What do you know of my thoughts?

Could my bad manners be designed to chastise you foolishness, can my standing at attention in full
uniform and a gun, have me agreeing with your orders to shoot and kill once you and I are on the battlefield, Won't I simply shoot you, the barking one to achieve perfect peace. Could my bad manners mean that in reflection if asked I can tell a good story, one as real and as coherent as the very forms of history we now so called "base" our lives upon, such grand statements like freedom. I could let you know exactly how that goes, where that principle lies at this second, where it is being defined and by who and what definitions, who it suits and who it does not. OF COurse you already know, but kicking art out as you do, you don't have the moral human courage to face even this, in your intellectual life you tossed out art, like a good platonic, Pavlovian, dog like you'll wait for a bone. Carrot. What ever passes as some one oking what Daddy never paid any attention to.. your dreams.. So that's what is worth all this bother, your unresolved issues with your father. Grow up a little by trying not to see you Dad as such an enemy and that perhaps he's just doing the best he can with what he's got, which like you is a mess, you can barely contain, let alone be able with. Sure the outter wear is smooth you get use to it, yours is even taken on a hue lately  but fuck so what, any smuck can buy a bently they all drive on the same apocalyptic drivel your dribbling right now into your finger sticks writing this as you read it, ha got you sucker, Never knew politics could be this fun.