ooo | I am

I am Voltairean while volatile


& I wonder if the soul-sucking media is the postmodern Soma of Huxley-modern times.

I hear camera lenses shutter past celebrity post-social-martyrdoms while


I see Celebritarians born from that which just passively died.


I want rampant intellectualism as a coping mechanism and we’re all going to die down

     here,


I am Voltairean while volatile.



I pretend the world hears the music fitting of my everyday’s theme,


I feel regressive in my possessive progression and that I am offendedly the most

     offensive, exemplified offensively—as if my lack of offense could come from being

     undamaged.

I touch Alpha Centauri A, B, & C but

I worry that it isn’t a far enough stretch, a far enough reach.

I cry for the millions self-annihilating by so called “free choice,” “free will,” to devour

     the published productions disguised in essence as their own ape hand...


I am Voltairean while volatile.

I understand that we are all celebrities and some of us are existing with extra

     Celebritarian needs.

I say that I, myself, a student first and foremost, is a Celebritarian revolving in a

     Voltairean era of and on my own.


I dream of cult immortalization because the clock is ticking and nobody’s all-the-way

     dead yet,

I try to remind myself that family is just betrayal with justifications while


I hope that the day all my dreams are destroyed, it has been thus that all of my wishes

     have been ultimately self-granted.

I am Voltairean while volatile.