“The Beatles are better than the entire genre of Jazz”, and, “if you don’t like Radiohead, you don’t like music”, and other hyperboles

send me some
for weirdo glitch
and heart-full ambient
that is also maybe
and also maybe
and also of course just
maybe not of heart
at all.

we human-centric humans,
obsessing over the heart.
the heart, which we do not
even often authentically
we round it and sharpen it
and task it to commerce,
twisting it to participate
in yet another of
our charades.

“the economy of heart,
yes oh human heart,
in my leaking narcissism
this is the only
financial institution
i am interested in.”,
says the man
who no longer even lives
on earth.

on planet, yes,
i am still on planet,
though have faded
towards the very edges
of the ground that we kill
ourselves to attain.

you know me,
i digress
i ramble

my feet are wet,
though our skin lacks
receptors to identify
such a substance.

Published by Zak

an intertidal island in an ocean of impermanence.

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