Assassination vs. murder...

The cold compress character of mad men who do big business, making murders happen, making money, making history, a desk at the Rand Corporation, debating language, dubious plan: funnel art as opium, masses of flesh, stuffed into white shirts, think tank tops, denying bob cratchits raises, razing cities, call me al capone, corrupt, fun fun fun, a lot of people hate me, keep the bandwidth narrow, silos of conscience, duty-bound, the mafioso doing it for his family, manifestos and mantras, the ethical greed, the gonads of good, the 1%, tiny tims of the elite soldier, strangling mothers, burning fields, in boxes, out houses, sunsets in the Pacific, surf tunes, tin radios, drink the day, your spineless sons, testosterone rivers, blue danube, waltzing daughters pressed between glass, devoured and shat in the hallowed hallways of a 10 million dollar mansion in Aruba, moguls, baby tossers, beach vultures, Mars rovers, all of this and more can be yours if only you close your eyes and open your mouth and swallow the regurgitated tapeworms of articulated eagles tethered to bakelite recording devices that skate on tracks over coagulated seas of hot vomit. And I have understood, in this, but not of this, that I love you. A present beyond. Inversions of horror, warm universes spun from the echoes of a beautiful music jointly composed in all the happy suicide falls of the romantic emperors all the clairvoyant quilties, sewing flags for a space program worth inhabiting.