Dithyramb

Wake up! Be alive! Have some fucking passion!
Why must we live a life where dead spirits are the fashion?
Where are the spirits that make us want to dance?
Why can’t we touch and kiss, make romance
A fiery and wanton thing
That makes us bellow out and sing
From our very visceral guts, buried down
So deep our very memories of it have been drowned?
There is no Dionysian – and Apollo’s not the rule –
And every scholar, every fool
Who claims to know the masked god’s revelry
Is shown a Pentheus without chivalry –
An infection of our lives and culture,
Lacking the taste of even a vulture.
There is no Dionysus in academic verse –
Throwing random words together so only the worst
Are raised to the heights of academia –
Creating at best a poetic bulemia.
So be gone, you culture killers, killers of the human soul,
You who have the vision of a naked mole
Rat digging through the desert sands,
Whose ignorant notions of freedom only tie the hands.
Be gone, you culture killers, let be reborn
Dionysus with his goring bullish horn –
Dionysus with great Apollo, his friend,
Making this dead culture bend
Until it breaks up into something new
(Which is also old, full of life and the true).
It is time to wake up! Hear the siren call
Us up out of our beds until we recall
To this new life our new-cherished memes –
All of the passion and life of our dreams.