Realising happiness and joy is just a construct of a self deception

Should it keep you from lying?

Plato once said:  "Carve me a head!

Necessity is the mother of invention."

Did it keep him from dying?

I think you got a problem

You got a problem

I think you're thinking too much

Dont trust a music teacher who is quoting Nietzsche

To bear the silence of the scotch

I think you got a problem, you got a problem

Darwin didn't love you very much

But he gave you evolution and the

institution that is your artificial crutch



Go back to sleep, this is the age of the deep slumber

Don't be afraid of the blue skies

Enter the merry-go-under

And see your life through the eyes of Isabel



Are you the ghost of Vermeer with a

table leg staring into the light From above?

Are you a burning giraffe on the

borderline making a mantelpiece for a dove?

Are you a basket of bread for the

afterlife on a cabinet, or a bed stand?

Hail the hallucinogenic toreador of kitsch!

Isabel, show me life, I'll follow the lights into the hole



Go back to sleep, this is the age of the deep slumber

Don't be afraid of the blue skies

Enter the merry-go-under

Through the cracks in the glacial mass

Where the seagulls collide

Look away, Isabel!



Wonderful, wonderful nib

Pointing up like the manicured finger of Magritte

Could I write me out of solipsism with some chalk on a floorboard?

The yellow lemon stairs to a dead end, inexplicable lady friend

Name the unnamable object with a word - a word, little parakeet!



Call her, call her, tell her that you love her madly

Tell her that you need her badly

Tell her that you want to be forever

Call her, call her, call her from your ivory tower

High above the virgin's bower

Immolate your naked limbs and dance alone



I think it's time you wake up!

All the faculty members are here

Come and see the final lecture

We'll examine the Rorschach redemption of life

Juvenile dementia

When the temporal perception is lost

I will guide you through the pictures

As we ride through the mouth of Hieronymus Bosch



Go back to sleep, this is the age of the deep slumber

Don't be afraid of the blue skies

Enter the merry-go-under

Through the cracks in the glacial mass where the seagulls collide

Look away, Isabel!



Lined up by the washing machines, Bleacher Street in wuthering streams

Madeleine crumble submarines will

preserve all the finest of fabric for the fall

Lie supine out in a sprawl, carve your name into a snowball

As you drift down the moon river



Quiet like a fly on a windshield in the schoolyard

Another thesis on Heidegger gave you a voice

The structural transformation of the public sphere you dismembered

To some extent, you were careless then, like Salvador

You lingered in the praise of the classroom, you were dreaming

Carrying The body of Bertrand Russel through the streets

Then a lightning came out of nowhere, you were sober

You saw the students had evaporated from the seats



Isabel, show me life, I'll follow the lights into the hole