The Stew is Stirred;
it's not ready, yet.
The meat still pink and raw.
The chef refuses
to clean the shrimp,
throw away their shells,
clear their intestinal tracts
of Shit.
Though we are both hungry,
now,
some would say starving.
I know better than to eat
raw stew.
Having wretched it before,
broken-hearted and puking
for months.
Stirring the Stew;
Smelling what wafts to the surface.
Looking for an excuse to eat it,
to taste it even.
But no, I'm too Old for that.
Damn Old.
And this Old Body can't afford
any more sickness.
Starving or hungry,
it matters not.
Bitterly Old; I know too much.
Keep cooking,
young chef,
keep cooking.
Let me know
when you're done
with our Stew.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Poem: I Miss Her Still
I Miss Her Still;
Maybe I Always Will.
Out of Nowhere
I Burst
into Tears.
Though it's been Half a Year
It's my still deepest Fear
that we'll Never
be Together
again.
I Remember Eight Months,
with My Throat Full of Lumps;
When She Wouldn't
or Couldn't
See Me.
And Despite All the Others,
my numerous lovers,
it was Her
I Most Wanted
to See.
Then There was The Year
That I Ran From my Fear
And a Dollar Each Tear,
I'd Be Rich.
But the Truth Still Remains
That Together We're Pains;
While I act a Prick,
She's a Bitch.
So I'll Dream in My Soul,
That Before We Grow Old:
She'll Be Selfless,
I'll Be Healthy,
We'll Be Married,
We'll Be Wealthy.
And I Pray
My Tears Turn
Into Gold.
Maybe I Always Will.
Out of Nowhere
I Burst
into Tears.
Though it's been Half a Year
It's my still deepest Fear
that we'll Never
be Together
again.
I Remember Eight Months,
with My Throat Full of Lumps;
When She Wouldn't
or Couldn't
See Me.
And Despite All the Others,
my numerous lovers,
it was Her
I Most Wanted
to See.
Then There was The Year
That I Ran From my Fear
And a Dollar Each Tear,
I'd Be Rich.
But the Truth Still Remains
That Together We're Pains;
While I act a Prick,
She's a Bitch.
So I'll Dream in My Soul,
That Before We Grow Old:
She'll Be Selfless,
I'll Be Healthy,
We'll Be Married,
We'll Be Wealthy.
And I Pray
My Tears Turn
Into Gold.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
List: 14 Reasons Why Noam Chomsky is a Member of the Illuminati
*Look, I love Noam Chomsky's writings, mind, speeches, and works. Never-the-less, the more I think about him (and the seemingly negligible effect he has had on world politics), the more his words and actions don't quite seem to match up. And so in honor of "Questioning Reality," I bring you*
1. He holds a teaching position at a major American Academic Institution (and has for years); MIT, Linguistics Chair. They've got him by the balls!
2. He is the only major public figure who explains the dynamics of modern day World Politics as they really are, clearly and succinctly... Yet no other major public figures act on what he says, even though he is universally recognized as a brilliant academic.
3. Although Chomsky is brilliant at deconstructing and explaining the true motives of Nation-States, The Military, Global Corporate Powers, etc. He is content to write book after book and give explanations to small-audience Public Radio programs; He refuses to join any group who radically fights for change or tenaciously try to spread his message to the greater public (Of course not, it might threaten his position at MIT and invite reprisals from the Powerful Elites he is reporting on).
4. He conducted part of his doctoral research during four years at Harvard University as a Harvard Junior Fellow; A school well-known as a recruiting area for the CIA, Counsel of Foreign Relations, and other Illuminati fronts.
5. Chomsky is often called "The Father of Modern Day Linguistics," a science which has arguably been used more to oppress other nations/peoples than to free them.
6. He has children and relatives whom he loves; These are liabilities which the Illuminati can use to threaten/manipulate him.
7. He often receives undercover police protection, in particular while on the MIT campus, although he says he does not agree with the police protection (more evidence of his ability to do one thing while "agreeing" with another as well as a way for his Illuminati Masters to keep track of him and make sure he doesn't "step out of line").
8. He was on a list of planned targets created by Theodore Kaczynski, better known as the Unabomber; Kaczynski's connection to covert government mind-control programs has been well documented, though not widely reported. Chomsky's name on this list stand outs as Odd, when compared to the other names, and of course Chomsky never was actually attacked by Kaczynski.
9. As a Theoretical/Experimental Psychologist Chomsky's research has done more to enable Illuminati propagandists and brain-butchers to manipulate populations than he has to frustrate them. "Chomsky laid out an explanation of human language faculties that has become the model for investigation in some areas of psychology. Much of the present conception of how the mind works draws directly from ideas that found their first persuasive author of modern times in Chomsky." To whit, Chomsky sadly cares more about research than what the results of that research can be used for. Einstein had something to say about this after the Atom Bomb.
10. Chomsky declares himself widely and proudly as an "Anarchist" despite his life-long involvement, leadership, and participation in Repressive Institutions. This is an oxymoron and creates cognitive dissonance. He consistently and eloquently states the problems with the World Politics, then rarely-if-ever offers solutions. This only serves to further depress Anarchists everywhere. Can you think of a single other well-known, society-approved, Anarchist?
11. Chomsky has received many honorary degrees from universities around the world, including from the following (Many of which are well known Illuminati Grounds): University of London, University of Chicago, Loyola University of Chicago, Swarthmore College, University of Delhi, Bard College, University of Massachusetts, University of Pennsylvania, Georgetown University, Amherst College, University of Cambridge, University of Buenos Aires, McGill University, Universitat Rovira i Virgili, Columbia University, Villanova University, University of Connecticut, University of Maine, Scuola Normale Superiore, University of Western Ontario, University of Toronto, Harvard University, Universidad de Chile, University of Bologna, Universidad de la Frontera, University of Calcutta, Universidad Nacional de Colombia, Vrije Universiteit Brussel, Santo Domingo Institute of Technology, Uppsala University, University of Athens, University of Cyprus, Central Connecticut State University, National Autonomous University of Mexico (UNAM)
12. Chomsky spent time in 1953 living in HaZore'a, a kibbutz in Israel. Asked in an interview whether the stay was "a disappointment" Chomsky replied, "No, I loved it." Some Kibbutz's are fertile recruiting areas for young prospective Illuminati members.
13. Chomsky's language and concepts are often so advanced or couched in terminology so complicated that they are completely inaccessible to the poor, uneducated, and immigrant communities. The exact communities who would pose the greatest threat to the Illuminati, if they could understand what Chomsky was saying.
14. Remember the Illuminati's primary motto and means is: "Divide and Conquer!" That is, have control of the leaders (both Political leaders and Opinion Leaders) of ALL sides; Thus with the ability to play all sides of the ideological spectrum off the others at will, no matter who wins, The Illuminati wins. Can you think of a better, more ineffectual leader of "The Anarchists" than Noam Chomsky?
Think about it...
14 Reasons Why Noam Chomsky is a Member of the Illuminati:
1. He holds a teaching position at a major American Academic Institution (and has for years); MIT, Linguistics Chair. They've got him by the balls!
2. He is the only major public figure who explains the dynamics of modern day World Politics as they really are, clearly and succinctly... Yet no other major public figures act on what he says, even though he is universally recognized as a brilliant academic.
3. Although Chomsky is brilliant at deconstructing and explaining the true motives of Nation-States, The Military, Global Corporate Powers, etc. He is content to write book after book and give explanations to small-audience Public Radio programs; He refuses to join any group who radically fights for change or tenaciously try to spread his message to the greater public (Of course not, it might threaten his position at MIT and invite reprisals from the Powerful Elites he is reporting on).
4. He conducted part of his doctoral research during four years at Harvard University as a Harvard Junior Fellow; A school well-known as a recruiting area for the CIA, Counsel of Foreign Relations, and other Illuminati fronts.
5. Chomsky is often called "The Father of Modern Day Linguistics," a science which has arguably been used more to oppress other nations/peoples than to free them.
6. He has children and relatives whom he loves; These are liabilities which the Illuminati can use to threaten/manipulate him.
7. He often receives undercover police protection, in particular while on the MIT campus, although he says he does not agree with the police protection (more evidence of his ability to do one thing while "agreeing" with another as well as a way for his Illuminati Masters to keep track of him and make sure he doesn't "step out of line").
8. He was on a list of planned targets created by Theodore Kaczynski, better known as the Unabomber; Kaczynski's connection to covert government mind-control programs has been well documented, though not widely reported. Chomsky's name on this list stand outs as Odd, when compared to the other names, and of course Chomsky never was actually attacked by Kaczynski.
9. As a Theoretical/Experimental Psychologist Chomsky's research has done more to enable Illuminati propagandists and brain-butchers to manipulate populations than he has to frustrate them. "Chomsky laid out an explanation of human language faculties that has become the model for investigation in some areas of psychology. Much of the present conception of how the mind works draws directly from ideas that found their first persuasive author of modern times in Chomsky." To whit, Chomsky sadly cares more about research than what the results of that research can be used for. Einstein had something to say about this after the Atom Bomb.
10. Chomsky declares himself widely and proudly as an "Anarchist" despite his life-long involvement, leadership, and participation in Repressive Institutions. This is an oxymoron and creates cognitive dissonance. He consistently and eloquently states the problems with the World Politics, then rarely-if-ever offers solutions. This only serves to further depress Anarchists everywhere. Can you think of a single other well-known, society-approved, Anarchist?
11. Chomsky has received many honorary degrees from universities around the world, including from the following (Many of which are well known Illuminati Grounds): University of London, University of Chicago, Loyola University of Chicago, Swarthmore College, University of Delhi, Bard College, University of Massachusetts, University of Pennsylvania, Georgetown University, Amherst College, University of Cambridge, University of Buenos Aires, McGill University, Universitat Rovira i Virgili, Columbia University, Villanova University, University of Connecticut, University of Maine, Scuola Normale Superiore, University of Western Ontario, University of Toronto, Harvard University, Universidad de Chile, University of Bologna, Universidad de la Frontera, University of Calcutta, Universidad Nacional de Colombia, Vrije Universiteit Brussel, Santo Domingo Institute of Technology, Uppsala University, University of Athens, University of Cyprus, Central Connecticut State University, National Autonomous University of Mexico (UNAM)
12. Chomsky spent time in 1953 living in HaZore'a, a kibbutz in Israel. Asked in an interview whether the stay was "a disappointment" Chomsky replied, "No, I loved it." Some Kibbutz's are fertile recruiting areas for young prospective Illuminati members.
13. Chomsky's language and concepts are often so advanced or couched in terminology so complicated that they are completely inaccessible to the poor, uneducated, and immigrant communities. The exact communities who would pose the greatest threat to the Illuminati, if they could understand what Chomsky was saying.
14. Remember the Illuminati's primary motto and means is: "Divide and Conquer!" That is, have control of the leaders (both Political leaders and Opinion Leaders) of ALL sides; Thus with the ability to play all sides of the ideological spectrum off the others at will, no matter who wins, The Illuminati wins. Can you think of a better, more ineffectual leader of "The Anarchists" than Noam Chomsky?
Think about it...
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Poem: Lovers and Parents Gone
She's a soft and hollow memory,
Every breath further away.
My Missing unchanged,
but farther,
distant.
The Love hasn't changed,
but the Absence
makes it Bearable.
Somehow my heart's
Missing
of old Lovers
is intertwined with the pain
of my Parents;
Their past and present
Abuse
still Unforgiven.
This lack of Forgiveness
causes me Pain,
no matter how Justifiable
their Guilt.
Perhaps my Lovers need Forgiveness, too.
The Pain of their Absence,
The Pain of their...
Not Understanding Me Enough,
The Pain of their Not...
Loving
Me Enough.
In the end it seems
the Crime's the same;
Lover and Parent.
Not Enough Love.
The Answer?
The healing ointment balm,
Forgiveness.
Such an easy word to say,
Not always an easy thing to do.
Gods know I've been trying for years.
But blotting it out
only makes the Pain stronger,
while Facing It brings me to tears.
So tears it will be
and tears it will stay.
Until the rains of my salty waters
turn into healing.
And the Pain
recedes
into dust.
Every breath further away.
My Missing unchanged,
but farther,
distant.
The Love hasn't changed,
but the Absence
makes it Bearable.
Somehow my heart's
Missing
of old Lovers
is intertwined with the pain
of my Parents;
Their past and present
Abuse
still Unforgiven.
This lack of Forgiveness
causes me Pain,
no matter how Justifiable
their Guilt.
Perhaps my Lovers need Forgiveness, too.
The Pain of their Absence,
The Pain of their...
Not Understanding Me Enough,
The Pain of their Not...
Loving
Me Enough.
In the end it seems
the Crime's the same;
Lover and Parent.
Not Enough Love.
The Answer?
The healing ointment balm,
Forgiveness.
Such an easy word to say,
Not always an easy thing to do.
Gods know I've been trying for years.
But blotting it out
only makes the Pain stronger,
while Facing It brings me to tears.
So tears it will be
and tears it will stay.
Until the rains of my salty waters
turn into healing.
And the Pain
recedes
into dust.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Thoughts: Food Poisioning, The Perfect Crime.
How many places did you eat at in the last few days? How many different types of food did you eat out of your fridge or other peoples fridge? If you got deeply, gut-wrenching, vomit-all-over-the-floor, sick food-poisoning; would you know for sure where you got it from?
I'd never thought that deeply on the subject until I worked as a dishwasher at a Fancy Restaurant and saw how sloppy, disgusting, and frankly careless the other dishwashers, waiters, and even Chef's took their job. Mostly everyone was too rushed to really pay attention to cleanliness, and really, not that many cases of food poisoning win in court. Why? Because it's nearly impossible to prove! You'd have to eat at the same Burger King every single day for a whole month, with no snacks in between, to prove that they might have poisoned you. And even then, could it have been the toothpaste you used or some chemical in the air of your house?
I guess the point I'm getting at is that today's "modern" society is based on a lot more Trust in our common human beings than most people like to think about. It only takes a few of the proverbial "someone-pooped-in-the-refried-beans-at-Taco-Bell" stories before the average person never wants to think about it again; but we all have to eat. Not only that, but most of us have to rely on an army of unknown people daily, who we trust, are not poisoning our food or any of the ingredients in it. Because if they were, there is not a damn thing we could do about it.
"But what about the FDA (Food and Drug Administration), or AC (Agricultural Committee), and other Government Agencies? Aren't they watching out for us? Don't they keep our food safe?" My answer to that is "ha, ha, ha. As if." A few intelligent counties and cities (like Los Angeles, California) have instituted programs where they inspect restaurants randomly and give them ratings which are posted for the customer to see and this is a good start, but any teenager knows how to clean their room on inspection day and keep it filthy the rest of the time.
In the end, all I'm saying is, if you are looking to hurt someone, look no further than the food supply. And if all you wealthy people out there think there is nothing better than being served food by the poor, I urge you to think again. It's a lot easier to piss on your salad than it is to successfully lobby for fairer wages.
I'd never thought that deeply on the subject until I worked as a dishwasher at a Fancy Restaurant and saw how sloppy, disgusting, and frankly careless the other dishwashers, waiters, and even Chef's took their job. Mostly everyone was too rushed to really pay attention to cleanliness, and really, not that many cases of food poisoning win in court. Why? Because it's nearly impossible to prove! You'd have to eat at the same Burger King every single day for a whole month, with no snacks in between, to prove that they might have poisoned you. And even then, could it have been the toothpaste you used or some chemical in the air of your house?
I guess the point I'm getting at is that today's "modern" society is based on a lot more Trust in our common human beings than most people like to think about. It only takes a few of the proverbial "someone-pooped-in-the-refried-beans-at-Taco-Bell" stories before the average person never wants to think about it again; but we all have to eat. Not only that, but most of us have to rely on an army of unknown people daily, who we trust, are not poisoning our food or any of the ingredients in it. Because if they were, there is not a damn thing we could do about it.
"But what about the FDA (Food and Drug Administration), or AC (Agricultural Committee), and other Government Agencies? Aren't they watching out for us? Don't they keep our food safe?" My answer to that is "ha, ha, ha. As if." A few intelligent counties and cities (like Los Angeles, California) have instituted programs where they inspect restaurants randomly and give them ratings which are posted for the customer to see and this is a good start, but any teenager knows how to clean their room on inspection day and keep it filthy the rest of the time.
In the end, all I'm saying is, if you are looking to hurt someone, look no further than the food supply. And if all you wealthy people out there think there is nothing better than being served food by the poor, I urge you to think again. It's a lot easier to piss on your salad than it is to successfully lobby for fairer wages.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Poem: Another Holliday
Look at
All the Happy People,
going out for fun.
An evening spent
with friends and lovers,
at night on the run.
They watch the colors in the sky,
they dance, they drink, and laugh.
For this one night
of spending money,
caring not for math.
I watch them
from my little room,
my eyes through slitted blinds.
And no matter
where I look,
no reason
can I find.
What is the reason I'm alone,
while many bunch for joy?
What feelings beat,
inside their souls,
are lacking,
from this boy?
Their instincts tell them:
"Be together!"
"Dance beneath the sky!"
And as the crowds
keep passing me,
all I can say's
"Goodbye."
Will there
one day
be a group?
With me,
a one,
inside?
Or will I spend
the rest of life,
just me,
just one,
alive?
There was a time,
when I was young,
this was no sore for me.
But now I'm old,
the time has passed,
for this old man to be.
Another Holiday is passed,
while I am still alone.
No group,
no love,
no celebration,
no one on the phone.
All the Happy People,
going out for fun.
An evening spent
with friends and lovers,
at night on the run.
They watch the colors in the sky,
they dance, they drink, and laugh.
For this one night
of spending money,
caring not for math.
I watch them
from my little room,
my eyes through slitted blinds.
And no matter
where I look,
no reason
can I find.
What is the reason I'm alone,
while many bunch for joy?
What feelings beat,
inside their souls,
are lacking,
from this boy?
Their instincts tell them:
"Be together!"
"Dance beneath the sky!"
And as the crowds
keep passing me,
all I can say's
"Goodbye."
Will there
one day
be a group?
With me,
a one,
inside?
Or will I spend
the rest of life,
just me,
just one,
alive?
There was a time,
when I was young,
this was no sore for me.
But now I'm old,
the time has passed,
for this old man to be.
Another Holiday is passed,
while I am still alone.
No group,
no love,
no celebration,
no one on the phone.
Poem: Letters From Mother
My Email should not be my Enemy.
Letters from Mother, causing Pain in my Heart;
Living, pulsing, pain.
"I'm too old to still be hurt by words," I think,
knowing all the while it's not true.
Mother rarely cared about Me.
Mostly she cared about the dillusions
she made in her head.
Pictures of a "happy family."
No, she never tried to commit suicide,
when I was a baby.
Not to get away from the cruel fists
of my Father.
No, she never broke promise,
after promise, after promise,
after promise, after promise,
to Me.
For as long as I can remember:
The Promise-Breaking Mother,
The Liar Mother,
The Selfish Mother.
Her only reparation was
Money or Toys.
No apology.
No respect.
No validation.
No freedom for Me.
Money or Toys?
I got to pick one,
as a child,
but as an Adult?
Nothing.
But a Mother who keeps her word?
Well,
it's too late for that,
now.
A Mother who cares more about Me,
than whatever drunk penis
she is dating at the time?
Sorry, son, it's too late.
Yes, I hear the anger in my words.
Feel the warm, salty, tears on my face.
For all her Abuse and imperfections,
Biology demands that I love her.
So I do.
So I have to remain Celibate;
Dare not to repeat
her mistakes.
Letters from Mother, causing Pain in my Heart;
Living, pulsing, pain.
"I'm too old to still be hurt by words," I think,
knowing all the while it's not true.
Mother rarely cared about Me.
Mostly she cared about the dillusions
she made in her head.
Pictures of a "happy family."
No, she never tried to commit suicide,
when I was a baby.
Not to get away from the cruel fists
of my Father.
No, she never broke promise,
after promise, after promise,
after promise, after promise,
to Me.
For as long as I can remember:
The Promise-Breaking Mother,
The Liar Mother,
The Selfish Mother.
Her only reparation was
Money or Toys.
No apology.
No respect.
No validation.
No freedom for Me.
Money or Toys?
I got to pick one,
as a child,
but as an Adult?
Nothing.
But a Mother who keeps her word?
Well,
it's too late for that,
now.
A Mother who cares more about Me,
than whatever drunk penis
she is dating at the time?
Sorry, son, it's too late.
Yes, I hear the anger in my words.
Feel the warm, salty, tears on my face.
For all her Abuse and imperfections,
Biology demands that I love her.
So I do.
So I have to remain Celibate;
Dare not to repeat
her mistakes.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Poem: Used
If there is an "It,"
then I do not have it.
I used to have it,
but somehow I lost it.
While one day I'm surfing
on top of The Wave,
the next day I'm drowning;
No life to be saved.
When once there was something
I wanted to do,
now I'm just wondering
how I got screwed.
The older I get;
the less I become,
The smaller I shrink.
into The Beyond.
then I do not have it.
I used to have it,
but somehow I lost it.
While one day I'm surfing
on top of The Wave,
the next day I'm drowning;
No life to be saved.
When once there was something
I wanted to do,
now I'm just wondering
how I got screwed.
The older I get;
the less I become,
The smaller I shrink.
into The Beyond.
Poem: I Hope You Don't Worry
I sit alone in my four walls: Writing as the last resort.
Ear too bloody; accidents happen while sober too.
Imagining years of loneliness,
getting dirtier and filthier, more soiled and putrid.
Feeling the noose of Self-Pity
closing around my brain and heart.
Some part of me saying that
"I've been here before,
that tomorrow will be better",
then I will be here, again.
But my hand hurts, as I hold this pen,
which hasn't happened before.
I'm getting older,
my body is falling apart too soon.
If I want to stay a writer,
I'll have to start typing,
or getting bigger paper
and pen.
"It's not fair," I think again.
Just as I used to say to my Father,
as he was beating me.
"Life isn't fair," he'd yell,
and hit me again harder.
I disagreed with him, then,
but the older I get,
the more I agree.
I think I see his point.
As my body begins to fall apart.
As the whole World seems to shit it's pants with
Wars, Riots, Oil-Spills, and Etc.
My Father was right,
and maybe if I'd understood him then,
I could have been more selfish growing up;
more heartless and greedy.
Taken more for myself,
hurting others in the process;
The Law of the World.
"Fuck 'em all, as long as I get My Cut."
Even as I write it now I know,
my sensitive heart could never have gone that way.
For all the riches in the World I could not Rape an Innocent.
Does this mean I'm meant for the Lonely Poverty I endure?
Soul Disposition points towards "Yes."
The sooner I accept it the better.
In Jails I heard the never-ending banter
of Gangsters and Thieves, the Takers of Advantage.
Listening with curiosity, I always knew,
I could never have been one.
A silent Killer, perhaps, a Hit-Man, maybe.
But there are far less of those jobs
than the movies would have us believe.
I tried selling drugs, but I was too fair to the Addicts,
more compassion, than Lust for Money.
I tried working for a Mega-Corporation, or two,
but I had no Will to pass on blame,
point the finger, cover my ass.
Just wanted to do my job.
Never back-biting, nor butt-kissing;
Promotion was not my Destiny, there.
Just a permanent Corporate Cubicle,
at best,
being shit on by an endless procession
of ladder-climbing Management,
who do nothing but climb.
I even tried Academia,
my dreams of the Ivory Tower.
But I had not the Will to back-stab fellow Scientists,
grubbing and scrounging, rumor-mongering and
Character Assassination; These Traits I would not learn.
All to sweep up the ever fewer Grants
that all Serious Academics need to survive...
*Sigh*
Besides "homelessness" I could not find a
non-competitive field,
though sometimes the homeless compete more than any.
Dreams of being
a Poet, a Writer, an Artist...
Do you know what it takes to get Recognized today?
With the World of Five Billion
and The Internet for Us all?
Everyone clambering for their Art
to be Famous?
Forget it.
Now, and in the End:
I write for myself.
To purge, to vomit, to excrete
my Pain out.
And maybe entertain
a few others who happen by.
Good Luck,
whoever you are.
I hope you don't worry,
as much as I do.
Ear too bloody; accidents happen while sober too.
Imagining years of loneliness,
getting dirtier and filthier, more soiled and putrid.
Feeling the noose of Self-Pity
closing around my brain and heart.
Some part of me saying that
"I've been here before,
that tomorrow will be better",
then I will be here, again.
But my hand hurts, as I hold this pen,
which hasn't happened before.
I'm getting older,
my body is falling apart too soon.
If I want to stay a writer,
I'll have to start typing,
or getting bigger paper
and pen.
"It's not fair," I think again.
Just as I used to say to my Father,
as he was beating me.
"Life isn't fair," he'd yell,
and hit me again harder.
I disagreed with him, then,
but the older I get,
the more I agree.
I think I see his point.
As my body begins to fall apart.
As the whole World seems to shit it's pants with
Wars, Riots, Oil-Spills, and Etc.
My Father was right,
and maybe if I'd understood him then,
I could have been more selfish growing up;
more heartless and greedy.
Taken more for myself,
hurting others in the process;
The Law of the World.
"Fuck 'em all, as long as I get My Cut."
Even as I write it now I know,
my sensitive heart could never have gone that way.
For all the riches in the World I could not Rape an Innocent.
Does this mean I'm meant for the Lonely Poverty I endure?
Soul Disposition points towards "Yes."
The sooner I accept it the better.
In Jails I heard the never-ending banter
of Gangsters and Thieves, the Takers of Advantage.
Listening with curiosity, I always knew,
I could never have been one.
A silent Killer, perhaps, a Hit-Man, maybe.
But there are far less of those jobs
than the movies would have us believe.
I tried selling drugs, but I was too fair to the Addicts,
more compassion, than Lust for Money.
I tried working for a Mega-Corporation, or two,
but I had no Will to pass on blame,
point the finger, cover my ass.
Just wanted to do my job.
Never back-biting, nor butt-kissing;
Promotion was not my Destiny, there.
Just a permanent Corporate Cubicle,
at best,
being shit on by an endless procession
of ladder-climbing Management,
who do nothing but climb.
I even tried Academia,
my dreams of the Ivory Tower.
But I had not the Will to back-stab fellow Scientists,
grubbing and scrounging, rumor-mongering and
Character Assassination; These Traits I would not learn.
All to sweep up the ever fewer Grants
that all Serious Academics need to survive...
*Sigh*
Besides "homelessness" I could not find a
non-competitive field,
though sometimes the homeless compete more than any.
Dreams of being
a Poet, a Writer, an Artist...
Do you know what it takes to get Recognized today?
With the World of Five Billion
and The Internet for Us all?
Everyone clambering for their Art
to be Famous?
Forget it.
Now, and in the End:
I write for myself.
To purge, to vomit, to excrete
my Pain out.
And maybe entertain
a few others who happen by.
Good Luck,
whoever you are.
I hope you don't worry,
as much as I do.
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