The reader may wonder what that and the parallel theme of today's poem can have to do with the disasters which befell that unfortunate world we know here as the Third Galaxy. If that is the case then the fault is mine, I may have given the impression that everything was the fault of Ronald Rexona, his Evil Companion, Mr. Snarly, their enablers, the Neocunz, the MegaCorps, the Bankers of Illusion and the Falze Profits, those miserable persons who perverted the Peeler, Masher and other religions for money and power.
Just as important was the fact that so many people in the Third Galaxy led twisted lives because of that which had been "...torn into the hearts of children so long lost and forlorn", as the unknown poet put it in yesterday's poem.
As a matter of fact, this could be said to apply to the common humanity of the Third Galaxy. In the "Book of Chocolate", one of the early texts not included in the Book of the Holy Idaho, the Idaho is quoted as saying:
"Some of you have been saying among yourselves that I am the Son of the Great Potato and that may very well be so! But, could I not also be an Orphan? If so, then we are all orphans!"
In any case, the unknown poet today takes yesterday's theme further in a more specific sense, in that he speaks of how these wounds curdled and perverted the basic act of human creation, in fact of all life. That is to say, the act of procreation, turning it into something dirty and filthy, of denial, control, dominance, ownership, pain and even torture and death.
A lot of things you think are true
are just a bunch of lies some crook has sold to you!
The Sun and the Moon are in the sky,
so why would anyone pretend to be alive?
Lots of guys beat their wives
and sometimes even little children want to die!
Who can live when life's a lie?
How can we wipe away the tears we never cry?
A lot of weirdoes think they're straight!
You don't need to beat your meat to masturbate!
When Yoni becomes a rubber hole,
then Lingam turns into a greasy, hot-dog pole!
Have you ever read the dirty sheet,
you know, the one where Sweet Innocence bleeds?
I read it once, but some lady kept saying,
"Sick, sick, sick was reported in Copenhagen!"