writer's cliche: poke it and it deconstructs

the linings are all worn out
not ripped
just frayed
small fringed edges
lengthening bit by bit by bit by bit by bit
miniscule
insignificant disorder
because it's always disorder one strives against
because as soon as you're born you're bestowed with the title of "entropy fighter"
because you are supposed to create in some form or another
you are supposed to build
to tie
to grow
because you are supposed to make something of yourself in this world
that's right child
it's a mandate
make something
make something of your self
a self
Defend your self
because bit by bit by bit by bit
don't mind the chaos
build something
make something
be something
Defend yourself
build
and
defend
and
be.
don't you know you have to fight to be?
And you can craft elaborate defenses
on the resume of your existence
the things that you believe make you "interesting"
the things to bring up in the cosmic cocktail party
the things that line, well, let's not talk about it but we've already inferred it so we might as well say it your obituary
but it can't come to that yet because you've got an awful lot of building to do
all of these pretty little structures
for you to dwell in at least for a while
yes, your metaphorical little boxes on a hillside
and yes dear, the song is correct, they really do all look just the same
but let's not talk about that at the moment
but at least in the end there will be a lovely set of ruins
and if you've built enough
the biographers will be the new archaeologists
even though no one reads either genre anymore
but that's alright dear
no one can much expect such things as memory anymore
what with the flowerless state of graveyards these days
which is why you clearly must build your own monuments
because that's what humans do
they build monuments
and after all of these years, they never tire of chipping into rocks
they never tire of moving stones from one place to another
to form concentric rings
that somehow are supposed to mean something
the earliest form of existentialism
I can make meaning by dragging heavy things from place to place to place
just make it look like something
it doesn't have to be something now does it?
Give it a shape
assume things will yield
that's what you were born for
to make things
to make things by making them yield.
You don't like that language because it sounds like colonization.
You're a little guilt ridden now.
Yes, you little consumer.
Because as soon as you crawled out you hungered
and you will always hunger for something or another
and you will fight with those around you
in order to be filled
and you will fight the earth
in order to be filled
and you will do nothing but fight.
You will fight and fight and fight.
Because you will always take up space
and do you even know how much rent costs these days?
And you don't even flinch anymore because you're used to humans being described in terms of economy.
What is your cost of living.
Tell me.
What is your cost of living?
And how do you tally up self worth.
Money and monuments and hunger and fame
bricks in our tower to reach the heavens
shape the mud
from childhood we work in dirt.
But then there's always art
so noble
noble
and free
from the grime
but dear, did you really think something could escape?
that it's not about monuments or memory or hunger or fame
that it's not the same sort of scramble
the same sort of defense
the same old "this gives me a reason to exist."
Fucking Ubi Sunt of a brick.

Reply: I am. I do not owe the world an explanation why I am and should be here.

Rebuttal: Then why, dear, do you write?