Answer me, who is the real loner?

I walk across the hallways of my school,
and students and staff paint a beautiful resurrection of Jackson Pollock:
African Americans,
Anglos,
Hispanics,
and others;
girls wearing bright red t-shirts,
with white studded belts,
and tight blue jeans,
and lip rings on either side of their lips,
with a red clip in their hair,
matching their shirts,
boys wearing black post-modern techno-colored t-shirts,
with balanced repetitions of meaningless symbols,
and they’re wearing tight denim jeans,
and some have lip rings on either side of their lips,
and long messy hair
         combed all over the place. 
My eyes are particularly interested with the male of the species of my school:
the tight jeans form and give shape to the unerected
         cock and balls of these young men.
I like it,
and it’s only my imagination that I can visualize this and pleasure myself
because I can only see blur without my glasses
         and static
         and other forms of nothingness.

That’s what I see in this world.
That’s what I think of this world. 

We were born with something
         but now it’s nothing
but what makes you think that you should even care at all?
Profiting on materialism and money
could you only pleasure yourself
with the little and meaningless attention
you receive from your “friends”.
It’s one thing to be a loner,
and it’s another thing
to receive compliments with an amount of meaninglessness that is equivalent to the number of friends of a loner.
So, you,
Answer me, dickless!
Answer me, fascist!
Answer me, hypocrite!
Answer me, harmony!
Answer me, rice!
Answer me, flowers!
Answer me, Gunpowder Kids:
                    Fang!
                    Wilson Wilson Jr.!
                    Book of Matthews!
                    Chew on Bones!
Answer me, Hunter S. Thompson!
Answer me, you doll – I’m sorry, but please stop giving me
                    your horror!
Answer me, but you mark all over us!  It’s a fading      rebellion!
Answer me, I’m on a hill, and even though I’m falling, I could give a shit less!
Answer me, I’m in love with you:
         Elijah Wood!
         Saint Nicolas in the Park!
         Camera, the other camera!
         Zach’s girlfriend Clair!
         Little King of Ireland!
         All the flying blue jays – they blend with the
blue sky – just what I wanted!
         Cousin Andy, I can’t wait to see you next
Christmas!
         Ross-on-Wye, Herefordshire – I want to see that
today!  Tonight!  I want to be there with you,
tonight!
         Ethan Hawke, let me be in one of your movies!
         I want to read the Book of Jacob!  I want to
attend the Jacobs School of Music!
         Don’t you love me?  Don’t any of you love me?
Answer me, answer me!
Answer me!
Give me an answer!
Answer this question!
If you would like to use your notes, you may!
Don’t cheat!  Your partner’s answer may be wrong!

Who is the real loner?
Who is the real loner?
Who is the real loner now?
Who is the real loner?
Who is the real loner, with silver wallet chains hanging long and loose around you ass – I like it. 
Who is the real loner, with pink leather purses with silver and golden buckles, filled with the rancid, filthy, meaningless bullshit I find in my toilet at 7:30 at night, flies all over it.
Who is the real loner, with shorter than short skirts over black, blue, red, green, grey leg warmers.
Who is the real loner, with red short sleeve t-shirts over long grey turtlenecks with a striped sweatshirt.
Who is the real loner, with the skin of Ziggy Stardust loosely wrapped around my body, his nipple against mine.  I’m very warm, and I like it.
Who is the real loner, with boxes of chocolate cupcakes.
Who is the real loner, Arizona Anglo, with buckets of bullshit personality.
Who is the real loner, who is the real loner.
Who is the real loner?

Who is the real loner, travel two, two and a half, three hours all the way to Rockaway Beach, and look out over the cliffs of the Oregon Coast, looking towards the endless streams of water of the Pacific Ocean, and shout aloud over everyone, every dog, every cat, every animal swimming in the ocean, every message in a bottle floating at sea, every grain of sand, every fire that’s burning, every piece of wood, every tree, every garbage, every trash, every litter, every rock, every insect, every house, every road, every car, every Nick, every Jake, every Brian, every Aaron, every Brittany, Stephanie, Zach, Dean, Preston, Cameron, Cameron, Drew, Aspen, Evelyn, Tasha, Taylor, Sean, Brook, Mya, Caitlyn, younger brother of Nick, and his friend, and everyone, and tell us the true identity of God, and God, and God, and God, and God.

You are God.