The mouse in the maze is very weary.
It’s way too much concerted effort
Just to earn a grain of corn.
The route is always changing
And someone turns off and on the lights.
The music plays the same song, over
The humming of the ventilators
And the shutter bangs incessantly.
The mouse is tired of stupid games.
No one cares which way it runs,
Or how much corn drops into the bowl.
The smell of pee in the far back corner
Makes the air unpleasant to inhale.
The will to win another piece of corn
Battles with the need to find
The exit that is at the other end.
Notes have to be written down
Measurements and timings
Fill the logbooks of the staff,
As bored and weary as the mouse.
Protocols must still be followed
Finally the time clock in the hall
Clicks over to the magic hour
And mouse and men can all go home.
When shall I get out of this rut?
Counting down the hours until I can go
Only five and a half now, but
I'll be back next weekend, I know.
And only thirty dollar bills a day, for what?
To get hit and kicked and yelled at
I'd rather get payed for selling my body like a slut
Or maybe I'll be a professional eater and become professionally fat.
Pure disgust is all I have to say
Until next time, dreadful day.
The end of my job interview,
For a legal marijuana grow house,
Ends with the standard,
"Please tell us about yourself, Jojo"
And I take a sip,
From my Days Inn coffeewater,
Savoring the moments,
Before the dam breaks.
"I guess I'll start with the basics,
I'm a technologically advanced psycho luddite,
Shot into the future,
But something keeps tethering me to the past,
Whatever that even is,
And every time I'm next to a river or granite chunk,
I feel this peace that things are even somewhat permanent,
Unlike the 24/7 news cycle,
Which grinds my food into shit,
The stress that powers the universe I suppose.
And I can remember back in J-school,
Being really excited about living in the hole,
And calling up the cops for grisly details,
But then the next day,
Something else would happen,
And it was like yesterday,
I just didn't get it.
And so I rejected the socialization of modernity,
In favor of roaming this Brave New World,
With nothing but my own mind,
People are always trying to take that away from you,
And now I'm here,
Because I enjoy talking to plants,
More than people."
The hippy chick,
With some great pit hair,
Looks up from her laptop,
And gives me a small grin.
This poem will be revised and expanded at a later date
As human beings
We have the potential
To do anything we set our minds to
Except for this moment in time
I feel as if the odds are stacked just slightly too high against me
As though sheer force of will just won't cut it this time
As much as I hate to think this way I fear it might be true
+Dedicated to BusBar Dancer+
(That's the monk sitting next to me,
Year bein' 1492,
scribbling his scribe like a mad cat high on the 'nip,
Quill dippin' like a hardcore pornographer,
Just let out to vote in his first election,
Since goin' in the joint for THE WEED possession)
WHATTA HOLLER DOWN THE HOLE?
I wanna tell the lie and be a good boy,
I wanna tell the lie and be a good boy,
I wanna tell the lie and be a good boy,
So that I can live forever.
Today for calling
So low so snoring
I wonder why we say good morning
Tonight in your place
I help you like im waze
In honesty been daze
I can tell your tired for some days
Get back in bed
Few minutes before Wed
I know it's still a more hours from my bill
But I'll see you right through
Because of my choice of do
So take dudette and dude
Across the globe I'll help you too.
As I wiped the blade the congealing efforts of
what had perspired dripped in raindrops of lost essence,
I started to be nostalgic of when it all started and I smiled.
It isn't easy you know doing this hobby
its a full time commitment,
I have responsibilities. And before you ask just because I live
in my moms basement it didn't have any implications to this
and what led to my endeavours of what I do now.
"You cant just go out stabbing people that bath salts territory
for goodness sakes,
Ok when did it start, around fifteen years ago give or take.
To think about it I was quite violated by the sight of blood,
I passed out at school when someone cut there finger. I know
from fainting to where I am today the paradox of it all.
So I was walking home and I thought stupidly to take a short
cut, I know that's just asking for a dilemma of consequences
but I was running late and thought overrode reason.
"Safer than sorry my mother would say,
I should really listen to words of wisdom than to just throw
them aside and regret them later. Well this time was a moment
of ignorance and I delved into my darker side and threw abandonment
to the winds of chance. I saw that idiot and knew without a thought
that his life needed to be forfeit in the eyes of the many.
In haste I went out and without planning I just used a unregistered firearm. These are so easy to find in ponds, lakes, rivers.You just have
to be stupid enough as I was to delve into them with a wet suit.
It was like swimming in the disgrace of humanity and I accidently
swallowed more of humanity than I wish to admit. As I reached
the shore of the golf course I had found a stupid amount of guns....
Do these pools ever get dredged?? how many angry golfers play
on this field?? but I just cleaned a few out not wiping away the prints,
silly little fools leaving there prints on the weapons.
I must admit the first five or six people that were my pleasure
of ending were just arse holes, total and utter fuck-tards....
I know you just cant just going around killing totally
worthy munchkins. But it was my weaving of knowledge
into the formula of departing my subjects in a manner so that
a milk carton was the only focus they would get.
Never to show that they were an item of interest but a random appearance of some disillusioned person in a vendetta of misunderstood reasoning's.
But this lost its stimulation of enthralment pretty quickly
due to the vacant space between us. It wasn't as if they knew
my face, it was just a finger pull and I ended them to hastily,
I even felt somewhat remorseful for them not knowing the
perpetrate of there demise. and a few ran still lingering to this
existence, do you realize the skill set to hit a moving target.
But none got to far, I didn't take it personally, it was a fight
or flight reaction.
But they were always vacant of life when I walked away
from the scene. I was always throwing these weapons
after a few uses, those that had used it before there prints
still viable. So those that had used it were to blame for
these indiscretions that I had partaken in. Karma was about
to visit upon those lost stories that drowned in that pond.
Learning was a curve that was thrown, and one that hit me
square between the eyes. I had slatted the impression that
I was in the right, and even though I wanted to seep the blade
into the flesh of my perspective victim. I had to watch
the implications of what I had preserved in that moment.
There were struggles and definitions of what was acceptable.
I still had to hold a job, I worked in a hardware store,
"what are the chances, I know. But where you would think
someone that could easily end the breath of another would
stand out only the crazy ones. We the methodical ones were
patient, too many and whispers starting and I needed silence this
had to be obeyed and enforced by myself. Urges had to vetted
another way and painting was my outlet for these compulsions.
Each one of us had as we called it our own unique murder kits,
well what did you think we were going to call them hobby boxes.
Me I had a ways to disable my prey, a motion to move them concealed.
I had a people carrier,
"I know the humour didn't escape me either,
I had constructed a vessel to keep them static so not to move
and give the game away, kind of like a straight jacket restraint.
For the murmurs I had constructed a gold fish bowl of sorts,
constructed around the neck and then white noise is pumped
in revoking the screams because of the frequencies of the
"science is so cool,
Do you realize it took five years of planning and a college
class in science to do many aspect of this hobby.
But where do I take them, to there own home, always
checking there schedules. Movement = time = opportunity.
And this is how I have worked all this time, consistency is
what keeps the path clear for other endeavours.
The sense of smell in each home is unique, some people
though no respect of there surroundings and who may visit.
Do realize that some don't voice opinion as they know
if there in this predicament no words are going to change it.
Some struggle, but I learnt to use a paralyzing agent to render
them motionless. Sedated only tears fall from there suspended
features. I never clean up there mess, I'm not a house maid for
goodness sakes all must be as it was. But I clean up my killing
venture so there is no evidence of there parting here.
I have a little spot, we all have our own hiding places,
research is the key, and mine was a secluded place....
I cant explain where, as that would be telling and who
knows who's reading these passages. I must admit though
this is a full time obsession, "norms, that's you people.
Wouldn't realize the stresses that happen upon my psyche.
All I would say is
"Don't quite your day job
This isn't really a hobby for most, they don't have the
patience the needing of planning and the waiting of
who shall gift you their last moment then nothingness.
I am wired different to you people. My empathy for
your feelings is non-existent, we are a moment in time
and I plan to silence your hour glass, your grain is about
to fall into oblivions sights and it will swallow you whole.
When we don't do
what we want to;
See how we do
What we have to ;
So should we do
What we have to?
Like we can do
What we want to ;
Or just do
And get over with it
To do that same rut
Or fight within
And end up
Doing none of what
You should have done
For sooner or later
You ll have to do
What you had to
But not what you want to
What to do?
We often do
A lot of things
Things we did
That's so messed up
And sometimes undo all
that -You did
to undo that -you did earlier
Sounds a horrible vicious cycle
But trust me it's worse
When you do it
And even more terrifying
When you know
You did it
So what I ll do
Is something new
And not think about it
Will do and just do.
Will that do?
leg on the table
you red face recruit!
put on the offensive
and break down
the bolted door
you are the soul saver
the peddle maker
with colored handbills
and front line
join the masquerade
in ivy league style!
bleeding the funnel
with gold plate omega
and alligator shoe
get on stage
and dance you fool!
you are the headline maker
the pantomime juggler
pull out that 5 page review
(bullet points only please)
and polish those weathered lines
did you give it your all?
the door tags
the irrevocable claims
and postured blames
all the impressionable basics
put to the test?
you know the call
those cold academics)
the pie chart gurus
and contract killers
(complete with bone in finger)
in an all night
and the gatekeeper
sure seem amused
sharpening the inquest
behind closed door
firing up the shit storm
with hostile pricks
and a slew
there’s laughter from the back room
(over heavy script)
the dripping nose
and wavering hand
the cut white lines
and checkpoint tales
the pipeline romance
and lacking form
(of a basic essential
for logging time
slouching on the
over moot point
ready to play
the 3 weight
(if need be)
might I remind you
it’s only an inquiry
(with a slight hint of concern)
so step back from
the melt down
and cut to the chase!
headlines to breadlines
penthouse to outhouse
those immoral pursuits
have taken their toll
madman or rogue
(you take your pick)
for the scores
shame on you
for the foul play
the bold hypocrisy
and order desk games
the back stabbing blames
and spurious names
just sign on the dotted line...
is killing me