Mark Robertson, Thinkers

Thinkers, Thinkees... 2001
Composite #1

tickly textual testament of the times...

Fucking euro-blanco paternalistic neo-tek cave dwelling
coercive artworld weasels still clogging our minds up with
their leftover dead rich people's marble glories to god
whichever one that is hidden behind the curtain of our
composite gullibility burqa or not it doesn't come easily
to the eye and it doesn't make me in any way ecstatically
come to the mother the father or the little lost sheep.

OK there's the odd bit here and there maybe a Degas or a
Vasserelli or Vermeer or Leonardo just for the wondering of
it and maybe even another look at the odd Klimt even though
"The Kiss" was some just ode - a pissant payment and pean
to feral groping unrequited lusting after some other dudes
twitchy bitch and then only after she'd run through Gropius
and Mahler before he even got around to stealing that
beautifully painted wanker hanker pucker upper gilded in
the best forgive us for renew not religiousity.

Christ on a Crutch made of the True Cross which if you
added up the cubic volume of it in all the sanctified
venues in which the masses are allowed to kiss and lick it
(unlike dead saints which due to hagiopaghy tend to
diminish in volume as they stick between the teeth of the
faithful nibblers) not to mention all the bits and pieces
of it in private boxed shines and hanging in gold cylinders
around the necks of too rich too dumb gotta go pilgrims
hoping that their feckless fucking transgressions upon
earth will be clearly priced upon the menu of indulgences
and forgivenesses and thus overlooked they'll with strap-on
wheels strait through the gate on an easy slide through the
pools of pearly jissom at the unction junction under the
bored eye of the umpire skate building - those bites and
pisces, if you fished them all up and erectioned them with
crafty cunting why you'd find that cross had phished and
loafed so vastly you'd have enough of that cross to rebuild
the (gasp he;s not going to say it is he? Iiiieeeeeee!)
world trade towers in wood - with enough left over to make
heathenish disposable chopsticks for a billion chinese 3
times a day to the end of eternity if Allah wills it.


The Janus faced fuck you mean two sides? How about really
thinking about it - a shiva-kali many handed (spiffy color
coordinated battery operated kitchen appliance in each one)
deathhead multiplicity of solutions none of which should in
the least bit easy-installment-plan disaccommodate you in
any way don't get up don't touch that dial keep your hand
off the remote control leave it someplace hot and sticky
until you bleed from your tired your poor your anthrax
racked masses raked from wrecks of bleeding eyes of march
in lockstep hope to drop your penny in the candle box for
your holy succor sucker now bare your buns you bums cuz
their god can kick your gods assets (over100 million art
insured loss WTC911) and the net effect of the internet and
our fuhrer aus HomeLand Security is a jollygood rogering yo
ho of whatever ghosts of the 1st 2nd and other sundry
amendments that have not already been covered with red
white blow me jasperjohns ripoffs finally on the walls of
our fine corporate sponsored church and state integrated
voucher underwritten theological institutions and amended
in consideration of your two priors (1970 shoplifting that
barbiedoll and oooh you thought we didn't notice - touching
yourself and impure thoughts in revisionist history class)
found in the priory by prattling priests of poke your ice
haus cubed flail your frail body free of taints go merchant
in corporate corpus coprophagiacal tendentiousness. Give us
this day a bleeding medea chained eyeball to pay per view
our sins - let the strumpets of your holey truth grab-brass
ring throughout the infoweb as we give it up this day as we
gave it up yesterday every last vestige of ours and that of
our whiny whelps personae that your visage can omnisciently
seeing overseer with whips and chains in brains for
leverage and bailouts amen.

I think i see,
crumbs on the floor,
and ringd purple stains
You'll stand with humble
heart to hand
and sing the
corporate peans...