FIRST SUPERSTAR POEM (so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat)

I’m so tired of remote controllers trying to shame human nature out of celebrities this delusion that being on a pedestal means being made of pedestal like the artist is nothing but sculpture of dead culture, this delusion that millions of dollars and a record deal sucks all the hormones out of a young woman, like where the fuck are you imagining they go, hormones strewn about the studio like money in parody of gangstarapvideo people slipping in hormones like bananapeels, “you’ve gained all the outward signs of success through singing your heart out so now hide away your inwards in favor of what parents will adore, only when you stop moving what your momma accidentally gave you only when you stop giving your intimacy to fans through instagrammed half-naked lookatmes normally preserved for long-term boyfriend, only when you stop playing girlfriend to little monsters after the death of the rock star fantasy lover only when you treat the audience like strangerdanger like I’m only here to do my job and get paid only then will we stop calling you a cynical money-grabbing empty vessel, sex can never be intimacy can never be rebellion self-realization experimentation only art clothed up to your neck shows your depths”, and here’s miley cyrus pointing the great hand of #1 like a gun to her belt “I have a pussy and I’m not afraid to use it” here’s lady gaga with great big imaginary dick, the many different kinds of endorphins at the very core of why even before hormones before boys and boobies I was pressing my face up against my TV offering that sweet sight of human flesh like radiator defibrillator curiosity satisfied like mind blown by a hundred singing tongues, the sweet stereo whispering foreign familiarity into my pulsating body, try taking the sex out of music like removing pulse from veins wired throughout limbs like speaker system, here is a voice I will need to rehearse before launching into the world, here is the hormone shitstorm I need to see in full-color HD before it happens, proxy recognition the only thing keeping me safe when those olderadults scream not curse words not political incorrectness but very state-sanctioned insults about tooskinnybody ugly superficial mentallyill as if any form of hate is okay as long as it only hurts the young and vulnerable, smiley the snakish womanchild mocking the paradise lost on sesame street the disneymovie that cannot be repeated with tongue stuck out from breastfed over sex to crazed and teddy bears twerking to their heart’s delight strangely doped much like existence in the living rooms of tradition of that queer victorian age that seems reappearing in endless new decades, like reoccuring nightmare like repeat offense to compassion like the rape that’s never seen because it’s done by the book, hey society come back and talk to our frenchnailed stripper hands when you’ve realized that here in our sequined bikinis we’re still only the logical product of your own well-meaning emotional bdsm the assertion of bodyfreedom needed when we’re never defined as anything but what’s at the end of your judging gazes, hey assholes if your heads are ever coming out of there maybe use them for realizing that music’s main audience has always been and will always be teenagers looking for a place to be all of their own raging wrongs

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