ABC, almighty dollar, consumerism, death of a salesman, depressing, everybody row, filth, greedy fools, human misery, king me, Misery's the river of the world, money, Orwellian pigs, social analysis, toil for what, we'll fare state
Sell, sell, it’s all one sell. Ya con the fools gladly, let em suffer for a song. You play the human tapestry and turn it into slot machines. Nickel for your time. Sell him out for a dime. Quarter past your prime.
This is the soul you got left. A sharp-suited slick shark unfurling in treacherous waters sniffing misery and lost hope. The drop of blood from the “if you prick us” mortals singing o fortuna arias of sad refrains. Let em howl at yellow moons, wincing the night away while drowning in regret, sinking into fate. Faith no more, all is gone, all for naught. All for the devil’s advocate hocking snake oil and diet pills.
Money money greed money money. Dollar dollar bills y’all for the stinking pot. Slop it up, feed, at the beggar’s trough. Sloppy mouth drippings mixing with saliva-ridden notes. Sickly digestion churning churning glorious green. Backs to the wall and shoveling papers in the gullet ever-ready for another course. Coarse delicatessen unsubtly served up; silver platter for the suckling pig qua man. Rotund moribund stuffed and squealing black and pink demons. Gloaning with desire and veiny vile avarice. They come to sup and filth roll around in iniquitous decadence.
The great folly of the long pig. The down and dirty deeds done cheap. A pawn brokers grimace at the poor man’s last leg. Certificates and IOU’s awash in the mourning light. Bathed and beautified life debt passing from generation to generation. Here comes the solicitor to proffer consolidation, allowing interest for the purchase. Usual usury on the list of dos. Free today, slave tomorrow. All a set-up for the master’s relish. Pull at chains to show the score.
Forever and forever the timeless romp does go. We humans do not learn to overthrow the wicked worms. Slithering malcontents content on gluttoning on the fattening fatuous sorrow. The pawns have moved, the game’s afoot, when shall the war relent?
It was that typical love at first sight. Stereotypical stereoscopic monomaniacal hi fidelity. I was bumblestumped at first glance, I almost froze at the glimpsing of that flaxen bombshell; my solitudinous silo was ravaged, fubared in a millisecond. That new feeling confusing me and dumbing me down.
It kept growing and I was heartsunk like a sailor on shore leave meeting a hooker with a heart of gold (though nowadays it would be platinum wouldn’t it?). I don’t regret it, the pain of being the better man and not ruining a nice family. Sometimes I reminisce and get caught up in what she’d be doing now. At times the thought arises that she had another kid with that dickweed and I get hot pot angry. But ce la vie, que what the fuck.
It definitely was a necessary lesson and informed my views on life and relationships. I was beyond my peers in what love really was and suffering from depression at the same time opened my eyes to this infinitesimal power, the only good thing in this world; untainted emo train, chugalug to this day.
I guess it was the most important moment in my life, I had been stripped of all pretension and was actually living, proof that it was possible for a messed up sensitive boy like me. I accepted her in all ways and I crave to be that way with everyone. No judgement, no looking down at all. I guess a utopia of two is all we can hope for at the moment. Good enough I wager.
“Lack of sustained progress is most clearly reflected in trends in income inequality. In 1970 the median income for blacks for instance, was 74 percent that of whites, and in 2012 the median income for blacks had increased to only 78 percent of whites (U.S.CensusBureau2012b). A similar lack of progress is evident with Hispanics. In 1995, the median income for Hispanics was 65 percentt that of whites, and in 2012 the median income for Hispanics had increased to only 72 percent of whites (U.S.CensusBureau2012b)”
The Meritocracy Myth
Stephen J. McNamee
That sweet supple nectar ravaging my catacomb brain. Loftily dripping tender trumpeting temptations down the addled addict center. Forthwith I am betaken, bumblestumped to resist the lusty wafts of our own ambrosia. Those dotted and dewed bottles of unequivocal livations.
I place my heels upon the unforgiving ground but alas the pull is mighty and the poignant draft calls me nightly. But a copper left and all of it must be spent on that Allahforsaken draught. Honeyed whisperings in a beggars ear, the fool is me at my usual chair. The wood it harkens for me to come about. No laying in the depressed bed, tis time for replenishing stout.
Pockets empty, I’ve gone and drunk it all. A pittance biweekly and all for drunken Tom; the master of mine mischief, the seeker of retched retching and follower of inebriation. Wining, dining, all good fun within the hours. Pub crawl and away with thee, I slur my merry way home.
And what may happen next day when tempers thin, when dizzy highs come falling in? I assure you all is accounted for, no regrets nor devastation wrought. I played the part of amiable drunk, no bitters except for what’s in my mug. No fights or fouls do I foresee but only cheers and toasts for me. A proper man handles spirits well, and if not, a gentleman will never tell.