I used to be so, so very Deleuzional,
but now I'm not Saussure, and take things hard --
a development-delayed Lyotard;
pay folks to kneel at my confessional,
like some self-indulgent bourgeois sinner,
and debrief him after on God's response
to my latest falls from grace. And his taunts
tell me Big Guy's patience have grown thinner.
I carry my steel Guatarri around
and strum my blues everywhere I go
and sing: O Heidi! Heidi! Heidi! 'Ho!
A twangy mad upper register sound.
Well, it's back to Nietzsche: He knew women,
and they knew him. They had his head swimmin.