Propaganda

Money is One Heck of a Stimulant

Your deceit has polluted the rivers near your villages.

The very rivers that its people rely on for drinking water.

A sip of that poison ignites a plague that turns friends into foes and kin into fugitives.

But where is the antidote? Why do your people continue to fall ill?

It is locked away along with the fortune you made from the production of your deceit.

Money is one heck of a stimulant.

 

I’ve been away for a long time to know why I’ve been wrong before.

I had beat a dead horse and gave CPR to two that had cancer.

I should have known that it was not worth it if the doctors were not going to help treat it.

I was an ignoramus. They have all the knowledge that the world had to offer.

So why not share it with the ambitious and give new life to these once noble steeds?

Money is one heck of a stimulant.

 

I long reminisced about a time when the doors were open to tons of villagers with potential.

It was a world that I wanted to be a part of since I was a guppy not yet exposed to mathematics.

A potato infected by a blight and stabbed me warned me that the chief doctors were monsters.

A poor surgeon who tried repeatedly to receive a raise vanished, was slandered, and never seen again.

A coordinator found a shady message in her contract that forbade arbitration and fled to another kingdom.

And I recently heard that the one coquettish nurse was expelled over scrutiny from her personal life.

Why, Dr. Kim? Why do you egg your personnel to choose sides when there are lives that need rescuing?

Can’t we all get along and lay down our weapons? It’s easier to negotiate than to wage war, but no.

Money is one heck of a stimulant.

 

People lose their minds when they fall in love. It’s not just me. It’s a fact of life.

I lost mine to a mongrel who shut me out after a few months and lied directly to my face.

A good friend that I had regretfully wronged had given the doctors the deceit that tainted the rivers.

A clever herbalist that craves drama knows how to brew tainted water to make it appear crystal clear.

Not everyone knows that making up stories to sweep malpractice under the rug is a gold mine.

Money is one heck of a stimulant.

 

The coachman that brought me to this place can call me a whiny little boy if his mood fits.

Just like the kid who offered sage advice to the chief doctors on how to break down barriers.

But that judges the coachman's character more than mine.

It’s an fyi that looks terrible just because he’s wearing it.

But hey, why bother listening to advice that’s more expensive than one’s pride?

The doctors’ salaries are too low for them to spare a dime to make that change.

That’s why there’s never room for improvement nor for sharing in their greedy hearts.

Money is one heck of a stimulant.

 

I am terribly sorry that your folks never taught you that what goes around comes around.

That your hidden crimes will come back to bite you when you too become penniless.

When you one day get a taste of your own poison when you drink the river you tainted.

What does your life have in store for you afterwards? Can you sleep at night again?

Will people still care when the doctors go their separate ways? What about the pollution in the river?

I will not return to the filth you created to clean it because in the end, the deceit would be even worse.

To change your practice for the better was my greatest wish until I found out how unethical you are.

Now it is to build a fortune of my own so the artist that my heart beats for can have a bite to eat.

That is the change that you will never see because you are too comfortable smoking the dough you baked.

Money is one heck of a stimulant.

Prophetic Profits Line Political Pockets

Is it ironic that our prophets are marketed to profit the preacher's pocket?

 

It seems prophetic scripture is a profitable mixture of spirituality and social interaction; last time I stepped in a church, I envisioned cats goose steppin, their hands raised to acknowledge the Spirit but I'm wonderin if Der Führer is present.  Speaking of prophecy, these profits we chase will be the end of humanity - death creates a war economy where PMCs are commodities bought and sold to perpetuate global homogeny.  

 

New World Orders dictate a rise of profit, so our prophets are shifted to suit the pockets of those in suits and suites; our politicians accept legal bribery to sell us up river, our population swells and our problems become bigger.  We give in to fear and accept propaganda while we demand actions from those with hidden agendas.  Overseers out of officers above our written laws roam these streets looking more ravenous than their dogs.  As the blue line stretches from state to state, the state of the union dissolves; to state it simply, the Police State seems reminiscent of the Third Reich.  

 

RFIDs implanted as governments demand their chattel be branded; the mark of a beast we fed with our blood, best mark your numbered days of "freedom" as you chatter about your favorite programming.  Can it be coincidence entertainment on television is called programming?  Manufactured characters from sitcoms to newsrooms, distorted opinions layered like a cake with as much sugar coating, ensuring you will swallow the harsh medicine of reality crumbling.  

 

But never mind that, what color is this dress man?  And never mind THAT, douse yourself with this bucket of ice man.  From one scam to another, our attention is commanded - ironic that the only real deficit is attention.  If our attention had intention to shift our intended goals from profit to parables utter by prophets, imagine what our pockets would hold then.

 

Every day, if I open my eyes, I realize another layer of the real lies -- how we're compliant to the point of reliance on a system that simplifies human lives to assembly lines.  A culture that preys like vultures on the disenfranchised, selling lies to shallow minds encapsulated by fear; never did they mind the depth of the graves dug here.  For the truth it seems has been categorically smeared with distractions, millions booking face time to clear collective ADHD like ten second Tom.

 

One week, two weeks, three weeks, gone.  Attention deficit, human destruction imminent, and the cycle resets because we were too lazy kid.

 

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

One of my pieces with a heavier amount of rhyme and rhythm.

Reincarnation: Dulce Et Decorum Est

Reincarnation of Dulce Et Decorum Est by Wilfred Owen

 

Bombs spread fire burning bright,

Dulce Et Decorum Est.

Brave soldiers harsh flame does smite,

Dulce Et Decorum Est-

It is sweet and right.

 

They lose more than just their life,

Dulce Et Decorum Est.

Innocence molested by blood and strife,

Dulce Et Decorum Est-

It is sweet and right.

 

Pawns fighting in the Middle East,

Dulce Et Decorum Est.

Chess pieces for the political beast,

Dulce Et Decorum Est-

It is sweet and right.

 

Tell the people, tell them lies,

Dulce Et Decorum Est.

Pray the they never grow wise.

Dulce Et Decorum Est-

Pro patria mori.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I do not do reincarnations often, this is actually my first one.

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my ode to Sarin Gas in Syria

Folder: 
current affairs

Tales of Sarin Gas Attacks

veiled as more bent facts

by a biased media crew

all designed to dupe you

 

like invisible WMD's

divide and conquer certainly

another excuse to invade

a resource stealing charade

 

and a platform for war

with Iran Next door

Jordan; 20,000 yankee soldiers

just waiting to get bolder

 

for that, need an excuse

on Iran to tighten the noose

just for resources again

not forgetting central banking

 

Mr A president of Iran

listen to speeches; a good man

love conquers everything

true life does it bring

 

no need then for stupid war

and the stealing of resource

wholesale change coming soon

will effect both me and you

 

going to get dark before light

then bogus wars out of sight

dont believe lying media scum

they just want you to be glum

 

and their paymasters profiteer

when any war comes near

dont give lies any energy

you need it all for yourself you see

and big love from me

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Mark of the Beast (song)

How can you see in a world so blind?
Propaganda fills your head, polluting your mind.
Twistin' your words and feeding you lies,
The Man's got you beat, to doped to realize.

Promoting love and praying for peace,
But the men behind it all wear the Mark of the Beast.
They'll smile in your face as they weave their lie,
Stab you in the back just to watch you die.

And the Innocent One and the Holy Father,
Frozen in fear by the sight of this slaughter.
Stricken with awe at the destruction and carnage,
With the blood of millions, the Earth is tarnished.

No goddamn illusion is gonna solve,
World's on edge, so easily dissolved.
Takes one push to fuck their system,
When you're done with their games, dammit, heed my wisdom.

Get out of it now, before it's too late,
When you're so drunk with passion and fueled by hate.
Don't blame it on chance, or excuse it as fate;
Get out of it now, before it's too fuckin' late.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is the first metal song I wrote for my thrash band and is the second full song lyrics I've written, this one has a bit of language in it, I apologize to anyone who is offended, but I feel it is essential to this song and to express my feelings at the time I wrote it.

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Algorithm

As a backup to the fear propaganda, a network of spies and secret police known
as the Algorithms were embedded within the mainframe
to watch and profile programs/citizens;
those thought to pose a threat to the security of the underground sanctuary i.e.
those accused of speaking out against the master programmer or attempting
to escape the confines of the cities, were hunted down and reprogrammed;
those who could not be reprogrammed were purged from society.

Algorithm:(1) A formula or set of steps for solving a particular problem.

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