Grease coated poetics…

For months ol’ Max the ticky-dot-cat has been scuffin’ and scratchin’ in his litter box, trying to raise a little ire, create a little objective thought (even a dust mote would be nice) generate some interest, any interest, just a—even a—tiny flicker of light from the dark of this post literate society. Sad to report: it seems as if all intelligent literate life out there is dead. The socialist, liberal-whine academic literature and arts components of the machine’s infrastructure have completely knuckled under to the shallow uninformed suck-weasels in government and corporate funding (tax driven or grant.) Example: just a quick skip through the pages of APR will confirm the pathetic “ass-crust” con-job that’s been perpetuated on financial benefactors. Another tiptoe through the tulips (if you have the gumption) into most any elementary, secondary, or high school literature program will substantiate the absence of a qualified, extended, actual results driven suite. “Poetry writers,” as to be expected, if incensed at all, have chosen to cloister with the rest of their pseudo-educated, weak-spine brethren in dark, rat infested alleys and coffee houses; boring Saturday morning tea & marmalade-toast curmurring society meet’s to snivel and snip at the achilles tendon of any sort of advancement on behalf of fast faded twenty-first century poesies. In the dim light and from under the tossed grease coated boxes and stale coffee grounds, self-proclaimed “poets,” have retreated into the blathering free association modes of expression thought long ago dissolved from the 1950’s. The mid-sixties to mid-seventies offered so much hope…

Don’t, ever, call me a “poet,” Max tdc