Neurotypicals, blissfoolish, enchanted by charismatic megafauna,
autodidactic dataddicts adducing dialectical dactyls
to habituate inclination into tendency,
can only digest oversimplification;

unaffiliated scholars, nerd bards of frenetic stability,
quiet chaos, calculate the density of a neuron star,
seek the strange, long for the unusual, pine for the odd,
fight fictional factions from a book of comforts.

There are those who work
to admonish the monkish
and those who would polish the dull,
deal the foolish a penalizing future.

Examine their calculations of the distance
between the vandal and the iconoclast,
the commercialization of the urge to destroy,
the pissing on idols of the cult of the anti-mainstream,

taking art apart with a postmodern primitivist's rejection of order,
lust for the moment, refusal of continuity.
Don't capitulate to regret
like the vicious little pissants.

Is it that madness comes
to all who are inadequately distracted from its approach,
or is it there, epiphenomenon of energy enmassed,
from early days of cranial condensation?

I don't know how much resistance is optional,
but I'd prefer you not interfere
with my intermittently widdershins inclinations.