Destroyed by impeachment madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through long-dead threads at dawn looking for an angry rant, angelheaded kossacks burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the US Congress in the machinery of night, who ridiculed and troll-rated and hollow-eyed and pajama'd sat up commenting in the supernatural darkness of late-night dkos floating across the tops of threads contemplating impeachment who bared their anger to the Mighty Kos under the orange banner and saw the troll-rated staggering on Hidden Comments illuminated, who passed through meta threads with radiant cool eyes hallucinating about impeachment and Bush-light tragedy among the scholars of war who were expelled from the Usenet for crazy & publishing obscene odes
on the windows and the macs, who cowered in unshaven rooms in pajamas, burning their mojo in fiery threads and listening to the Terror through the tubes, who got busted in their impeachment supports returning through Laredo with a barrel of peaches for Chicago, who breathed fire in paint hotels or drank too much wine in Top Comments, death, or purgatoried their typing fingers night after night with diaries, with mojo, with troll-ratings, meta and comments and endless threads, incomparable blind; streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of Canada, illuminating all the motionless world of Meta between, front pagers solidities of halls, backyard green pickles, wine drunkenness over the comments, storefront boroughs of t-shirts neon orange blinking impeachment demands, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring summer dusks of Chicago, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind, who chained themselves to threads for the endless ride from diary to meta on impeachment until the noise of kos and Meteor Blades brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Kos, who sank all night in submarine light of midnight posts floated out and sat through the stale comments after noon in desolate threads, listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox, who posted continuously seventy hours (BTD?) from park to pad to bar to Chicago to museum to the McCormick Place, lost battalion of impeachment soldiers jumping down the stoops off Congress off the Mall off White House out of the Capitol, yacketayakking yelling pleading whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars, whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the anti-impeachers cast on the pavement, who vanished into nowhere leaving a trail of ambiguous posts on the Constitution, suffering meta-overload and too many pickle jokes and migraines the size of China under dkos-withdrawal in the internet’s bleak furnished room, who wandered around and around at midnight on the tubes wondering where the truck is, and went, leaving no broken hearts, who lit up threads on dkos racketing through the ether toward lonesome threads in grandfather night, who studied internet debate and bop bop a doo bop because the kosmos instinctively vibrated at their feet in Chicago, who loned it through the threads of endless meta seeking visionary Congressional angels, who thought they were only mad when Republicans gleamed in transcendental stupidity, who jumped in threads with the non-believers on the impulse of impeachment calls, who lounged angry and lonesome through the route to Chicago seeking justice or ponies or soup...
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Adapted from Howl, by Allen Ginsberg. With apologies to Allen Ginsberg. And to you, the reader. Trust me, it could have been a lot longer!