*Curtain Call* 09/08/2015
The problem with a person who writes is every new creation must top his or her last creation.
If you think about it too much it fucks with creativity.
I'm sitting here, man, at the very edge of everything I've experienced. I'm broken down. Eventually the table of life just tips. Too much weight. My major problem is the time clocks and gas meters ticking off time and cents. Fuck you. Fuck your measly system of sticks and carrots.
I've got a girl in mexico waiting on Visas for her and her two children's return. Me and her were inseperable for eight months. And I've not seen her in two weeks.
Part of me understands she's really here, in the states, but she's avoiding me because i became too obsessed.
Reality is smashed upon me. My uncle Randall, who has struggled with schizophrenia his whole life, and diabetes, is just a pale, staring mute being led around by my limping, cancer fighting, 80 year old grandfather. My brother, an intravenous heroin and Christal meth user, just went to prison for at least five years. My father, an alcoholic who once took so much of the Anabuse alcoholic drug that supposedly cures the " disease" , that he was paralyzed, walks around town drunk, picking fights with everyone. My other uncle can be seen blowing on his alcohol interlock device in his truck, a machine that prevents anyone who had beer on their breath from driving, or driving his other truck without the device.
The dead or dying. I've not even drank a beer or a joint in ten years. Granted, i spent ten years in prison. Been on parole two years. Just completed it.
Whatever.
The charade. When all i want to do is look into her eyes one last time. Feel her skin.
I'm just this insane prick. This 33 year old man that's destined to go batshit. Its my turn to accept the baton. To run my guts out. Fuck.
I'm going to the university of Utah for hepatitas treatments soon as I'm insuranceless and they need guinea pigs.
I don't know anymore. I wanted to help my lady get her papers. To get her children their papers. To be legal. To be citizens. Its what she wanted. She wanted to get our own place. Now I'm in this place alone. Waiting.
I'm this over cleaner. This over organizer. This person with three abodes i look after.
Its a fucking trip. The heart beateth no matter what.
What's real. What is the truth?
Everyone has their truth. Can i create my own truth or the truth of others? And isnt it all just tied into money. Money and truth. Truth in money.
You can buy truth. You can buy someone's time.
Bought people.
The purpose? Is there reason in this?
Am i this disfigured face, sexually spectrumed, anti social, institutionalized, crazy man for a reason?
We just want to be told we are sometimes. That we have purpose. Meaning. . .
What's expected of me after all that time in a solitary cell? I mean goddamn. You should see her. The beauty. I was the most unalone I've ever been. I'm caught up. Wantless and Waiting. Seeking more from something that's been gone for so long. On the edge of abyss knowing, just KNOWING, I'm the puppet of puppeteers with their own purposes. Slowly ingraining me with their meanings. Carefully skirting the sad possibility which is me.
The don't look at hims, snide under breaths. Hands over the mouth. Behind backs and behind the scenes. Just wanting a moments clarity to show me what I've suspected all along. That I'm just this experiment experiencing what I'm meant not what I've been dealt.
Dealing with this. The deepest which is only shallowness. The meaning which is meaninglessness. The voices of the voiceless become delusions of the disillusioned lumpen proletariat. The chain the only thing left to lose in this society of depressed lifeless. Welcome to our world. The specieless, emotionless wrecks. Where workings all we've got left and dyings shamefull.
Guilty of loving too much unto the death. Maybe the whole purpose right there. Love Death.
Thursday 3 September 2015
*Lolligaggin* 09/03/2015
The throbbing in your right abdomen persists. Its the sign of impending death. What to do... What to do... What to do.
Immobility eases it some. Its funny, i lauded myself for so long for my ability to keep a clear head and equanimity through anything. Now i feel like a drowning rag doll most of the time.
And the nightmares. The waking up suddenly after four hours sleep to full body cramps. Just want to lay here but i get hungry...
I go around. See people. People i knew. But... I guess people i KNOW (?) Why is everything in past tense now? Like i used to this. I used to that. Even as i do it i used to do it.
Found myself at the liqueur store the other day after my doctors appointment. But it didn't open till noon. It was 8am. I don't drink. I shouldn't really. I get crazy.
Vegas sounds real good.
I wish to remain clearheaded as possible through it all as its getting real crazy deep lately. Its like tasty. Life has become tasty. I'm savoring the tragedy around me. Its everywhere. Pain, sorrow, confusion. Yummy.
If you try to avoid it'll get below your skin. Not good. Savor, buddy. Taste, retch but do not swallow.
It's all a game basically feels like. Like, ya, there's purpose to it all somewhere but fuck if i know what it is. Its just like checkpoints are crossed and i acknowledge them with a tip of the hat and continue. Onward. Always forward into the mist.
I've did it. Everything set out finished. Done. Stick a fork in me.
Fingers itch knowing the grand finale is nigh.
The damn graveyard doesn't seem very comfortable though anymore. I used to go there after work when i used to walk. Now i figure to become missing but presumed sounds funner. To find some blue lake to be found in as skelaton. Poetry.
Everytime i end something completely something begins completely. Its why i enjoy startings and finale's.
Poems, relationships, steaks.
Shits getting wild in the Rockies motherfuckers. Better hold on.
Kisses.
The throbbing in your right abdomen persists. Its the sign of impending death. What to do... What to do... What to do.
Immobility eases it some. Its funny, i lauded myself for so long for my ability to keep a clear head and equanimity through anything. Now i feel like a drowning rag doll most of the time.
And the nightmares. The waking up suddenly after four hours sleep to full body cramps. Just want to lay here but i get hungry...
I go around. See people. People i knew. But... I guess people i KNOW (?) Why is everything in past tense now? Like i used to this. I used to that. Even as i do it i used to do it.
Found myself at the liqueur store the other day after my doctors appointment. But it didn't open till noon. It was 8am. I don't drink. I shouldn't really. I get crazy.
Vegas sounds real good.
I wish to remain clearheaded as possible through it all as its getting real crazy deep lately. Its like tasty. Life has become tasty. I'm savoring the tragedy around me. Its everywhere. Pain, sorrow, confusion. Yummy.
If you try to avoid it'll get below your skin. Not good. Savor, buddy. Taste, retch but do not swallow.
It's all a game basically feels like. Like, ya, there's purpose to it all somewhere but fuck if i know what it is. Its just like checkpoints are crossed and i acknowledge them with a tip of the hat and continue. Onward. Always forward into the mist.
I've did it. Everything set out finished. Done. Stick a fork in me.
Fingers itch knowing the grand finale is nigh.
The damn graveyard doesn't seem very comfortable though anymore. I used to go there after work when i used to walk. Now i figure to become missing but presumed sounds funner. To find some blue lake to be found in as skelaton. Poetry.
Everytime i end something completely something begins completely. Its why i enjoy startings and finale's.
Poems, relationships, steaks.
Shits getting wild in the Rockies motherfuckers. Better hold on.
Kisses.
Sunday 30 August 2015
* Never Mine Always Hers* 08/30/2015
It was like a whirlwind
Temptuous
And as i sit windless, alone
I miss the feel of the gales bloodily
Tearing away cruelessly at my skin
It was like in eight months
I forgot all about those ten years
Solitary and Alone
But now they're here again
Like sandpaper filled seashells stepped on
By bloody, windblown skin
Never once did she rub my back
The money i made was hers
She even left me on my birthday
Never mine but always her hurt
My concern
Total focus
Now I'm left with nothing except all I'd given up
You can't imagine it
The way her brown eyes conveyed mystery
Asian eyes on latina ass cheeks
Her toes and fingers those of Mayan princess
Hair cascaded down shoulders of an Aztec queen
Her walk the most preciously obscene
Jeans, black eye liner and nail polish
Beyond angelic speaking her new language
Driving her stickshift Tiida in anger
Walking through the door after work in tears
Up and down in constant emotion
I was crushed and beaten with her feelings
It was always too much and never enough
It was she's needy and I've nothing left
Wishing someone can handle her
Wanting to kill anyone who touches her
Touched her so much that now I'm dead
She's gone now a country away
And now I'm here again with my feet on the ground
And i don't like it i want it to stop
Just end please this feeling
Read meaning in these bloody footsteps
Of a man who flew because of a woman
For so long he forgot how to walk
It was like a whirlwind
Temptuous
And as i sit windless, alone
I miss the feel of the gales bloodily
Tearing away cruelessly at my skin
It was like in eight months
I forgot all about those ten years
Solitary and Alone
But now they're here again
Like sandpaper filled seashells stepped on
By bloody, windblown skin
Never once did she rub my back
The money i made was hers
She even left me on my birthday
Never mine but always her hurt
My concern
Total focus
Now I'm left with nothing except all I'd given up
You can't imagine it
The way her brown eyes conveyed mystery
Asian eyes on latina ass cheeks
Her toes and fingers those of Mayan princess
Hair cascaded down shoulders of an Aztec queen
Her walk the most preciously obscene
Jeans, black eye liner and nail polish
Beyond angelic speaking her new language
Driving her stickshift Tiida in anger
Walking through the door after work in tears
Up and down in constant emotion
I was crushed and beaten with her feelings
It was always too much and never enough
It was she's needy and I've nothing left
Wishing someone can handle her
Wanting to kill anyone who touches her
Touched her so much that now I'm dead
She's gone now a country away
And now I'm here again with my feet on the ground
And i don't like it i want it to stop
Just end please this feeling
Read meaning in these bloody footsteps
Of a man who flew because of a woman
For so long he forgot how to walk
Tuesday 25 August 2015
*Shitty Fingers* 08/25/2015
Weight lifting and watering the lawn
Not working to enrich the man anymore
Set on using my wiles to gather others waste
Enough of everything floating around to subsist
Preparing for the worst by relaxing
Letting it happen while muscle builds
Bilking the government for pantry paycheck
Going to use my prison mental upset to get
Manipulate the system until system implodes
Until the land earthquakes into sea
Or falling rock rockets cometesque earthward
Collapsing the tunnelworks hidden like Mormon swearword
Not gonna do it anymore
Playing along with your consumption
The playacting of wanting blasted upon brainstems
With trivial knowledges driveled unto deathishness
Made up histories and make believe futures
So out of reach and out of touch
Beyond retching and explatory motherfucks
Like shitting the only truth we've left
On the comode with the one remaining truth
What goes in must go out
And what empires rise
Must be wiped from the face of the world
Skidmarked like cheap gravestones
Trailing like skelatons behind amerikkan flags
Flushed away like lower class families dads
Imprisoned in noncorrectional sewers
Making it another day in order to flush it
That's it
That's all I've got
Weight lifting and watering the lawn
Not working to enrich the man anymore
Set on using my wiles to gather others waste
Enough of everything floating around to subsist
Preparing for the worst by relaxing
Letting it happen while muscle builds
Bilking the government for pantry paycheck
Going to use my prison mental upset to get
Manipulate the system until system implodes
Until the land earthquakes into sea
Or falling rock rockets cometesque earthward
Collapsing the tunnelworks hidden like Mormon swearword
Not gonna do it anymore
Playing along with your consumption
The playacting of wanting blasted upon brainstems
With trivial knowledges driveled unto deathishness
Made up histories and make believe futures
So out of reach and out of touch
Beyond retching and explatory motherfucks
Like shitting the only truth we've left
On the comode with the one remaining truth
What goes in must go out
And what empires rise
Must be wiped from the face of the world
Skidmarked like cheap gravestones
Trailing like skelatons behind amerikkan flags
Flushed away like lower class families dads
Imprisoned in noncorrectional sewers
Making it another day in order to flush it
That's it
That's all I've got
Friday 14 August 2015
*A Step Up* 08/14/2015
Occupational safety hazard
That is
Your life's killing you
Just waiting patiently for the grave
Silently wishing you outlive the others
A non contract signed with life
That so much effort must be set forth
For so much rest inbetween
Tit for Tat
Deathbedded amazed wondering
I did this for that
You know when you see unchanged
It changes you
Maybe thats why the unchanging never change
They can't see you
Why is it that death makes us live
That a funeral makes us feel better
Why do we wish graves
Upon those the closest to us
But pray long lives on strange celebrities
When non buisness becomes felonious
And non cooperation becomes terrorist
The act of not paying idolaterous
The establishment ravishing you into the perfect consumerist
Immersed in bullshit a constant
Damning yourself for playing along
Can't them sorry motherfuckers just get it over with
Die already you bastards
My future family seeks your soiled place mats
Lives full of future and meaning
Verses your smelly alcohol breaths
Full of pain and confusion
Let those who seek less consuming
Replace the consumed
Its the right of the evolved beings
The shoulders of the weak non doing
Occupational safety hazard
That is
Your life's killing you
Just waiting patiently for the grave
Silently wishing you outlive the others
A non contract signed with life
That so much effort must be set forth
For so much rest inbetween
Tit for Tat
Deathbedded amazed wondering
I did this for that
You know when you see unchanged
It changes you
Maybe thats why the unchanging never change
They can't see you
Why is it that death makes us live
That a funeral makes us feel better
Why do we wish graves
Upon those the closest to us
But pray long lives on strange celebrities
When non buisness becomes felonious
And non cooperation becomes terrorist
The act of not paying idolaterous
The establishment ravishing you into the perfect consumerist
Immersed in bullshit a constant
Damning yourself for playing along
Can't them sorry motherfuckers just get it over with
Die already you bastards
My future family seeks your soiled place mats
Lives full of future and meaning
Verses your smelly alcohol breaths
Full of pain and confusion
Let those who seek less consuming
Replace the consumed
Its the right of the evolved beings
The shoulders of the weak non doing
Wednesday 12 August 2015
*Absence of Needing* 08/12/2015
So you think you can dance
Motherfucker
With the Demons enchanting
Solo thoughts in solitary cells
So you think this existence
Has meaning
Like clean shirts and shiny cars
Or is it all just made up
Make believe until we leave
Must to Dust
So she's the one
And he's finally come
And your new toys are perfect
Fit to fit just like it was meant
Sleeping good wrapped up in consumerist delusions
I say so you think you can die
This minute without regret
So you think you can live
Without regretting moments
To leave it all
On the doorstep of the banks
Take yourself to the woods
Rot your teeth as you feed your being
Being nothing
Planning nothing
Getting up
Chopping firewood
Chewing jerky
Falling asleep
Total disconnect from oil roads
The daily here to there
The worry of your smell
Or shinyness or dullness of hair
Giving up you might say
But its not
Its...
Like...
Just finally
Evolving up
To the trees and the dirt
To being a being
Without needing
That which isn't worth needing
Its...
Finally...
BREATHING
So you think you can dance
Motherfucker
With the Demons enchanting
Solo thoughts in solitary cells
So you think this existence
Has meaning
Like clean shirts and shiny cars
Or is it all just made up
Make believe until we leave
Must to Dust
So she's the one
And he's finally come
And your new toys are perfect
Fit to fit just like it was meant
Sleeping good wrapped up in consumerist delusions
I say so you think you can die
This minute without regret
So you think you can live
Without regretting moments
To leave it all
On the doorstep of the banks
Take yourself to the woods
Rot your teeth as you feed your being
Being nothing
Planning nothing
Getting up
Chopping firewood
Chewing jerky
Falling asleep
Total disconnect from oil roads
The daily here to there
The worry of your smell
Or shinyness or dullness of hair
Giving up you might say
But its not
Its...
Like...
Just finally
Evolving up
To the trees and the dirt
To being a being
Without needing
That which isn't worth needing
Its...
Finally...
BREATHING
Friday 31 July 2015
*Pretend* 07/31/2015
Temporary insanity pleaded
As you lie kneeding
Illusions of granduer
Of the utmost and lowest
Its happened many times before
This fucking hostage situation
This drainage of your being
Because of total focus on another
What do you do when your whole life
Feels orchestrated from the get
Like the paths you walk and decisions you make
Decided upon. Traps set. Some mathamatic kismet
Fucking shit
Sitting here after so much
My fucking struggle with everything
Plain as day its got me shook up
The givings up
The gotta gets
The need to this
The have to that
Fuck you
And everything
The overdraft credit cards
The gas tanks constant thirst
Bills and ultimatums
Urges urged upon
The dirt we tread forgotten
For the minutes of pop songs
Scratched on ears
I've been here before
Just yesterday we played this
Hiding and seeking meaning
I'll do this again
With the wind as my foe
And the sun as my friend
Peeking blinds
Bleeding inside
The only difference I'm sober this time
Dulled
By mountains surmounted
Darkened by the hopelessness surrounding
The eye smiles I've passed on countlessly
Infected by your sadness
Felled by your sickness of fear
In the coward populace
Of the mainstreams
Prying eyes
Temporary insanity pleaded
As you lie kneeding
Illusions of granduer
Of the utmost and lowest
Its happened many times before
This fucking hostage situation
This drainage of your being
Because of total focus on another
What do you do when your whole life
Feels orchestrated from the get
Like the paths you walk and decisions you make
Decided upon. Traps set. Some mathamatic kismet
Fucking shit
Sitting here after so much
My fucking struggle with everything
Plain as day its got me shook up
The givings up
The gotta gets
The need to this
The have to that
Fuck you
And everything
The overdraft credit cards
The gas tanks constant thirst
Bills and ultimatums
Urges urged upon
The dirt we tread forgotten
For the minutes of pop songs
Scratched on ears
I've been here before
Just yesterday we played this
Hiding and seeking meaning
I'll do this again
With the wind as my foe
And the sun as my friend
Peeking blinds
Bleeding inside
The only difference I'm sober this time
Dulled
By mountains surmounted
Darkened by the hopelessness surrounding
The eye smiles I've passed on countlessly
Infected by your sadness
Felled by your sickness of fear
In the coward populace
Of the mainstreams
Prying eyes
Sunday 26 July 2015
*My Curse* 07/26/2015
Free to believe
That you and me
Can see
The edge of eternity
Free enough to live pantless
In a shack
Between two rivers
Underneath the trees
You should of seen my face
That day a year ago
When my parole officer uttered
One more year parole
One more working
More exemplary conduct
Or else
Was almost felled
True. True heartfelt
Been treed by this system so long
Grown tail
Learned the fine art of slow motion
Hanging silently
Alone
I did it
You dirty motherfuckers
I beat you
For the sake of them too
Had nothing to do with me or you
The times you told them never
The moments you snickered at their genius
For your momentary boredom relief
Saying never enough to clever
Creates symptoms of forever
Animosity aimed
And animosity aimed at the unclever
Fells trees on your boredom
Drowns you in your two rivers
The same landscape i retreat to in victory
Will be your apology
Unaccepted yet taken
So hang silently reversed
Oppressor scum
Your worst is yet to come
Free to believe
That you and me
Can see
The edge of eternity
Free enough to live pantless
In a shack
Between two rivers
Underneath the trees
You should of seen my face
That day a year ago
When my parole officer uttered
One more year parole
One more working
More exemplary conduct
Or else
Was almost felled
True. True heartfelt
Been treed by this system so long
Grown tail
Learned the fine art of slow motion
Hanging silently
Alone
I did it
You dirty motherfuckers
I beat you
For the sake of them too
Had nothing to do with me or you
The times you told them never
The moments you snickered at their genius
For your momentary boredom relief
Saying never enough to clever
Creates symptoms of forever
Animosity aimed
And animosity aimed at the unclever
Fells trees on your boredom
Drowns you in your two rivers
The same landscape i retreat to in victory
Will be your apology
Unaccepted yet taken
So hang silently reversed
Oppressor scum
Your worst is yet to come
Sunday 28 June 2015
*Hurry Up* 06/28/2015
Trippage
Like the steel of the shank
Rammed into your chest
And all you can think
Heart ceasing
Is the rain that created the rust
In my belly
Pretty...
So very...
Pretty
Completion
Like the only way of pyramids
Of revolutions
In segments and steps
Generations of deaths
Heads we've kissed
We tread upwards onto
Pretty kisses turned broken teeth
Its this fear of being afraid
This " Time Peace "
Seeking okayness in its ticking
At all costs
Knowing your worst enemy is your friend
And being real hurts but only shortly
Tick tick
Fakeness fatal in finality
In length
So, my friend...
Please...
Pretty pretty please...
Pretend
The machines slowly clear the trees
Cedar forest i grew up in
Robin and blue jay chasing
Alcohol slowly stripping the humanity
From the livers of the bloodsharing
Deaths sought and wished for
By all parties involved
So i uninvolve
Evolved
I'm alone
Basically
But there's she
You've heard of it right? Move on...
Seeking things
Sharing of things coinciding
Momentarily
Its all it was
When gains are obtained
Seekings change
Creating obstacles serving purposes...
Blah blah blah
We begin basing thirty year knowledges
Directed towards two day
Month Olds
When we've taken this long to unlearn
What we was taught
We reteach?
WTF!
Its not today or tomorrow or yesterday
Its all days guiding this day
Its the reasons gave for a fist
Verses the real reason of knuckles
Compared to what witnesses see
Divided by twenty years afterward
And the sun glinting off the scar tissue
Into the eyes
Causing a slight hitch in the breath
A memory
Slight
A determination. Quickening
Of Black Boots scaling a White House
Trippage
Like the steel of the shank
Rammed into your chest
And all you can think
Heart ceasing
Is the rain that created the rust
In my belly
Pretty...
So very...
Pretty
Completion
Like the only way of pyramids
Of revolutions
In segments and steps
Generations of deaths
Heads we've kissed
We tread upwards onto
Pretty kisses turned broken teeth
Its this fear of being afraid
This " Time Peace "
Seeking okayness in its ticking
At all costs
Knowing your worst enemy is your friend
And being real hurts but only shortly
Tick tick
Fakeness fatal in finality
In length
So, my friend...
Please...
Pretty pretty please...
Pretend
The machines slowly clear the trees
Cedar forest i grew up in
Robin and blue jay chasing
Alcohol slowly stripping the humanity
From the livers of the bloodsharing
Deaths sought and wished for
By all parties involved
So i uninvolve
Evolved
I'm alone
Basically
But there's she
You've heard of it right? Move on...
Seeking things
Sharing of things coinciding
Momentarily
Its all it was
When gains are obtained
Seekings change
Creating obstacles serving purposes...
Blah blah blah
We begin basing thirty year knowledges
Directed towards two day
Month Olds
When we've taken this long to unlearn
What we was taught
We reteach?
WTF!
Its not today or tomorrow or yesterday
Its all days guiding this day
Its the reasons gave for a fist
Verses the real reason of knuckles
Compared to what witnesses see
Divided by twenty years afterward
And the sun glinting off the scar tissue
Into the eyes
Causing a slight hitch in the breath
A memory
Slight
A determination. Quickening
Of Black Boots scaling a White House
*Trippage* 06/28/2015
"Congratulations", he says, the parole officer, "You're the first Green to complete parole successfully." "And early." Three years early."
Nice. I guess. . .
But we forget.
The years i did. Ten in total. In a solitary cell. The voices and body bags and letters unsent. The unspoken of the missing spokes in my wheel which i rotated and balanced each day. Each second. In order to one day rise above. Crawl above.
But now i just want the choice. The decisions to be mine. Should i work or not? 90 hours in order to just pay the process of getting to and from work with brushed teeth and full belly. I'm ordered to work. Its stipulation. But maybe now I'll quit, be a little hungry and have fuzz teeth. But. Have time. Have energy. For myself.
I can leave the state now...
No more surprise, armed visits and piss tests. No more monthly fees in order to keep bullets in the guns hipped and at the ready if i make a sudden move.
Sudden move... Maybe that's it. I can move now. Suddenly. They'll have to knock now before they kick in my door. They'll have to tell me to freeze now before they shoot.
I guess, what I'm trying to say, is Theres Alot lost. Its just not as simple as a completion of a process because i was " corrected" by corrections.
No. Because i wasn't.
Everything i was told to do in prison... I did the opposite. The parole programs upon release... I criticized. I laughed at. Because if i would of embraced their "Gods" and "relapse is a part of recovery" where would i be now?
Hmmm?
No God. No relapse. No love for those that showed nothing but hate to me for years. No rehabilitation. But bucking. With strength. With the knowledge that the entire in-justice system is corrupt. That to even have reading material or food and water isn't a guarantee when your suffering in chains in this "land of the free."
That you can be murdered by state employees and be sent home as a suicide. That psychotropics are a tool used to break you, handed out by smiling, supposed "care" givers and medical "professionals."
I've worked. I've bucked you you dirty, crooked bastards. Even though you gave me three extra years for "refusing medications."
I've beat you at your own games in order to show the world you play unfair. In order to make known the hypocrisy of your war on drugs. The racism in your freedom and the lowness in your higher power philosophies.
You're either war recruited to fight for imperialist armies or chained. Chain or be chained.
Police force or policed.
Pork producing, cashier register, toilet scrubbing middle men. On the fence. Waiting. Supporting troops and perpetuating the prison industrial complex with your non-attention. With your captive hate.
Fuck your wars and your soldiers. Fuck your badged, coward, P.D. Swat teams. Power to all prisoners. To Jailhouse Lawyers, those refusing meds and compliance. To sprinklers pulled and shit thrown. Rise up you righteous.
To those warred upon. Luck. Knowledge that your cause is true and right and the contradiction is in your favor more each day.
Fuck your system. Set up to control at all cost in order to keep in power your elite.
But most of all.
Fuck those that still believe in this system. That still seek to raise offspring to assimilate into this shitmill.
Whatever happened to resistance?
To those that stand up for what's right even though they know they'll be knocked down again and again.
The fear of being knocked down. The redness of face in he who trips beside his peers. The terror of stumbling and slipping. Tripping.
But what is life, what is knowledge if not learning to be more sure-footed by stumbling? To learn to be graceful while doing the ungraceful?
Its this, this even-road, this "same-same" flat surface emotion and lifestyle. This ability to just take a pill and never feel good or bad but just O.K.
This perpetual war supported, never to be lost or won, but continued just for the sake, the money, of the business involved in war. . .
"Congratulations", he says, the parole officer, "You're the first Green to complete parole successfully." "And early." Three years early."
Nice. I guess. . .
But we forget.
The years i did. Ten in total. In a solitary cell. The voices and body bags and letters unsent. The unspoken of the missing spokes in my wheel which i rotated and balanced each day. Each second. In order to one day rise above. Crawl above.
But now i just want the choice. The decisions to be mine. Should i work or not? 90 hours in order to just pay the process of getting to and from work with brushed teeth and full belly. I'm ordered to work. Its stipulation. But maybe now I'll quit, be a little hungry and have fuzz teeth. But. Have time. Have energy. For myself.
I can leave the state now...
No more surprise, armed visits and piss tests. No more monthly fees in order to keep bullets in the guns hipped and at the ready if i make a sudden move.
Sudden move... Maybe that's it. I can move now. Suddenly. They'll have to knock now before they kick in my door. They'll have to tell me to freeze now before they shoot.
I guess, what I'm trying to say, is Theres Alot lost. Its just not as simple as a completion of a process because i was " corrected" by corrections.
No. Because i wasn't.
Everything i was told to do in prison... I did the opposite. The parole programs upon release... I criticized. I laughed at. Because if i would of embraced their "Gods" and "relapse is a part of recovery" where would i be now?
Hmmm?
No God. No relapse. No love for those that showed nothing but hate to me for years. No rehabilitation. But bucking. With strength. With the knowledge that the entire in-justice system is corrupt. That to even have reading material or food and water isn't a guarantee when your suffering in chains in this "land of the free."
That you can be murdered by state employees and be sent home as a suicide. That psychotropics are a tool used to break you, handed out by smiling, supposed "care" givers and medical "professionals."
I've worked. I've bucked you you dirty, crooked bastards. Even though you gave me three extra years for "refusing medications."
I've beat you at your own games in order to show the world you play unfair. In order to make known the hypocrisy of your war on drugs. The racism in your freedom and the lowness in your higher power philosophies.
You're either war recruited to fight for imperialist armies or chained. Chain or be chained.
Police force or policed.
Pork producing, cashier register, toilet scrubbing middle men. On the fence. Waiting. Supporting troops and perpetuating the prison industrial complex with your non-attention. With your captive hate.
Fuck your wars and your soldiers. Fuck your badged, coward, P.D. Swat teams. Power to all prisoners. To Jailhouse Lawyers, those refusing meds and compliance. To sprinklers pulled and shit thrown. Rise up you righteous.
To those warred upon. Luck. Knowledge that your cause is true and right and the contradiction is in your favor more each day.
Fuck your system. Set up to control at all cost in order to keep in power your elite.
But most of all.
Fuck those that still believe in this system. That still seek to raise offspring to assimilate into this shitmill.
Whatever happened to resistance?
To those that stand up for what's right even though they know they'll be knocked down again and again.
The fear of being knocked down. The redness of face in he who trips beside his peers. The terror of stumbling and slipping. Tripping.
But what is life, what is knowledge if not learning to be more sure-footed by stumbling? To learn to be graceful while doing the ungraceful?
Its this, this even-road, this "same-same" flat surface emotion and lifestyle. This ability to just take a pill and never feel good or bad but just O.K.
This perpetual war supported, never to be lost or won, but continued just for the sake, the money, of the business involved in war. . .
*Trippage ||* 06/28/2015
For the citizens that need to feel "better-than": the Christians that need to prove their fake religion is realer than someone elses fake religion.
Prison populations stagnant. Even though many die at the hands of the homicidal state. Because Theres always that son or daughter. That one, being groomed for chains, who feels good and bad intensely.
The enemy?
Emotion?
The ups and downs of life looked down upon. The rights and wrongs in beliefs. Proofs and disproofs. Common sense verses the common goose-step which is us. The U.$. Kkkalifornicated.
Kkkamouflageicated.
Seeing stars in homicidal soldiers. Black and white demons in the koncentration kamp khaki blues.
And damn if he or she becomes upset and slams a door or two. Damn if you can't control.
Damn the bumps in your road, please, as we perfect the art of road removal. See the bumps as fixable. Ignore until its too late.
Says he at the hands of this pristine, maintained, poetic jackhammer.
Its nothing. Swear it.
Just a little pothole. . .
For the citizens that need to feel "better-than": the Christians that need to prove their fake religion is realer than someone elses fake religion.
Prison populations stagnant. Even though many die at the hands of the homicidal state. Because Theres always that son or daughter. That one, being groomed for chains, who feels good and bad intensely.
The enemy?
Emotion?
The ups and downs of life looked down upon. The rights and wrongs in beliefs. Proofs and disproofs. Common sense verses the common goose-step which is us. The U.$. Kkkalifornicated.
Kkkamouflageicated.
Seeing stars in homicidal soldiers. Black and white demons in the koncentration kamp khaki blues.
And damn if he or she becomes upset and slams a door or two. Damn if you can't control.
Damn the bumps in your road, please, as we perfect the art of road removal. See the bumps as fixable. Ignore until its too late.
Says he at the hands of this pristine, maintained, poetic jackhammer.
Its nothing. Swear it.
Just a little pothole. . .
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