Submit to Maximum Gaga!
by Lara Glenum

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Now that our nation is under siege, we should all take refuge in Maximum Gaga. We should all beg refuge in Maximum Gaga and its glorious excesses, yes, we should all beg as we cross the border gripping bags of our own organs in our teeth, fleeing the terror. We should unfurl Maximum Gaga like a banner as we stream as into the forbidden city where all our hopes lie, as well as a handy store of detonating devices, a slew of candy-mouthed surgeons, and certain laryngitis.

What have you done with all your words and gaudy language-hats? Ask Maximum Gaga, that oracle of oracles! Maximum Gaga says: you have been supremely swindled. You have not been severally penetrated by sublime linguistic prongs, not even once. Language has refused to abduct you, refused to shove you bodily into ferocious states in which your brain would luxuriate in fields of wiggity-wack. Language has dismissed you without even a healthy romp in the gravy mines.

How to rectify this, o dog of language? How to rectify your losses at the hands of your own tongue? Run headlong into Maximum Gaga! Run, now that your own poor words have been crammed back into your torso like guinea pig carcasses and greasy red clouds, now that you face certain doom from all quarters! Seek sanctuary in Maximum Gaga!

Bite down on the iron axis of submission! Submit to all great powers, but submit first to Maximum Gaga and its infernal complex of arms dealers and linguistic sewers! Submit to have the central nervous system flensed out of your poems and strung up like Christmas lights around the sublunary city!

O Heads of State, beware our carnelians! Our laboratory aesthetics! Our super-vixenated language engines & coochy-coo histories that fly straight into the open maw of the apocalypse!

O vowel-laden citizens, let us erect monuments on the site of your gravest misfortunes, celebrating the victory of the cage! The glorious cage of language from which we never hope to escape!

O Squires of Sonnets, jettison your tired kidneys & metal pants and lie down on our operating table! Let us extract gleeful abominations out of the star-shaped hole in your face! Let us graft you squealing to our industries of light!