Our Modern Age

I hate our modern age.
Yet I love our modern age.
A stodgy book is Lolita or Gravity's Rainbow
While the books with dust on their covers
Get blown off, and seen afresh.
There is nothing more exciting
Than seeing Austen venerated
And Dostoevsky, too.
The social milieu is repressed sexual urges
Manifesting in the castration and masectomation of our young.
For, they think they can pacify the primal urge
With a knife, hormones and sodomy.
They cannot erase the vesture of the past
For it is too strong an obelisk.
Austen becomes alien,
And so with her the Bible...
Jesus' Sermons become new all over again
As a generation who grew up in the Dogma
Of the Cult of Id find otherness to latch onto.
A whole new crop of thinkers are on the horizon...
Where Joyce and George R. R. Martin
Are the stodgy norm, glutted anarchy and feasts of semen
Those of us who want order
Are drawn to my favorite books.
The stodgy quo is the Aristocracy of Materialism and Postmodernism
While the Religious Avant Garde tell their riskee morals.
"Kill the cannibal society, that rapes children.
"Make slaves of the murderers.
"War has always been genocide
"There is no way around it...
"Yet, the Nazis needed cleansed of their racial impurity
"That of the Aryan caste, they needed to die."
And we are like Camus was seventy years ago,
Like Sartre and Freud.
On the en garde against silly philosophies that hurt and destroy
Our halcyon prosperity.
With words and not bullets we fight back...
Just like they did.
We are now persuasive
We are now the irritating troublemakers.
We are now... yes... we...
The ones' whose truth sets that chemical offense
Because it cannot be fended off by reason any longer.
For, by proof of reason, all we claimed would happen
Was true.