So many thoughts… ideas just breezed in, by. They come often in small waves, small rises but I have difficulty riding them, penning them. I always wanted a mini stenographer to type up my literary expulsions but they are often fast and foggy. Ideas are great and rewarding though the application is frail and full of folly. Fuck.
And the lambs did come together under the kindly arms of the great provider. Lo his mighty hands and embiggened heart curving along the soft heads of babes and poor dwellers. His defenders push back, minions of the large machine that bend and fold most honesty, that crick and crack at firstly facts and lean towards alternates. They come as talking heads you see to spread words that deceive; trickery of speech and avowals, expounds upon the unproven, acting passions skirted with rhetoric danced and dashed in floral bouquets that must be heared for balanced debate.
All debate no surety, no truthful lines to shape the nations, no integrity on televised faces. Legal disingenuous with complicit media countenance. They blather rather hard and lather lies and records discard. Obversation, stats, studies from studious years all fallen and flailing on business’s media machine. The spirit trapped in industrial golems protecting wealthy greed behind the minions. And millions strife and strive confused, they look upon the winged apes and wait for sun to knock them down. The chaos and foolish acts plague the minds of sanity. Plagues the people who cling to rationality. Rations and scraps to voiceless communities who keep on bellowing harrowingly, who message and link and repeat solidarity, must forever speak we are here we are here we are here. We are future.
Tremendously sincere and uncomfortably honest animated videos.
Looking at attractive people online and interacting with quick flirts and cam models or whatever is easier than going out and trying to share a moment with some person when maybe the majority of others out there have little to no interest in you or any form of relationship. The people who may like you get missed or ignored because you think they think less of you or are being nice in that condescending way, aren’t I precious and innocent kind of thing. The blind trial and error is a little too abrasive for those seeking emotional connectivity and closeness. Often you’re trying with the wrong people or become the annoying single bothering those who already have friends or more attractive prospects. You think you’re nice but maybe you’re invading personal space or expecting the other to bend to your whim. Your loneliness is not safe from critique and you got blind to the nicer folk two chairs down. Maybe it’s all self-fulfilling prophecy or you’ve become too in between wanting more from less and not wanting nothing from nobody. Where do we procure balance?
Do you know social justice warrior? The bs rigmariole, intellectuals know better, mental health problemo. Every goddamn pseudo revolutionary has an opinion bout allbrainwash. Their words and griping so important. The speechifying of shithead wannabes is deafening my ears. Give em a medal! They’re soo right. They’re epitome of leftist healing. Fuck dem poser, bumba, I know more about ‘your ‘ struggle liars.
I dunno man. You sound like a commercial for yourself instead of a human being with intricacies and pros and cons, doubt and hopes with elevating flaws and down to earth confused self-image . You tagging yourself, making each sentence a message with the hook, a post of yourself as you see yourself after life seminar on achieving. Don’t we get enough of that with the consistent marketing and advertising placard every which way til Sunday mainstay?
Walking down littered streets and cul-de-sac adjacent broad boulevards with giant post-its of realtors and jewelry sicko fancy aside buses glued with recommended consumption. Money lenders on Broadview. Gold traders on Queen.
Young guy with ultra enthusiasm for self-congratulation and mission plans. Current career goal shine bright in sight, ditch friends and peers that don’t fit right. Sell sell sell yourself cause people gotta believe hype, make em believe, bleed positive pro-slap-happy anthem. Bank commercial couples so smiley couplets, go-getters and closers make people feel alright. Confidence makes, you make, you made, made men, conmen.
Conscience pressed down low for the career advancing get along gang schmoozing, here’s my wife pleasures all around, pleasant convo, business texts exec check yourself direct, social cohesion infects, Innotech behaviour shake hands reflex.
Humblebrag; boastful humour revealo, self-esteem reload, sales sniper ammo put at ease the awkward feel of distancing people, pushed away personal personalities like sour wine when all the goers posing with sweet grapes. Pat backs grin Mad Men Mad Max domes keep in competition for the hungry man that wins. Bone and flesh deserted for symbiotic business, synergy and fusion effusive indifference for lost boys and desert men. Poddy people ironically podding in, iCloud of persons merging ideology for simplicity city.
Simplex no complex just high-rise objectivists keeping eyes on existentialist fringes.
Oceans rise so we must turn mermen and merfemme. Swim in modern times, silent era for the wave machines.
Copacetic conditioned, flaxen shine and voluminous multi strands.
Hair turned to wig turned to waxen mannequins. We be tin turned plastic Man. Melt us again.
Sittin listening to Tupac explain his life
Reups and remixes and is he back right?
Can’t help picturing myself with the similar shoulder burdens
No guns and drugs but the memories of pain and loss
Mind blinks back to younger foolhardy
Lament with the dark poets and authors struggled with the dark half
Bled out the dark spirits to fill up the manifest
Black blood rushed forth onto pages and paragraphs
Thinking maybe it’ll have its time or maybe timeless
All of us waxing till the candle gives out
Feel a need to bleed this story out
Let it flow manic and dangerous and scrawl the living world in pages
Footnotes in the mind yell out for swiftness
Get it out like virus eating us cancerous
Cells in the blood multiply
Is it demonspawn or Angeldust?
Or we mortals or sanctus spiritus?
Latinate to germinate
Stews inside us amid the boiling pot
Pretty words to mingle with ugliness
Ugliness turned remembrance turned appreciative
If nothing else we’ve lived a life and learned a touch of tenderness
Some turn away from dirt and strife
The people on principle have hard knock lives
But my neck can’t take the constant twists and averted gaze
I tried for a few years and didn’t like what I’d seen
The mirror spoke nothing and eyes saw emptiness
Not even a shell just lingering abandonment
Wanted to feel more nothing and received the death wish
The soul such dwindling and warmth evading
Spirit within just dissipated for lack of use
No little charity would solve the runaway
Ran from self then left a false self
Created some Rashoman situation where I’d lied to me and mine
More stories to hide the thing within
Acted cold but too sensitive reality
Add more heaviness when ignoring the calls from in
So much more force to keep rigid order
Strap down a heart and prepare for a burst forth
Prison escape, exploding cells
Arterial walls break down as it swells
Grinchaloo who smacked himself to a wake up
This acting game I’m just not up to snuff
Prefer the snort and laugh to the hollow man’s bulletpoint
So industry and corporations in Canada can ask for and get away with loopholes and violations technically allowed by intervening governments like designation changes to allow for disposal for mining companies, tax loopholes to buff quarterly profits, subsidies for all manner of improvement that won’t be reflected in prices for products and services, but the people have to fight for years and years to get a break on something that has proven itself to be a benefit to society and people’s lives. Everyone complained about the telephone companies in old days and still we have the same thing happening with stifling telecoms and corporate obfuscation mingling with the the milieu of avarice and market domination. Spend so much glitter and gold for censorship and controlled streams and service. Will two tier internet come? Are we going to stay on the low rung of countries with poorer broadband? As it is I think we still are lower than most when it comes to upload speed, at a time when content is being uploaded everywhere constantly.
Maybe the Net will envelop us too much and we shall come to rely on it more than now and it could create a huge flaw in the system and operation of the world. May be the electricity and tubes become a hindrance and a doomed reliance, but as it stands we all need this tool, many working or poor people start businesses around the world when broadband is available. We can waste money on ceremonies and public funerals for Tom and Mary politicians but not upgraded connections for all of us. Spend money on idiotic fanfare and confetti for some douche in a suit running for a delegation job.
I get confused and then cynically remember this happens regularly, like old man McGee and his prune juice. Sittin there all squaw reading the Post grumbling about commie liberals and fat o the land takers like government help is new. The important stuff has to take time and lords of the underworld have to stymy and procrastinate so they have prolonged work to do and a job to make promises and golden dawn allusions. What the fack? Am I going to have to pay more money to watch hot trannies rub balloons together while some creepy farmhand watches at the window?
We have a serious problem of hate going on. Maybe a lot of you don’t know, maybe the media portrays it one way, in a politically correct way, but Fundamentalist Americans hate us. Not just right wing politics. What is said behind those closed doors, those polite middle classers speaking of their muslim co-worker, vitriole abounds inside these homes and Neoamerican minds.
These are the Americans who have swayed so far from the ideals of those slave owning forefathers or have lived up to the hidden message of American exceptionalism and superiority and Manifest Destiny, depending on your viewpoint. They have cocooned themselves in hate years before the September 11th bombings that took not only those lives in the towers but also the lives of victims of fear, hate and paranoia. Sikhs who were beaten and killed in the street for looking “moslem,” browns of all stripes being stared at and suspected for the color of their skin; no Timothy McVeigh or Paul Bernardo treatment. The deathcamp for cutie scenario always plays its hand in the land of the free, home of the brave xenophobic. A land taken by force and settled by foreigners staring stone-faced into irony’s face. Tempting and teasing these paradoxes of freedom, free market, legal bindings, cronyism, war profiteering and the myth of meritocracy.
The Americans of potential and greatness, great aspirations and drive are relegated to low positions or assistive to high payed takers and shakers. The brilliant minds are shouted down by cacophonous tempers and shortsighted fear mongering. Scapegoats are the bread and butter, of demagogues, populists, zealots and conmen. The new Rome is gripping its throat with the smog of ignorance and expediency and obfuscating doublespeak. North America is marketed and marketing so the slogans and soundbites be the key, the repeated lies and mantras of insiders, the “real americans” slipping from twisted lips. What is their idea of Real Americans? Are they being so dishonest about their past and the gritty hard details of past heroes and working stiffs ignoring the good fight?
People often fight against change and new ideas. They stomp and kick at it like babes wanting their comfort and familiarity. Fight tooth and nail for the dream of what yesteryear was, what they think of themselves and this rosy perception of their nation. Those so unaware of what they support and prop up for this pride and patriotism as they call it. They are patriotic, others are dangerous. Displaying of confederate flags that do not actually represent the times and armies they think it does nor the great battle of those wanting status quo. It is no different now, status quo and keeping things the same in their minds is the obsession. As the social justice warriors take all and sundry to heart and believe regurgitating lines is the good fight, so too do the fervent patriots believe they are sons of the soil, the true fighting the false. They are bastions of what should be. The Right is right, the Left bereft.
Hail the man who dashes reason but speaks his mind. Yosemite Sam one minute and Tweety the next. Market the darling, sell the hate, grab your true believers till you need their pensions and property. The followers believe the radicals because they offer a negative hope. Rid the world of enemies and defend the fatherland so that you may be safe and no new enemies can harm you for you are chosen people; divine providence for the righteous. Deus Ex Machina before the elections please.
What is there to greatness, what is this greatness we seek as the little sparkle of our light grows and advances over the years? Are we to be the Toms or Samuel Hamiltons of the world. Must I be great, the pinnacle of me that resides in my head? Must I be so wise, my gravitas nestled in my form, my voice must echo in the minds of others. I am wanting of the praise of populace. Awaiting accolades of the acolytes. Praise be above me praise be upon me praise be of me.
I am torn, Imbruglia torn, rendered between humble civility and arrogant princeliness like the round robin never dying fight of the last true Saiyans. I shatter the self for respite from maniacal hordes ego-succubusing the core of my life for some Machiavellian Faustian deal on a life half-lived, half-faltered, half-thrown away to the ravages of time, sloth and insulating fear.
Behold the Wickerman, Birdman, chu chu churian canditate. Lost in a hustle, scuffled in tussles, breakbeat break neck speed ramping up the mental. I’m raving I’m raving. Mad mad lunacy eyein me. Can’t get enough of thinking about me, she, parallels and variables. My quantum spanner on the fritz, flux capacitor shoddily dying in the afterglow of the aftermath of Mathers of fact. Ken Kaniff smoking spliffs with sensitive kids on youth trip. Where am I in it? I said I’d rip it and spit I said it so forget it; my words lost on the lofi wifi confused sigh of the people of the lands, imaginary fans. Either the great or the meek I’m on this rock and rule course and I’ve cast aside destiny, fate, hope, vigorous denial. If I am to be my own wise buddha I certainly must accept what is hard to accept and make of myself a greatness worth having.
I worked at a meat packing plant, I call it the slaughterhouse. Although I’m vegan now after seeing too much and reading too much about the weird shit the farm factories and food industry does to animals back then I was carnivore rex. I used to make up meat songs in my youth, and spank meat at the grocery store, alone because no one would do it with me, humans and their social graces and mores. I even got a huge meat poster from the place and tried to memorize the beef cuts so I would seem meat learned.
But that time there, months of night and then day shifts, slowly moving away form people and social situations, the longest I had worked at a place. Made friends, had an okay time just aching for the 12 hour shift to be over. Day after day I would see the pools of blood on the floor needing to be hosed down every other minute, slabs of pink flesh everywhere devoid of life, I saw the cows come in and wait out there overnight until morning glory death. They looked like poor slaves to me from a distance, big shining eyes looking vacant and unaware, maybe they knew their fate, could sense it as animals do.
I’d patrol the upper areas of the building where all the big husks of animal parts were strewn about on giant hooks, dangling pathetically there without dignity, I guess there is no dignity in a dead body, any body. I Rocky’d a few of the cow slabs because how could I not. Just rows and rows of hanging bodies of various animals being dragged around for the whole process of it all. Air bullet death, slicing and separating, packing and shipping massive amounts in big trucks driven by don’t give a shit drivers, some of them had good weed though. One time I was asked to check on them after hours and we smoked up and had cheap lucky beer, 1 dollar a can. That Jamaican weed makes me paranoid, thought one of them was a cop at my window.
I could handle it then, now it’s too grotesque and watching those behind the scenes videos or reading about the inner workings and the lax oversight is soul sucking. I can’t even really enjoy meat anymore or eggs, I cheat every now and then like with cigarettes but the taste is so average, nothing special anymore just fleshy bits that smell good but leave me blarg. Everyone else can eat what they want but I am not supporting that crazy weird torturous gulag freak show. I’ve seen some animals at an experimental farm in Ottawa and they’re just massive stock being milked and fattened up for the market, there ain’t no pinky toes anymore.
Blood and sweat drops
Blood and sweat drops
Yesterday’s labor is fading
Wait for new builds on display
Revel in future of the obsolete
Machine madness takes hold today
Masses market nonstop harvest
Animal farm is a capitalist dream
Money is better than the humane