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.

 

Advertisements

“Choices”

no woman chooses.

the word “choice”
is a quaint affectation
of male privilege

one that shifts
the burden
onto the woman’s shoulders

with a simple
single syllable
of sinister
silver-tongue

that speaks volumes
of the depraved disconnect
of daddy’s deflection

defecting

neglecting

such wretched
subjection

to misogynist mindsets
that fret
at any hint
shown to impede
its quest for glory

its aweless reverie

of his requisite bequest

that rests for no burden
not even those wrought
by its own wanton hands

with nary a thought

for the “choice”
lies with man

to own up to his deeds
to reap what was sown
beyond his own base needs

choosing not to desert
to then foster a trust
that would honor what is just

by accepting
the circumstance born
of his lust

he must stand tall supinely
to shatter all doubt
in the matters regarding
the wrath of his route

for women most oft
are forever distraught

abandoned
bereft
left exploited
with naught

whilst these men prance
with ease
frolicking fancy-free
fleeing scene
with the breeze
having sown their ill-seed

for their ego
surpasses all
with such vomitous gall
as a life is forestalled

ne’er to answer the call
so appalling this trait
leaving life in its wake
only flight will he take
once his whim has been slaked
without further adieu
in a cloud of hot dust
and a fervid salute
served most proud and abrupt
rendering hearts nonplussed
like a billowing gust
once his will has been thrust
turns militantly brusque
with such fierce flippancy
throws all under the bus
in a thunderous peal
it’s a wonder surreal
as the moment reveals
what his true heart conceals

but there is no appeal
to that which cannot feel
so this dastardly deal
is so masterfully sealed
as a bastard is reared
in a fluster of tears
with a father not there
never bothered to care
not a moment to spare
to prevent all the fears
wrought by scrutinous stares
lurid thoughts turpid lots
from a surrogate’s leer
innocence left defenseless
for reasons so senseless
a treasonous pretense
to heathens demented

still lacking incentive
to try to prevent this
fate of such portending
consequence unending
of futures surrendered
no suture could mend
ill-repute so contentious
yet still men dispute
and refute their subjection
and all for the sake
of their putrid compulsions
so duly revulsing
profanely effusive
the lives left behind
are not those
which they must live
and thus it is a shit
for which they do not give
so willing to forfeit
the world they created
but for a mere moment
of fleeting amusement
that spurns an entire
existence
so uselessly
suffered for naught
and for what
but their ego’s
egregious gestalt

Eyes Averted

truth
as lies have witnessed

blares like wintry vertex

so clear
and yet, so muted
irrefutable
yet moot

the brute hand of ignorance
stands ruthless beyond compare
e’er bearing down
impressing its mark
from tears
to creeping fears of darkness

but none dare hearken
to such a perilous plight
a sight so present

as stark as night
amid a midnight snowfall

where banished mem’ries

fill the earth
as fast as fractals
feel dirt this parched

a consequence of convenience
and cavalier cheeks
turned in rows

but even roses unseen
flourish

as time will
surely have its way

what eyes behold
belie the boldest truths

lying perished

forever lost
to fallen snow