I been procrastinating this translation for a while but now warhammer and poetry are in the same context, I simply have to.

(In case you wanna listen to it)

I want to be mechanized.

vroom, vroom, vroom!
clank clank clank!

I want to be mechanized.
This [feeling] comes from my brain, from my flesh, from my bones.
I go mad to get my hands on every dynamo.
My saliva-covered tongue is licking copper wires.
The auto-draisine in my veins is chasing down locomotives.

vroom,
vroom!

clank clank clank!

I want to be mechanized.
Certainly I will find a solution to this.
And then I will be content only
the day I mount a turbine in my abdomen, and
append a double-propulsor on my tailplane!

vroom vroom
clank clank clank!

I want to be mechanized!

- Nazim Hikmet, 1923. Makinalaşmak İstiyorum.

"What kind of mushrooms did you put in the mushroom sauce?"

Checkmate badgers.

I was pressured into going hunting a few times with my dad growing up, and I ended up killing a few deer. It's something I'm not proud of, one among many things I came to regret later in life.

I used to think "If you can't or won't kill it personally, then you shouldn't eat it" was an argument in support of hunting. Now I think of it as an argument in support of vegetarianism. Funny how perspective changes everything...

What's also funny is how as a society we say things like "kids who kill bugs grow up to be psychopaths," yet we totally normalize hunting as a sport. Why is that? For that matter, why don't we say "anyone who eats animal flesh is a psychopath?"

As if being five steps removed from the suffering and death somehow abstracts the cruelty so that one can indulge in the pleasure of what is produced by it without bearing any moral culpability in the processes by which that meat arrived on one's plate?

Why is it only the forms of cruelty that society doesn't accept as cultural pastimes that are considered taboo? I should rephrase. Why does society accept some forms of cruelty and not others?

Maybe watch Dominion

A few years ago, I saw some online discussion where multiple folks were saying you can't write a beautiful poem about spiders, for whatever reason. At that point, I was deep into writing poems and I do think spiders are swell, so I actually took that as a little challenge to write such a poem. After half an hour, I had something I was happy with and just threw it into the thread.

And man, the reaction will forever sit with me. Around ten folks responded. Every single one with yet another variation of the same joke, that they wanted to know what I'm smoking.
Even when I disprove their thesis, that you can't write such a poem, by literally just doing that, they still need to declare it impossible without the use of performance-enhancing drugs.

I guess, I might have a special talent there, but it was just also particularly weird, because I'm practically clean-edge, as in the hardest drug I'll occasionally have is coffein.
And yeah, that just left me with the same bewilderment as you. How different is my reality from theirs that they absolutely cannot imagine such thoughts occurring without drugs?

No idea, if that and the dissociating are linked. It does probably help a lot with poetry, too, to look at the world for what it is, rather than navigating it on auto-pilot.

You're just casually slogging through dissociative existentialism on a regular basis?

It was for me too. That’s why I opt for the tofu now.

This goes back way further than ownership. We’re talking millions of years. Dinosaurs feasting on dinosaurs. We’re a little speck of dust on a speck of dust in the blink of an eye to the vast, uncaring universe.

//  I cooked a steak tonight 
//           and was feeling    alien
// 
//  How weird this gross piece
//           of cold raw flesh
//             on a cold plate is
//
//  and I was thinking 
//                I am just an animal 
//  with the luxury of packaged flesh
//              and is it human flesh? 
//  Like 
//                    I wouldn't know

//  We just believe it's a cow  but
//
//                         we don't
//
//               have fucking proof
//
//                      of anything
//
//  
//  The knife went through the same
// 
//          as if it was my own leg
// 
//  -Mom