Thanks to New Order we are all ships in harbors
chanting about ubiquitous Sundays and ridiculous
half-haphazard Lady-Gaga-cross-eyed stares, sadly.
Otherwise we would have been local drunks at the pub
cheering on mild neon genocide. Ke$ha did not want that
in her party anthem, however, so functionally vomiting
has become a relative norm, upchucking whatever capitalism
comes along—quite fun indeed. (In other universes it is Friday.)
The logic is persistent: Kenny G thoroughly represents
the past and the apocalypse. We are all imbricated in
the banality of today’s evil, we have ceased flinching. Huh.
So the fixed and changeless sadness of contemporaneity
is normal, which is only reassuring if one remembers
that the US has been at war for fourteen years. Yay.