He who knows it all
Truly knows nothing.
A wise, man of honor,
He always told us
That the reason we were blessed
To live in America,
Is because the higher brother
Was always looking down on us,
And watching over big brother
As big brother fell hardest
During times of egoism.
I guess that's why
I believe 911 was staged.
The political leaders and the richest men, funding both sides of the war, so who will win? Them,
the ones controlling us like pawns, while the wars of the world are raging on.
So what do they gain since they already have it all? They watch as the population gauge quickly
falls. Sneak poison in our foods and disease in our water supply. Soon we'll start dying and not even
know how or why? There is no reason, just corruption and madness. Just another day in the life of a
fascist. Brainwashing by the media, entertainment and TV screens. Making money off the poor mens blood
while the rich never bleed. We sing songs of heartfelt compassion and unconditional love. While greedy,
evil men hate all of the above. Hell they even hate below, to the right and to the left. They even hate
themselves, that's why they create this mess. Misery loves company and they have none. Just money, fame
fortune, but at least they're slaves to no one. It must be nice being rich and free. Everytime we rest our head
they have another trick up their sleeve. Did you watch the news? Did you see the new death toll?
Do they have you where they want you? Total control. Don't rely on your government for everything.
Because then what would you have without them? Nothing. That's what they want, total domination.
Kings and Queens of ONE bullshit sovereign nation. Blood soaked hands hidden with lies and secrets.
Begging the masses to "Please believe us". Well we caught them more than once, lying to us and hiding
the truth. "All for one and one for all" is what they say, but there's no proof. Just pretend elections
for their fun and amusement. They know who's going to win, that's why they do it. Just another laugh
in a book of evil fun. For they do control the bookmark, when the day is done. Plot, hidden. Antagonist, them.
Protagonist, us. Take the power back, IN GOD WE TRUST.
Like the personification of
We hide behind
And feel safe in that
We have great intelligence.
they massacre us if we let them,
leaving us with the salty residue
of past perceptions about
how life is
"supposed to be".
It isn't supposed to be anything.
It just is what it is.
An ugly mirror works miracles with
blemishes on the mind's underside, which
escapes the eye of the subject and its
tendency to assume itself "normal".
Its resplendence surrenders to hours,
days, years spent neglected; glass made sour
by one idle reprieve turned eternal.
Learning to reflect more infernal truths,
it becomes unwanted and forgotten -
left just to glorify the clouding dust
that kicks up whenever a door is shut.
Why must we die,
The world is full of funWor and lies,
Too me, the world shoud be free,
Something that will never be.
I see a light shining down the way,
A fasade that will pass.
Another one of the cruel twist that life offers.
We see things only as we see things.
And life is so bitter sweet.
How many more seconds, hours can we sleep and weep,
For life as we know it is in a dark shadow,
Hiding from the true light.
I think I can see, I think I can.
But then again, where is my hand.
Reaching for everything but the truth.
We are distracted, the old and the youth.
Trying, trying to get by and get a taste of the good ole American pie.
One thing this world never knew
What could it be? And i say it's peace
Wars are all that we know in truth
Wars are fought always in the name of peace
A moral said by a great man
United we stand, divided we fall
But we witness it the other way
Divided we stand, united we fall
We could have solved problems through
But what to do they never got solved
Countries held talks known as 'peace talks'
But what was the result, we never got peace
Everything could have been solved by peace
This world would have been a better place
But Countries will always struggle
As greed and war takes them over.
The back end of the tavern was pretty crowded that night, which meant that the bartender was being extra particular about who he gave his attention to. I’d been standing on the far corner towards the stage - the only part of the entire stretch that wasn’t mobbed by people - and waited patiently for an opening to flag down a drink. We were in between sets, and some other local act was currently assembling themselves beneath the shoddy spotlights. Their setup was as elaborate any other, with broad panels of wood adorned with as many as a dozen different guitar pedals placed firmly in front of their feet.
At a quick glance, I raised a finger to the passing bartender and ordered a cheap draft and a shot of whiskey. As he departed, a young guy stumbled toward the bar and threw his weight against it, sprawling forward with his arms draped over the back of the counter. He steadied himself and straightened, coming to relax on his elbows and placing himself on the stool to his right, as if he’d been sitting that way along. I couldn’t help but chuckle, and struggled to do so under my breath. He had long, ratty dreadlocks that held a color somewhere between brown and black. Everything about him looked sort of dirty and sketchy, but his grin also made it clear that he was having a blissfully good time.
He seemed like he was contemplating ordering a drink, but couldn’t quite get himself to move forward and do so. I sat there watching him absently, waiting on my own drinks to arrive. He turned towards me, his head bobbing, and he spoke to me as if he knew me. He had a name for me and everything.
“Tom! Tom… Sorry, I didn’t notice you there for a second.” He said, lucidly, his eyes opening and closing. He turned his stool towards me and placed one hand on his leg, leaning forward and looking at me very intently.
“Do you wanna know what I’ve noticed, Tom? Everybody here… Around here, I mean… Keeps talking about, like, what’s right; what the right thing to do is. And… They all have different ideas… About what it is, you know? What the right answer is. For everything.” He spoke soberly, despite his dazed expression and half-lit eyes. He turned to his right and slapped the counter top repeatedly,
“Drink, barkeep! Drink! Please, a drink! A Budweiser! Please!” He shouted. His voice cut through the noisy chatter surrounding us, and several people fell silent and stared at him. He paid no one any mind, least of all me, or “Tom”, and continued his diatribe with renewed vigor:
“It fucking… It blows my mind! How can everyone think that they’re right, and EVERYBODY ELSE IS WRONG? … How … I mean, really, man… Where did all of their mirrors go? Right?” His eyes widened as he spoke. To our mutual surprise, the bartender rose above the counter and brought down a Budweiser hard onto the counter top. The noise stirred the young man forward and he brought up the bottle for a quick swig, his wide grin returning as he swallowed. He stared at the floor momentarily, took another drink, and placed it back on the bar. His look of fierce concentration returned.
“I’m not gonna sit here, and… You know, tell YOU that I know everything there is to know. I’m not stupid, like that, you know? I’m not. But THESE fucking people, right? Just… All of these fucking jokers that… That wanna be on top so bad, making all of the rules… And, like… Deciding what’s MORAL and shit. What’s THAT? We’re just supposed to… ” He pauses momentarily, and then raises the bottle to his lips once before going on:
“We’re supposed to let them dictate whatever they want? Try to set their… Their bull shit in stone so that the rest of the world’s more like THEM?”
He slammed his bottle back down onto the bar. His face fell, and he drooped his head forward, looking exasperated and tired. I waited for another escalation, but he at last seemed content with being quiet. My drinks had long since been sat in front of me, and I took hold of the whiskey and downed it quickly, chasing it with a small sip of my own beer. Young dreadlocks sat motionless, looking tragic and downcast. I couldn’t help but feel for him, despite his strangeness and obvious intoxication. Why not engage an interesting stranger?
“I don’t think there’s too much to worry about. Don’t you think that there are decent people in this world? Ones who will influence others by example, instead of force?” I asked him, wondering if my voice might make him aware of the fact that I am not Tom.
He turned and raised his head level with mine, all of the vacancy leaving his face, and he spoke with a sad, but deliberate tone:
“I do think that… But, I … I don’t think they’re ever going to be loud enough to stand out. You know, Tom? Like… They’ll always be there… They’ll always be shouting too, but… They’ll never drown out the people who, just… THINK they’re right.”
And with that, he took his beer, turned away from me and walked, on unstable footing toward the surging crowd, disappearing between the many dancing bodies.
Part of me wanted to laugh, and I did, a little bit. I took another short, meaningless little drink of my cheap, bitter, sour-as-shit draft beer and stared across the way at all of the lights, all of the glittering glass, all of the reaching arms and trickling liquids across the length of the bar. Feeling sobered and unhappy, I stared at nothing, hoping to catch no eyes, no attention.
I took another drink; longer this time. More to be had. It was starting to get a little warm, but still, it was refreshing. Another one, and make it good.
Once more. And at this point, we might as well finish the job.
What’s there to do now but go into the crowd as well.
and this thing called poetry,
plucked from a pocket
of space and time.
a blindly adorned subtlety
flowing from the wings
of angels' thoughts unthought,
but with sultry desire.
a rhythmic taste
of word salad
that fumbles all
too easily and too often
from the lips of poets that choke
on the salty aftertaste of
with a raucous brouhaha
likened to a howl
from the maw
of a wild banshee.
untamed and yet,
so wildly untainted
in the heat
of it's innocent discourse
that one can only
the sensation of the moment,
and know how it feels to
wear the cloak of truth.
4:03 AM 8/11/2013 ©