Debter

There’s no liberation like desolation,

That second life that comes after the fall,

Inspiration, trials and tribulations,

They come home,

When there is no money left at all.

And now after the bubble comes growth,

The correction has left the math squared,

And brought new understanding to the understating impaired.

No credit no trust,

It’s just feed or bust,

Grow new or rust,

New success calculus,

No room for failure

And in God we trust

I don’t care about your check,

Yeah I signed it sir,

But you see there’s no cash left,

So your demand is absurd,

I’m gonna succeed,

And I’ll try to pay,

But you can squeeze stones,

And just be broke all day.

Kick rocks motherfucker,

Cause I’m tryin to work,

So pick up a shovel and get digging,

Or hit the road jerk.

Sending song

Still can’t escape the darkness,

But it doesn’t matter,

Let it win or move on.

So here,

Facing an iridescent glow,

I go.

Beacon

.

And in the distance resurrection lay,

A point on the horizon.

In between were shame, defeat and loathing,

But the point was still there.

Beyond today,

A beacon,

Roaring defiance at the gloaming,

And urging on to swim back against the tide.

The veil over your eyes

Dear poetry,

Angry white middle aged man here,

Consumed by fear,

Of an average life.

Now I recognize what it’s like.

I fought against myself.

And I still keep them down.

Higher wages keep them round.

But they aint free.

They subordinate to me.

Now go pick my shit up nigger.

Peering over the edge of an underwater cliff

Whoap! Woke up again

 … well, that was scary,

the abyss was staring again.

Nice save by my beautiful soon to be wife though.

She caught me slipping down and now I’m back.

Sans Su I’d still be stuck in inner space,

Sans sanity and in despair’s numb embrace,

degrading down into disgrace.

Of course chronic problems

 must be solved again,

 and the palsy’s a mother fucker,

the fight’s never won.

A little coffee will help,

and some fresh determination,

and a dream of hope,

in a brain washed nation.

religion and politics mix only in theory

So why did it happen,

Happen this way,

Where the eons past

Decide today.

We fight and struggle,

To make our own way,

But genius and innovation,

are heresy today.

Death to the infidel,

Or enemy of freedom they say

False prophets and liars,

Hold our conscious in sway.

Armageddon is coming,

But it’s work of no god,

Just the thirst for more power,

And  exploitation O lawd!

Be it slavery or politics,

The lesson is the same,

The artifice of power,

Is only morality in name.

You’ll die sir I guarantee,

Rich, poor, beggar, white, black.

But I’ll tell you this now,

You’re leaders don’t know that.

So, simulacrum simil, similie that come,

Simil whatever, similiacuriluvilithevuck.

uh, guess what?

People suffer and die,

And your leaders do not care.

So mark this down!

Make a note!

Not theory!

Not Rote!

The fate of mankind,

Be it devine,

Or sublime,

It depends on YOU!

Not some stooge,

In a house built for power,

Know that you and everyone else

Will be called to account,

In that indifferent God’s final hour.

Recovered artifacts from relationships past

I'm a cheeseball,
sounds false,
just like any number of endearing statements used in relationships,
particularly by men,
in order to obtain favor or to add sincerity to otherwise insincere statements.

Statements such as I love you or,
I don't want to hurt your feelings or,
any number of broad statments which reveal nothing of a party's true feelings or thoughts.

The paradox comes into play when these speech patterns and concepts are naturally used by a sincere speaker who understands their connotations.

I'm a cheeseball,
sleezeball,
normally I'm a cheeseball,
awkward but sincere.

Opaque as muddled thoughts

Clear as air is the path onward.
The void where it leads is endless.
Finite beings stare into the infinite
and imagine indefinite lives.
The end is the beginning is the end
again,
and matters myopic mire difficult
thoughts to fathom.
Thoughts of an infinite experience
bearing down on an atom.

Down but not out

Wishing I could be a boss again,
but I fucked up my flow this morning
and
I don't have my tools so I got no zen.
Gotta find some peace of mind
so I can win.

Can't slow down though that's
impossible,
Got money on my mind and I'm
unstoppable.
My survival was improbable.
But I made it and now I can't afford
to be a sloppy fool.

Time to get back to basics.
Time to do some pen to page shit.
Gotta get my mind right and keep my
shit tight or I might not survive my
next fight for my life.

On a Thai a beach

On a Thai beach,
watching the waves crash descend.
Far away from the doom that could
strike at any second.
We watch the sun set,
and know
we could be happy yet.

What's worse?

What's worse,

the inability to move,

or the inability to want to?

The second sadness isn't a thing you

can cure with shots or pills,

though it kills.

It is an involuntary choice,

to lose one's voice,

and to cease to believe

there was ever a need,

to exist.

Capitol

Lives course through the veins of the world,

Like light on fiber optics,

Oxygen in red blood cells,

Is never part of cogent cognition.

But a hamster in his wheel,

Now that is efficient.

That is powerful.

That is slavery,

In the guise of power.

Bleak Prophecy

I hear the weeping of men in the distance.

As fire sweeps quickly across a brittle land,

so the works of man,

brushed into infinity.

The fate of eternal dreamers

I awoke under water again,

I struggled and surfaced,

broke my mouth and nose through the tension at the top,

to sip the sweet air I had so long craved.

But I had been gone too long,

And everything had gone away.

Most had drifted away on the shifting tides of time.

Still, I rose up high enough to see what remained.

Of that which had remained anchored to my spot,

There was only ash and smolder and rot.

The ash choked air tasted bitter,

with the dissipated energy of life.

Yes I was alive for an instant,

just to take one look,

to rise from endless immortal dreaming,

and age one day.

Now one day and twenty lifetimes older,

sick with the fatigue of suffering and failure,

and the stench of promises unmet,

I go back to sleep and sink,

To dream again of beneath the inky blackness,

of being a better man than I ever was.