Flat-Screens and Powdered Milk x8

These are the Sundays of dolor and dinge in which none dare to dream.  Where the ceiling hangs low, like a slow-falling sky from which i cannot escape.  Warped cardboard held up by sagging strands of weathered packaging tape dangle overhead full of dust and debris.  Much like the threads of tinsel that snag on the splintered doorway as its once proud conifer is dragged out to be laid to rest alongside an 85″ flatscreen that couldn’t be much older than a year.

Why is there such a proliferation of discarded oversized TVs in these downtrodden residential areas? Are my neighbors truly that transfixed by the endless stream of palpable horrors that seep into their surrendered subconscious?  Or did they finally see one too many commercials jauntily pressuring them to call: “♫Cellino & Barnes ♪ Injury Attorneys – eight hun-dred eight-eight-eight ♫ eight-eight-eight-eight♪”?  I mean, seriously, that many fucking eights?  Could that shit sound any more ridiculous? Probably.  Either way, if it drove someone to banish their TV to the curb, it wouldn’t be surprising.

Then again, it might have been a case similar to the time i left my miniature die-cast airplane on top of the living room TV [bear in mind that these were the old-school TVs and thus, were shaped like a box].  After which,  my mother came along attempting to place a full glass of lemonade directly on top of said plane, causing it to spill into an electric fizzle-pop of frayed television circuitry.  I was forever given shit for that.  What I want to know is who in the fuck goes around placing overflowing beverages on top of TVs, to begin with?  Nevermind the fact that she couldn’t be bothered to so much as look to ensure there was a stable surface, to begin with. Honestly, that about sums up my family’s sense of logic.

Back then, appliances weren’t yet condemned to the 6-month forced obsolescence that seems to pervade the market nowadays, so it was a bit of an outrage to have been the one “responsible” for having murdered the one source of entertainment in the entire household.  Not to mention the fact that we were poor as fuck.  I’m pretty sure we were on welfare or had received food stamps or some such form of governmental assistance.

I do recall being very young and going to some strange building with my mother in which she was given a large two-pound brick of cheese wrapped in white plastic with big, bold lettering that said something like: “U.S. CHEESE.”  It kind of tasted like regular cheese, only if someone had siphoned out most of the flavor and color.  And don’t even get me started on powdered milk.  Talk about an affront to gastronomic convention.  I can only imagine what they put those cows through to get them to produce powder…

I have to wonder though, how many people have their childhood memories destroyed by the realization that they or one of their siblings had been molested by some depraved uncle or family “friend.”  Judging from what I’ve seen, at least as many people that have watched TV at some point in their lives.

As it turns out, we’re all living in an unfolding episode of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit.  Perhaps now I know why all those giant-screened TVs have been put out to pasture.  When your life actually becomes the tragic storyline that once kept your family entertained it loses its appeal I suppose.  And I don’t seem to hear any jaunty jingles directing me to call their law offices so they can help to prosecute our abusers.

 

Wanton Predilection

men dare never fathom
of the consequences wrought
in the wake of their ego’s reckless abandon

perhaps it is they know
if such truth were ever sought
they might not feel free to spread their seed at random

for theirs is such a burden
placed upon all womankind
as its sole regard is one based on passing whims

where women take the time
to consider each perspective
a man relates all things back to himself

every woman suffers
at the hand of man’s neglect
though the issues omnipresence e’er obscures

and here we are complacent
thinking this to be the norm
that no credence e’er is paid to our adjures

a man’s flagrant hypocrisy
so garish does it blare
to the point that we no longer recognize it

as women are subjected
to the scrutiny and ire
and are thus condemned to sentences of silence

with all that has been done
every man should build a shrine
at which every night he should beg for forgiveness

but sadly, people scoff
thinking this a vulgar thought
and it seems our species somehow lost its conscience

if man could look beyond
the defenses he has built
in the name of guarding insecurity

to address the endless wrath
he has lain upon his path
and accept his own responsibility

then we might stand a chance
in a world so full of doubt
on this precipice of humankind’s extinction

but all that i have seen
the male ego is as such
it’s beholden to its wanton predilection

Profound Mechanism

what an oddly profound mechanism memory is
to be able to hear
the exact sound of someone’s voice
from years ago just by imagining it
to be able to vividly picture
a scene from a bygone era
whilst simultaneously looking
at the reality of the present moment
to summon the irreplicable symphony of flavors
rendezvousing upon the tongue
from a cherished dish
whose creator is no more
to behold the sweet scent
that once had found your senses
rapt in an erstwhile lover’s embrace
to revisit the feeling
of fleeting ideals
whence they fooled you into falling
for what you thought would be forever
foundations are ever shifting
in the light of newfound context
tragedy reshapes the stories
locked within our mind
knowing that the day will come
when all that we might stand to muster
swiftly turns to dust swept away
by a lonesome gust of wind
and this, the only truth
that we might ever trust in
it is for this very reason
we must live
within each moment
to foster our experience
as though it were untold
to leave a bold impression
that we one day might recall again
when all is lost as we retreat
into death shrouds of our own making

Phantom Filament

i swallow pills
to feel like i exist
to stay my wrists
from bleeding out
and the nightshade
from my mouth
keep the hammer
from the primer
and the blade
untouched by blood
to prevent another haunting
at a wayward viaduct
so the reservoir stays pure
and the oven safe for food
let the rope tend to its duty
and the fires burn of wood
plastic bags were meant for sundries
and policemen to protect
heroin is too depressing
living death begets respect
it’s an irony most shameful
that to suffer is to earn
amid consequence most baleful
while the tastemaker’s face turns
as we follow in the footsteps
of a lifelong detriment
chanting “this is as good as it gets”
in a phantom filament

Fractured Hearts

fragile hearts
composed of fractured shards
of selenite
soon fall
from the silence
strewn long
throughout the night

some will dissipate
upon the kiss
of eclipsed atmosphere

while others infiltrate
the earth’s defenses
waiting to be found

is this power
within my pen
enough to stay
disappointment?

can these sunken eyes
sustain the curtain’s calling
dirt and all?

through these weary eyes
of stinging
i fail
to see the answer

no longer does water well
in the aqueduct
of quiescence

and gone
is any semblance
of the joy
that once we knew

having joined
the desperate masses
as envoys of muted morass

precious hours spent
relentlessly toiling
for elusive spoils

spanning the breadth
of a breathlessness
unbridled

’til our heads withered
wayward
down the trail
of idle absurdity

as frail
as the feathered waif
unhidden
on a leaf-barren poplar

sonically assailed
by a hail-tinged doppler shriek
with a tail that spanned the ages

Solitude of Oblivion


all life
desires love

along myriad planes
of consciousness

to have been born
is to possess
the capacity to love

the intrinsic furnace
that burns within
every star

mirrors
that which exists
within each heart

allow not
the perception
of separation
to divide us

lest we spiral
into the solitude
of oblivion


 

Relevant Rant

Will we ever see beyond the trees into the forest of illusions set before us by ourselves, or are we simply at a loss to bear this burden? Certainly, such implication complicates the inferences alluding to this state of indignation, which perpetuates the presence of my acute consternation. Do the constellations hold the key unlocking unknown doors to worlds beyond the chaos of existence? Is this counsel self-contained, a crux which cancels itself out, a crutch our conscience uses to ensconce us? Every question seems to touch the realm of truth secluded which eludes even those perspicacious erring on most prudent. Dedicated students of the mind have yet to find an explanation which defines our cosmic purpose. Exponentially, our ponderance compounds without exception, thereby instilling an exigence unduly excess. We have set the boundaries far beyond our wildest expectations to the point of courting disappointment. With our inclination to usurp our self-appointed power, surreptitiously supposing precedents unseen which seem to propagate our dreams so many silently believe. Bereaving us of freedoms rife with possibility which would inspire community instead of spurning hope for peace. Sapience and salience presumed part of our “sentience” are scarcely exercised or altogether compromised, despite the catastrophic impact of our calculated actions we continue on this fervid course of forced dissociation. Refusing to disseminate the knowledge which facilitates a self-sufficiency that would, in turn, sustain society without burning the bridges to the people in positions of imposed disparity based on factors beyond their person. The irony is so profane exceeding that which is insane in fact, it’s that which only fools would dare to claim not criminal. The truth of this reality that humankind just cannot see is every human stands to gain when selfish hands release the reins that led them to where we are now. Instead, with what we’ve stood to learn, so easily could we discern that only through consideration of each other, and each station intrinsic within our being, can we truly attain freedom. Kindness is not just a word, nor is it a notion absurd. It IS what all of us deserve. Without it, there is only hurt.

Worlds of Wonder

ceaselessly
caught between
two worlds of wonder

one of which
i revel
in a beauty
yet untold

watching it unfold
in muted ponder

another
so disheveled
that i shudder
to behold

ruthlessly
comprised
of pealing thunder

underneath
the undulation
lies a plundered soul

pandering
the plight
of its condition

haunted
by the light
ever lingering
on yonder

longing
for an answer
to it all

Era of Remorse

wishes are the whims of wastrels
waiting for the world to turn
upon the drop of faceless dimes
amid a burning empire spurned

timid tales shall move no mountains
mend thy heart by will of mind
ardent kindness fells the wicked
ailing veils of thin disguise

seize the reins of thine oppressor
tyranny reigns not by virtue
if we are to acquiesce to tenets of naught
so becomes truth

heed the words of honored adage
in this era of remorse
lest their greed abscond thy haven
wresting faith through fearful discourse