Secrecy is pleasurable, in itself by definition
inherent, being a sneaky little guttersnipe
shines a joy for the ages, saying “I did this”
knowing full well that you didn’t is a carnival
festival drunk in daytime new year Christmas day
funeral of a bastard that we all loved, singing drunky loops
by the jukebox, swaying with our fists in the air,
that’s the kind of fun to be found in a lie, especially when
it doesn’t mean anything, because you’ll get it
done before the “authority” knows
the difference, and the pace is yours to decide,
so the fashioning of progress reports is the pit of a port-a-potty
at burning man, all hell smell and maggot
spirit clusters, which, to each his own but is not my idea
of a good time, so I need my box of trinkets
pills and hand-held mirrors, remnants of a freedom
long lamented, kept in a safe and buried.
To say lying is never moral is a lie, catch 22
Kant you motherfucker, intellectual Circe
looping logic like olympic rings, writing
as an asshole, but his ideas make weighted
sense, vitally decisive, that which is
categorically imperative, showing logic
is the only law, act only in such a way
that the maxim by which your actions are directed
should become a universal law, for the benefit of all,
which might be true, though we’ll never know
after all is pronounced, because people suck
the big one when it comes to self
control, so laws like these, carefully considered
though they might be, may never survive
the span of a three-day weekend, because
I dream of right angles, straight lines
easy choices just, for they are not
we must consider them, watch yourself.
andrewhalteromniblog 