The Homicidal Scintillation of 21st Education


Relentless iambic letters conjoined, forming rehearsals so

carefully, soundly, rehearsed

brilliantly like Schlieffen

and his perturbed lowliness — not of a lower

but of camouflage and satisfaction.


Luxuriously lurid lights,

ricocheting like the springing of a course-book

Bright like the opportunity of

incomplete power

and diaphragms

of will.


Rather, diaphragms shaded with unmistakable fallacies,

full of livid contrast and bitter blue

sharpeners, flooding rote

and rote and rote and rote:

rehearsals rarely censured, rather reputed

as marvellous, a commendable work ethic

and brains of gold.


Silver seems sulky

next to the arrogance of gold and fresco delusions

which morph the illusions

of success.


‘Walk this way, talk this way, work this way, be this way’

honked the heads of ministries, accompanied by powerful

temperaments, albeit, seemingly.

Seeming is the verse of seamless fouls wrapped in a cage

and hammered home into stitches of brutal ultimatums,

of course, issued by the heads

of ministries.


Smuts, sheered with dire comprehension,

a history of colonisation and proposition of the unconventional:

of course, the developed convention—beautiful scarlet eyes,

that of deviance and depth,

wretched into Smuts cardiac; his whiskey and wine

sexy and brutal, yet pragmatic and undue.

His convention, our not,

is similar to the lopsided soap demanding autonomy

of your body, your soul

which you merely gave up.


I apologise

of my unfair, my foreign

attitude. I too, concede, to

such, now, anachronistically polished

cues and customs

that have dehumanised and

depersonalised my civic bombardment.

But, I ask, in my canny accent and luring washed-down streaks

“Is consciousness a far-fetched discipline?”


Or, have we merely

trained our minds

to memorise

society and


the truth?



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