Scopolamine Politics

politics are a deplorable pastime
comprised of deceit, propaganda, and tyranny
bands of backhanded obsequious sycophants
falsely commanding our homelands through villainy

such disingenuousness is repugnant
a word i purloined from a Garbage Pail Kid
that those so disgraceful could be so indignant
in light of the scandalous things that they did

and they did, you better believe that shit’s true
and like pawns we allow it through cognitive bias
it sickens me to imagine me and you
enabling all these notorious liars

but they are proactive in their preparation
by keeping the public sect preoccupied
with such utterly insignificant refuse
which fools are so feverishly wont to abide

the power they brandish is born of the weakness
that people succumb to which works without fail
beholden to spurious trappings of ego
nefarious plots regularly prevail

meanwhile, as poverty levels are peaking
privileged white men mendaciously collude
sheepishly ploying whilst safely partitioned
the subjects of their subjugation, subdued

with media pandering disinformation
to desperate masses as malleable as clay
susceptible to psychological swaying
while of the impression they have any say!

and then there are those of religious-borne zealotry
doggedly-obstinate, self-righteous drones
so all-consumed by their fervid delusions
they willfully wreak what cannot be atoned

supinely supplying their supplicant services
ready to die in the name of their god
devoted to repopulating the planet
by heedlessly spreading their seed’s bane abroad

religion and politics closely relate
in that they both facilitate social disparity
granting the breadth of wealth, knowledge, and power
to less than one fucking percent of humanity!

if such things sit well with you, be on your way
for i haven’t the time to expend on futility
i won’t commit to conferring with crusaders
hell-bent on exacting hell-borne realities

 

 

[image credit: Unknown]

Silent Speech

a broken shard of charcoal

will it prove enough to make a man?

when you fold into submission
sighting inference of slight
exacting of your ego’s wrath
upon those thought to interfere

we are all born hypocrites
and so it is that we shall perish

rue the day this truth desists
and pride usurps devised discretion

trumpeter of shadowed triumph
sowing seeds of condemnation
woven with such ornate bombast

propped up by a hollow victim
ever to avail their own

bleeding hearts
are blind with succor

leaving truth to fates unknown

tragedies will find appointment
at the behest most emphatic
negligently inundating
standers-by with self-accord
unafforded
sordid with a dubious deliberation

sortie of self-indulgence

nevermind the sadist fallout
calling out in silent woes

left behind to mind the mayhem
bearing eyes of the observer
patient, with a prudent penchant

knowing time
reveals all

[image credit: Anna and Elena Balbusso]

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
’tis beholden to its wanton predilection

Social MEdia

it is such a strange dynamic
these forums in which we gather
in a most persistent state
of idle incoherent blather
trapped behind these glowing screens
the hopes and dreams of every person
air as fleeting as a meme
subjected to flights of aversion
as it seems, the world awaits us
from the very place we sit
boundless escape from our sorrows
hanging at our fingertips
realms of plastic intimacy
ruled by unforgiving whims
wintry hearts that once burned holes
in skies that since have fallen dim
scarcely shedding light on truth
of how quickly we are forgotten
pittances of such regard
leave scars for which no time allots for
in the moment, fools are prone
to bleed expression most effusive
once it passes, who will fill the need
persisting in the ashes
~valiant~, are those who ride
upon a white horse singing freedom
“free” to run their dalliances
soon to show their heart’s deceiving
still, the truth is far more complex
for we all are hapless victims
seeking an escape from our extenuating circumstances
we present personas of our ideal’s interpretation
pandered then to strangers
in an undisclosed remote location
who we treat with no more respect
than we would a pop-up ad
for times we might need some support
when life has left us feeling bad
however, if they fail to answer
in a time we deem respectful
we become annoyed and then consider them to be neglectful
such brazen hypocrisy seems fitting for a generation
raised by television screens
and disenchanted baby-sitters
left without a precedent
of how to treat our fellow humans
honestly, what can we expect
but a state of social ruin
with so many channels of communication ever running
how we manage to engage them all
is truly something stunning
this, of course, is not the case
as countless people are left hanging
whilst we frantically relate
the tales of our spouse’s haranguing
maybe if we placed half as much effort
as we do complaining
into our immediate surroundings
life would be less draining
sadly, there is no foreseeable solution to this issue
therefore, i suggest you grab a box of chocolates
and some tissues