought I had but didn’t.

—Mike, check—.

I haven’t earned em.

—Mike, check—.

I don’t think I e’er will.

—Mike, check—.

¡We gret it, already!