Terror pressure cooker Hotel Chelsea,
where words like shrapnel spread,
igniting spiritual revival in society,
from the economics of mundanity,

Unlikely cells of jelling conspiracy,
were it not for proximity of insanity,
were it not for luxury of the leisurely,
high-handed, decadent intellectually.

Devil's playgrounds idle expanders,
hallucinated perception open doors,
outward expression manifestations,
disobediently distributing poisons.

Here, in this hotbed of dissonance,
stretching bounds of ignorance,
acting beyond born deficiencies,
hastening apocalyptic multiplicities.

But these are not the voices of fear,
they speak of freedom madness here,
and in advancing wild professions,
and rampant serial redefinitions.

This is a cold call for cacophony,
for growing tired of all this harmony,
and thinking other's pain is funny,
in sad predictable images on TV.

Tap this phone, oh, motherfuckers,
for what was done to sons and daughters,
I have time to chase you suckers,
from Wall Street to all earth's borders.

They think we didn't notice recently?
We're stupid, fat, and lazy, really?
They pulled off this cruel robbery,
like some daylight cowboy fantasy?

Here then, is the price they're paying,
for imminent ripping up of flooring,
undermining of their underpinning,
all fall down under weight of winning.

Flying Into the streets accelerating,
like transfusion veins refilling,
Our culture is sodden, sickly, woefully,
and needs new logic intravenously.

They mean to strike at the heart of us,
by tearing down this sacred edifice,
Watching the building fall to dust,
dance around and shout out, "Yes!"

It is privilege that's the terrorist,
trying to suppress will to resist.
Hoping like many of the other ones,
We will hide somewhere with guns.

We will celebrate in the destruction,
this bad breaking with convention,
the spirit endless in ending safety,
egg crack legacies of Hotel Chelsea.

05/06/2013

Author's Note: My pissed off, anarchistic, artist screed.

Posted on 05/06/2013
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