The Best Minds?

So take all of your self-sufficiency
your malice,
your greed,
your pseudo-intellectualism,
and your pseudo-fucking.
You’ve no idea what it really means to fuck
or think
or believe,
and especially not what it means to
dream.

You sip your bottles of wine
in a bookstore
around a table
surrounded by books
and books, and
books.
You feel a beast as you ramble about
“The consummation of the proletariat’s revenge on
the erudite Bourgeoisie,”
but you feel quite erudite as well,
and the fact that there’s a book written about you and
a movie on the subject of “you” and
countless children named after you
means that you’re one of those nasty Bourgeois as well.

How can you speak of Capitalism
when you make enough to blow on
all the alcohol in the world?

How can you call yourself a human
when you live for things as if they’re the end goals
rather than the pleasurable consequences
of living well?

Fuck the elitist self-proclaimed communist dead beat dope headed Buddhist bitches.
Fuck them all.