As an engineer I have this fear,
A creeping suspicion, a delightful premonition of impending analytical doom.
Out of the swirling, light lagoon will rise a creative art monster
So overpowering, enveloping pretty Penelope notions of structured reality,
Rendering me useless to a mass production society.
I engineer processed chips for hungry computers I will never own,
Annoying car-crash producing, skin rash, magnetic trash, cancer-causing cellular phones,
Wobbly washers, refrigerators, car control generators, accelerators,
Enervators of a comfort driven, consumer culture.
It provides green paper for my meals as the wheels of my productivity twist and turn.
I have learned to hide enormous slices of corporate culture anesthesia pie
In a little flesh pocket in the back of my mouth, and then spit them out in a can
With the rest of those bland, cardboard ideals that science can conquer the world.
Who twirled the baton of validation to that theory?
I am leery of our high minded, all understanding notions
Developed in scientific method control chairs.
I have peered behind the curtain.
I have seen the wizard responsible for our unceasing, grinding, machination machinery.
He is an insecure, frightened boy running from his father,
Afraid to confront authority, bruised from heavy-handed lectures of truth without love.
I no longer see parts and products, material aqueducts of assembly lines in the factory.
I see unfinished art, fettered brilliance, unawakened masterpieces
Listing in long, plodding parades, dreary they sway in unison to a single toned,
One beat moan.
It is rising, filling, swelling in my blood channels,
Rushing to my heart, and spreading through my internal rivers.
I am and am becoming a new creature, the features of my face
Ablaze with color, rhythm, pulsing heavenly tracks of groove grumblin's.
I'm tumblin' through seas, fumblin' for keys to paintball machine guns that will
Cover their shocked money trains with thick, fresh-smelling acrylics and glossy, latex stains.
We will play, we will sing, and the work thing will begin to bring life.
It is coming. Are you salivating for its pleasure-packed taste?
I cannot erase who I be.
Come and get creatively useless with me.
Hazy sloop, moop floop super dupe droop ball.
Randlostarn with yarn and fresh summer air ball.
Sun drip flip skip out the lip crew tribe of man ball.
Flandy sandy sing song tulip trip off my right hip ball.
Ha ha! Light it up! ‘Sup king clowny nosy flappy thing?
Ring ding ding a long tron blue and red through the wind thing.
Sloppy moppy. I’m hoppy quoppy jop of bop drop thing.
Heads of bed post quick to joke on hope’s fine silver thing.
Zing! Zap! Trapped! Crash! Bap! Ssshhhrrrap!
The floating, the random, of all things not bland, and … I’m done.
