Mantra of the Summer

Recourse to commemoration

Reverting to ethicalities of construction

“I” decadent, “I” verily a subjective alloy

“You” remembrance “you” plateau

“They” stage. Stage to move a microscope

Along X&Y –   XX “she” a decoy fathom

Message a message a charity outgrowth

Revert to ethics

Mantra of the summer

Bummer Bummer Bummer Bummer Bummer

The therapist said— the point is—if a point is pointed enough it can turn you blind. To avoid this, the early human invented the concept of zone. Now, a zone is a zone till you throw a stone. It’s time you start believing in ripples. It’s the only form of release in a stagnance. Eventually you come back to yourself as there is nowhere else to go. It’s all ozone outside the zone. Can’t breathe it, can’t eat it, can’t shit it; only political ambitions thrive there.

Mantra of the summer

Bummer Bummer Bummer Bummer Bummer

Let’s face it; a hole is not a hole without the option of withdrawal. Losing you left a hole in me, in my pagemarks, in the once sordid concept of plurality. I am whole now, akin to a sense of self justification growing out of an eraser. Mark my words and then erase them.

Mantra of the summer

Bummer Bummer Bummer Bummer Bummer

The only possible alibi I could have had was that I was shitting together with you, thinking about this poem about conditional plurality and continuously reverting to the discrepancies in definitions of “scar” and “scarred”. I still say-- your honor-- I’ve had no hand in this new world order.

Mantra of the summer

Bummer Bummer Bummer Bummer Bummer

In retrospect, my ego should’ve stayed clear of me. Doesn’t it sound true that only death defies death. An unsung promise defies a resonating promise and we stand on our shards reminiscing about infrastructures and dilemmas, holes in our once promising theories, sutures and withdrawals.

Mantra of the summer

Bummer Bummer Bummer Bummer Bummer

Tricky, isn’t it, to escape and then return to the gaol feeling bubbly. Progress is heady, it dispenses the same Martini that you had in that charity program in 68. The world went global, it was octagonal before that with a few chinks. Our crops are outgrowing their rains, our armours are stripped for recycling dead meats. Good times to pick-up a swagger and beat the shit out of the bugger and call the currency a hole.

Mantra of the summer

Bummer Bummer Bummer Bummer Bummer

Resistance essentially is a queue of never ending propositions and without resistance there never is capital. Capital of identity, of incongruence, of resources waiting to be buried among the graveyard of vernacular memories. We will identify ourselves alright, we will prostrate before the mirror, strip-search for bottom-lines that were built to be promiscuous in the first place. My fidelity is fractal, so is my concept of home. Mark these and then remember your mighty righteous eraser.

Mantra of the summer

Bummer Bummer Bummer Bummer Bummer