Infectious Anxiety Mode

Infectious Anxiety Mode
© Surazeus
2024 03 19

Because they try to set his hat on fire 
with laughing gasoline of naked truth, 
he will conjure disarticulate words 
to prove how worthless love can never be 
as if obscure excerpts of puzzle code 
would smear blood on the art magazine page. 

Regret may not soon hesitate to charge 
for promised coverage of the howling time 
because we must share stories of our lives 
while huddling round the campfire at midnight 
with solemn remembrance of those who died 
yet walk among us as absence of faith. 

We could archive our dreams in lonely books 
stored on third floor of the library hall 
because experience of the songless vibe 
is more sublime than timeless waterfalls 
till we decide with concern to attend 
last conference about history of world art. 

Enthusiastic crowd of sunset ghosts 
cheer leaping dance of the most serious clown 
who prophesies when the empire will fall 
as if they just collapse when we decide 
the time has come to change how we perceive 
mechanical world of atomic light. 

So we decide to become Futurists 
who choose infectious anxiety mode 
for measuring our mental capacity 
to multiply our bodies from coiled genes 
as we mutate from fish to wingless angel 
when we transgress borders of moral rights. 

Inert from paradoxical desire 
while marking pastoral zone of exchange, 
we network at art museums of pride 
with posh pose of necrotic attitude 
long absent from contagious stage of fear 
with disregard for loose propriety. 

While I survey our critical domain 
with objective focus of harsh insight, 
my brain stuck in metastasis of hope, 
I trick my heart to reproduce weird joy 
through frigid ecstasy that powers time 
when I exploit glam likeness of the world. 

With each redundant gesture of pure art, 
converting psychic trash to social cash, 
I saturate my brain with dreams of love 
through generalities of ideal truths, 
till I derive new world order from lies 
on which our victory may capitalize.