When Slavoj Zizek Died on Stage

There wasn’t a doctor in the house
or Mary Mary quite contrary
to chuckle
at the obligation to correct excess

and the recitatives of mucus
arias of perspiration
and the shabby chic
of the germinal embed of negation
as difference in the same

negation as the same
old southern discomforts
how many not-beings
does it take to change the engaged
the young American young American
young Turks and Young Hegelians
in the the light-bulb forest?

First class intellect, second class philosopher
you said it and I agree
like you cannot
nonlocally

the negation of the negation is almost the end
of history in immanence
the heaven of many Reals on earth
Dictatorship of the Discursive
think think think
until by the irrelevant African aufhebung
the broken record peaks

yet no laughter came today
no architects or biologist
ethicist or political scientist
were in attendance
as you hate it all in the café

The eternal return of the repressed
and the crack strikes back
the same butts
but different miseries
the ordinariness of hope
the slovenly Slovenian speaker
buffooning it up
clinched the best role in the industry

He’s good!

uneasy at the violence of bestowals
at the adjectives to capture

and wields power mostly by joke.

“If you name me you negate me
so please address me as Slavoj
leave the forewords to me.”

When Slavoj Zizek died on stage, that only once,
he exited  in a rage
stage left holding the stagehand’s crook
around his neck
as MittelEurop choked
they got it all
even the parting jape

“I am the self-acknowledged best mediocrity in any town
and beautiful though I am and do
and I will hear no different”

in the one-man master/slave submachine routine.