Y2K, didn’t, to our knowledge, destroy the world. But for the demise of the VHS format, neither did the 21st Century shepherd in a New Age, on cue. Media, the merchants and power brokers told us so, but if one paid attention, 2000 was 1999 misspelled.

Likewise, the blitz of a changed , renewed , happenin’ America of Peter Max, was never born free, New Year’s morn, 1970. Midwifed, but never birthed. Commercial television screaming even its colors, merely said so. LOUD. REPEATED. B.F. Skinner, for a divided nation. Media, power, persuasion, ‘said’. And, Cold War Americans eased down a road chosen for, not by We The People.

CEE, enigmatic street poet, in The Lost Religion of Men (All Bob is Clemente), gives us exposition of rude, personal experience: an 8-year old, falling asleep in the land of alpha and home of the nuclear family, awakened bagpipe, into change as a Jedi mind trick. Things Are Different. The strength testers and arms of might, have gone. No protest. No debate. It’s already happened, Joe Pyne. You fell asleep, and these former things passed away.

The Lost Religion of Men, sports dreamy and dividing ca. 1969 period pieces, shot through perspectives on a vintage Golden Arm arcade machine. Unwilling to view culture shaped as anything but conceded mores, CEE gives us The Ways and Manner of Old as a forced hand, mighty men outside the Self Help section, brutal dispassion. Soviet terror, as daily accepted. Joe Frazier as one-man buzzsaw, nodded at with pride. Vengeful woman as machine-girl released. At turns, angry fists beat as enemy a world of no choice as child-sensitive imagery speaks four-color, of Valhalla denied. In The Lost Religion of Men, Guardsmen sight students along the barrel as Unitas fades back, slomo, to trumpets unheard. From his hermitage, the poet tells us for the millionth time, to think for ourselves. To reject human mechanization, even as suggested. That individual , the known, pioneer ideal, is up to each. No other.

Mickey Mantle as legend, doesn’t roll up like a poster. Hardhat culture doesn’t wither before hair and daisies, because someone clapped hands. Fonts frivolous and social marketing games, are tools. Behaviorism has power, only if human persons permit.

It’s over; now, we’re Here.

No, we aren’t. We’re as Establishment as we wanna be.

CEE (American poet) (b. 29 October, 1961 Peoria, IL; d. 2 November, 2000 Time Travel Institute, Little Rock, AR) [citation needed]

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–bio as provided by the author to Leaf Garden Press,
5/25/2016, the 33rd Anniversary of Return of the Jedi.