Welcome to Poetic Terrorism--a new method of communication. A new vocabulary for resistance. We're opening a new front in the war against soundbytes and corporate catchphrases, because it's impossible to think when your words are controlled by discourse that is manufactured by imperialist corporations and sold to us wholesale in our schools and TVs. Bullshit shoved down our throats by government spokespeople and paid advertising--WE (you) have something to say, SAY IT!
Poetic Terrorism is profoundly nonviolent. It is the resistance of our voices. We are controlled by a submersion tank of manufactured ideas--by the media repeating the talking points of the government.
Poetic terrorism is about bringing the art of resistance into every facet of our lives. Live your life loudly. 'There is no becoming, no revolution, no struggle, no path; already you're the monarch of your own skin--your inviolable freedom waits to be completed only by the love of other monarchs: a politics of dream, urgent as the blueness of sky.'--Hakim Bey
This blog is open to anyone's words and ideas. If you would like to post, email jed.bickman@gmail.com to let me know--I'll give you privileges and then you can post whatever you want.
Holy are the achieving aces masked hot potato players blaming eachother’s ugly ties. learned fashion from an embalmer. Accounting from a poet, the bard Enron barded beardly wired wild eyed prophet of eternal profits. Huge vaults—defined by fivefootfive cloth walls. The phoenix busts boxoffice records again, making god into a corporation again, flying into acid raves and copyrighting ecstasy again. The pipe organ converts the masses, the soaring pulpit whose excuse is to be 25 feet closer to God. And you build sky-scrapers!
omni are the achieving aces midwifing the earth with syringes; drunken ribosomes of wheat increase yield for subsidies not to sell.
Where are the achieving aces who leave the work to black spades covered in tar at the end of the day from paving the world over painting darkened poems through cities through trembling canyons of glass and shit.
Unholy watering: burning bushes of Columbia men hooded to beasts, humiliated Christlike Muslims guantanamoed praying to Mecca McDonalds, facing Miami.
Holy are the achieving aces, We love you for our umbilical paycheck predigested food straight into our starving gut and ferment to make us vomit and forget. Forbid us our earthly inheritance, our dirt and our air. One day the malls will rise up.
here we are: aces, back to back aces, high first class jets lousy with ties semenspreckled underwear unbelievable pleats irradiated cotton genome shifted shirt sound lives iPodified botox foreheads commodified grey brains starched and wrinkleless.
Trumphant, these transcend, ascend on the shoulders of degrees from ivied masturbation chambers theorizing while being fed cafeteria silver spoons flying
Grave Yard Text Books Written In Un See (K)ing Ink Head Stones Held In Rows Of Ideas Drying On the Vine Held Parallel By Grave Tenders Just Ifying Us In Death Hoeing Identical Death Seeds With Ink Bleached Garden Rakes. (You)
epitaphs dulled by incessant rubbings stroking others dying words to darken the negative space telling the hive-mind of humanity nothing that couldn’t be better told by the highwayworker’s spades the taxidriver’s air freshener, the trucker’s crowbar making a living a corner of society that belongs to them real estate in ideas.
And so here I stand sitting in a classroom stuck in gridlock pergatoried in acid drizzle my body rots away from under me my crotch overgrown with moss. slippery leather insole surviving puddle after puddle after endless tunnel. education is priceless in America, just like Mastercard. For everything else, there’s your desk job: tie, watercooler in the breakroom…
Many a good pen died in that fight. The theater of war: ink, neon paper, mostly eye irradiating screens.
and outside the untouched truth looms over our workday. the truth that we’ve sold out. that we do the same thing every day. the aces have settled down, but the world is just as overwhelming as it used to be. we sit at info-mirrors perhaps working for a cause which is forgotten after an hour of business-arranging word hammering shoving numbers into crannies.
the only thing driving us are pure moments of communication achieved in life being lived in common. aces flipping over aces in shared agony.
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" Tuesday, March 08, 2005