HomePoetryPolitically Incorrect Orgasms And Unredacted Mushroom Trips

Politically Incorrect Orgasms And Unredacted Mushroom Trips

While the whale songs get sadder and sadder,

While snakefinger Hollywood operatives
teach us to look outside ourselves for superheroes
instead of behind our own eyes,

While canned laughter pours from screens
and forms whispering clouds over our heads
which assure us that we have never been divine,

While the pop songs all say
“Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
put your hands up in the air
we party all night and spend money on things
yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
whoop whoop
capitalism totally works,”

You stand in cool defiance:
A natural hominid.
An indigenous earthling.

You are alert and present,
like a pistol dueler on the tenth pace.

You watch mind movements come and go,
kissing them as they pass
like drunken one-night stands fully enjoyed
but scarcely remembered.

You seek out the demons lurking in your shadows,
thank them for their hard work,
and release them forever with a loud belch.

You look at life like it’s a dear friend telling a great joke
when they’re right about to get to the punchline.

You dance in supermarkets.
You smoke rain.

You have politically incorrect orgasms
and unredacted mushroom trips.

You take even your most shameful hidden bits
and bring them out into the light for loving.

You are kind to yourself.
You are kind to others.
You are kind to your surroundings.
You are kind to your planet.
You are kind to your angels.
You are kind to your demons.
You are kind to kindness.
You are kind to unkindness.
You are kind.

Death fades from your gaze
like snow under a blowtorch.

Unhappiness fades from your memory
like a weird dream.

While heroes are exposed as cardboard set pieces,

While ideologies are exposed as Pokemon masks on corpses,

While truth is replaced with crude crayon drawings of itself
and sold at Costco between the tires and the coffins,

You stand in cool defiance
and watch your reflection dance
in the cornea of Allah.

You take nothing for granted
and see everything for the first time.

The only enemy is habit.

Irony is for cowards.

Chin up,
eyes wide.

That’s ten paces.

Draw.

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Everyone has my unconditional permission to republish or use any part of this work (or anything else I’ve written) in any way they like free of charge. My work is entirely reader-supported, so if you enjoyed this piece please consider sharing it around, liking me on Facebook, following my antics on Twitterthrowing some money into my hat on Patreon or Paypalpurchasing some of my sweet merchandisebuying my new book Rogue Nation: Psychonautical Adventures With Caitlin Johnstone, or my previous book Woke: A Field Guide for Utopia Preppers. The best way to get around the internet censors and make sure you see the stuff I publish is to subscribe to the mailing list for my website, which will get you an email notification for everything I publish. For more info on who I am, where I stand, and what I’m trying to do with this platform, click here.

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Latest comments

  • Caitlin, many <3s for these wonderful words that inspire music in my foolish head. If the music's any good and comes to light, _of course_ you will be credited.

  • A perfect way to experience Easter.
    As Usual,
    EA

  • Most will suffer and die
    and not know why
    they swallowed the lies
    that made them cry
    and by and by
    their deluding lullabyes
    will usher in
    their sad demise

    The hope of Utopia we sing of is real, everything else is lies and delusions.

  • Damn I love you Caitlin.
    I want you to be Tulsi’s running mate!!!

  • Love this – especially the last five lines!

  • Beautiful

  • Have you read the Rudyard Kipling story: “In the Eye of Allah” – your reference suggests the possibility. A favourite tale of mine…

  • Thank You, Ms Caitlin!! Very soothing words on yet another day full of death and destruction!!!

  • Really… just beautiful.

    “You seek out the demons lurking in your shadows,
    thank them for their hard work,
    and release them forever with a loud belch.”

    Oh man… if it could just be that easy!

    Hay -maybe it is.

  • Perfect words to accompany a melancholic Easter Sunday .
    Coming to this grief like a refugee with no where else to go,
    Grateful for the words of others that know…

  • I hear the original sound of the universe vibrating in this piece thank you

    • Richard, NICE! Well said comment!

  • Well done, Caitlin… apropos to my current inner song.. as for the duel, I fixed him with my steely gaze, and he disappeared, like all phantoms do…

  • Love ❤️ Love ❤️ Love ❤️!!!!
    Thank you.

  • Fan-fucking-tastic Caitlin!!!
    Far-fucking-out, says The Dude!!!

    The real plague is mind, and stories. We are slaves to narrative. And it’s clear how stories are either rigid or expansive. Two clear paths. I turn (again) to Native Wisdom, human beings who relied on stories to maintain connection. The stories of empire maintain separation. Which path to take? Asleep we choose separation. Awake we create new stories. New old stories actually. Our indigenous sisters and brothers held truths we must return to, “we-are-one” type stories like the circle of life, River-Sky-Mountain-Fire, Four Directions, Seven Arrows. And so many other symbols that point the way back home.

    A-ho!

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