It was one of those usual day,
A bit too plain if I ever tasted it,
But a fellow added a little spice,
By saying that;
"You never do and done anything, you are the laziest person alive."
So this is my respond,
With some laugh,
With little bit of Disrespect.
I have never do and done anything?
Well, because there is YOU,
Who wants to do everything,
Who is just like a blind freak searching for a care,
But I am sorry,
There is no one on earth that will clean up your pride,
You may started something,
But your progress is not even close to my start,
And by the way, sloths are too lazy to get extinct.
You come with the smile in your face,
But a knife in your back,
You even try to stab with it,
But you just stab yourself, idiot,
Jealousness is the only thing I see in your frown face,
Your dried lips are always out,
Because they never speak right,
You just want attention but only thing you get is detention.
Every time you feel someone is advantageous,
Or maybe if ever I do something,
You whine for a complain,
"Why not me?",
Why not you?
I will give you the answer,
Because you are a kid who just lost his favorite strawberry ice-cream.
Keep that straight to your mind,
You always want to be the head,
But do you even know that heads contain brains?
Don't be a fool who is hungry for a satisfaction,
You care too much about other people's eyes,
You must ignore that temptation,
The gift wrap isn't the the main thing,
The real main thing is the inside the box.
My least favorite animal would be:
Humans - but especially me.
I’d greet the end of the human race.
And point a gun toward my face.
And pull the trigger - so you’d know -
I’m capable of doing so.
I’d hang myself from a dead ol’ tree,
So that would be the end of me.
I’d blow myself up for no reward,
I’d burn alive or swallow a sword.
You see, I thought the sloth was the dumbest beast.
The most pointless animal, at the very least.
As slowly clinging to a tree,
most die in lifeless apathy.
(Because the rush of finding food,
Is pushed back by the urge to move).
But even sloths make habitats
for little creatures on their backs,
Yes, hardly useful - but more so than I -
So for a sloth to live, I’d gladly die.
The stupidity of human kind
Is that we’re all too dumb and blind.
We’re not important – not a bit –
just good at trying to reason it;
It’s really hard to not be scared
of losing everything life has shared.
Dying – that’s what frightens most,
That final eviction from life’s post.
While some believe their worth is measured.
Their souls live on, in heaven, treasured.
Reality is just a curse.
And humanity is by far the worst.
There is no superior tinker -
apparent to the deeper thinker -
That not a God could there exist,
When children die and he resists.
Not a very loving sell:
“love me back or burn in hell.”
life is meaningless, as It seems to me,
pondering In one-of-billions of galaxies.
On an average rocky planet that orbits a star,
And hosts the most evil creatures by far.
We skip the parts that disagree.
With our personal philosophies.
Life is governed by the tax
of being born and paying back
to the corporation we are chained,
and most are happy – they don’t complain.
They work, have kids, and all the rest.
They convince themselves they’re not depressed.
Through trying to see good in other folk.
Or putting faith in some fancy joke.
I hate this world. And all its greed.
There is no good in any deed.
Even goodness has a price attached:
The “You scratch mine, I’ll scratch yours back.”
But beauty is not too hard to find,
for those of us who are inclined,
To run from what has boxed our brains,
To flee the greed, to throw the chains,
and look up into outer space,
and know that we are out of place.
One day our atoms will journey there,
and be free as petals in the autumn air.
“We must borrow and spend in order to save and cut.” – Barack Obama
“That Nigga owes me five dollars.” – Chris Rock
I have a problem wrapping a burrito without half the refried beans spilling on my Burberry golf pants, so, I reckon, I got a Chinaman’s chance of wrapping my brain around our New Economics. But since China is taking over anyway – the moment they call in our debt – I will give the rickshaw a spin and take a stab at explication. Unlike Eastern philosophy, which sees perfection as balance between Yin and Yang – and takes disciplined measures to balance stuff, like budgets, Western philosophy and its subsumable economic theory, sees perfection as carrying a hint of martyrdom. So, in the New Economics, the best stimulus package, therefore, must involve nailing Uncle Sam to a cross and, knock on wood, have the audacity to hope there will be a resurrection of retail sales by Christmas. But, who knew the stakes would be so high?
Honestly, my greenbacks are looking a bit sage lately, no doubt, from overprinting (seems the Treasury is cutting back on ink since the Department of Energy went green). Interior designers will tell you ‘sage is the new green’, but don’t let them fool you. Between mortgage defaults and spiraling unemployment, they’ve been reduced to a pack of cash-strapped coyotes looking for any three-legged rabbit to feast on. All the four-legged variety have been mutilated because there’s a run on rabbit’s feet to conjure the bust back into a boon with a rub and an incantation, ‘Something Wicked this way comes’.
What else? Let’s see, my retirement nest egg scrambled. My commodity options were called; pork went belly up; coffee peaked --then crashed; my credit cards were cancelled; my home was foreclosed; my car repossessed; my brokerage house went bankrupt; my bank was nationalized. Nigga puleeeze, I’m fucking spent and it ain’t even brunch time. There’s not even anyone to vent my anger on. My wife and kids left and this morning my dog kicked me. Can’t blame the mutt; he hadn’t been fed since the Dow dipped below 7000.
I know where the future is headed -- straight to the dismal past, as demonstrated by this little vignette, entitled:
The Grapes of the Wrath of Khan
Scene: The 23rd Century. The deck of the starship U.S.S. Enterprise. The ship’s interior appears run down with rips in the upholstery and graffiti on the walls. The crew’s costumes are threadbare and the men unshaven.
(Kirk’s voice: “Captain’s log, stardate 8130.3. Starship Enterprise on training mission to Pi-Omega-Omega-Pi. Approaching Neutral Zone, all systems functioning but badly in need of repairs.”)
Uhura: Captain! I’m getting an odd stream of signals hailing from a tramp steamer in Quadrant 7-11, also known as the ‘Big Gulp’. They’re icons. Cat…Teeth… Shovel... Banana…The letters ’P.S.’ followed by a circle with a smiley face and party hat. The universal translator cannot decipher their meaning.
Captain Kirk: Spock, Expla
Spock: It appears to be a code of a defunct language called ‘Hobo’ – North America, circa 1930. Hobos were itinerant beggars of the Great Depression who made a habit of hopping freight trains and living on hand outs. Captain, their perambulations are not logical. As we say on my planet Vulcan, ‘if you poorer than shit then one shithole is as good as another’.
Kirk: What do the Hobbits mean by these
Spock: With the help of my Larousse’s ‘Parlez Hobo’, it appears to say ‘Will work for food…Avoid Klingons. They’re fugly and their food isn’t dead yet. P.S. I’m hungry, I’m thirsty.’
Uhura: Captain, I have YouTube!
Spock: They appear to be three scarecrows with bindles slung over their shoulder. They are making discourse in English.
Scarecrow #1: Howdy! You there barnacles look like blowed-in-the-glass fellas, ‘cept that one with the pointy ears. He looks like Satan’s bone polisher.
Scarecrow #2: I’m hungry, I’m thirsty.
Scarecrow #1: Shhh, I’m getting to it. (scratching his head for lice and clearing his throat). I apologize for my Bo’, Sidetrack, here. A bull whacked him with a banjo and ever since he’s got nothing but food on the noggin.
(All the scarecrows are scratching their heads and examining their lice)
Scarecrow #1: Anyhowz, I go by Caboose. Lookie here, we’re not lookin’ for no handouts. No-sir-ee! We’re eager to earn our bed and board. We can cook your crew a tasty Mulligan stew using only fish guts and rusty reactor cores, or we can mop your deck with our tongues and, my road kid, Makin’ Tracks, here (Scarecrow #3) is real handy. He can rearrange the lattice structure of your delithium crystal core from a heptoferanide to a diallosilicate matrix and boost their efficiency 30%. When he’s through doctorin your cannonball , it’ll hit warp before you can say…
Scarecrow #2: I’m hungry, I’m thirsty.
Spock: 30%! No fucking way, Sherlock!
Scarecrow #3: WAY, dude.
Spock: In your dreams, bindle breath!
Scarecrow #1: Captain, please understand, we weren’t always Hobos. We were once players, machers and k’nackers. I was the head of GM, Sidetrack ran AIG and Makin’ Tracks was the CEO of Nintendo – he’s a whiz kid.
Kirk: What happened to you guys?
Scarecrow #1: Well, Makin’ Tracks secretly sold Nintendo to a French bottled water company, who renamed their cash cow Oui Wii, and pissed away billions ‘til they went Chapter 7. And Sidetrack, here…
Scarecrow #2: I’m hungry, I’m thirsty.
Scarecrow #1: As, I was sayin’, Sidetrack here and yours truly bilked the Feds for a trillion dollars in handouts. We were headed for Bimini, incognito, to sip daiquiris on the beach, but our tramp steamer got caught in the Bermuda Triangle, which turns out to be a wormhole in the space-time continuum. Everyone jumped ship ‘cept us. We’ve been rummaging through the universe and spearing biscuits ever since.
Spock: It appears, despite their wild speculations about Hitler’s henchmen, the History Channel called it right on this one. The Bermuda Triangle is indeed a wormhole.
Kirk: Your story checks
out. Transporter room. Scotty… Scotty? Where is that fat fuck? Scotty! Three to beam on
Scotty: Sorry, Captain. I was locked in the head and kept yelling, “kantgetooot, kantgetooot,” and instead of opening the damn door, Sulu tosses me a furry marsupial!
Kirk: Consider yourself fortunate. He usually just whips out his pet cock. Scotty, I need you to lock on three Hubbles on a tramp steamer in Quadrant
Scotty: There seems to be a problem. The transporter is detecting, not three but five distinct life forms on board that ship.
Spock: It may have stowaways on board. I suggest we take them all in for debriefing.
Kirk: Always trouble with Hibbles. O.K. Scotty, put down the macaroni and cheese and beam them all up. Bones, we’ll need your assistance to perform a full medical.
Bones: Dammit. I’m a Doctor, not at louse picker. Spock is better qualified to do that.
Kirk: Do as you’re told or I’m locking up your Vicodin. Let’s send an away team to the steamer to see what else they can dig up…I see some fresh faces. (Kirk takes out his phaser and vaporizes two ensigns)
Bones: Why in hells bells did you do that?
Kirk: Everybody knows that fresh faces on away teams are killed within minutes of being transported. I didn’t want to give our enemies the satisfaction. As soon as the Higlets and sloths are beamed aboard I want their tramp steamer destroyed. For God’s sake it a friggin’ boat, it’s not even a spaceship! Ready photon torpedoes.
Sulu: Captain, look!
(The tramp steamer morphs into a pair of galoshes, then into a bottle of Manishevitz, and finally into a Romulan Bird of Prey)
Uhura: They’re haling us. Onscreen.
(The scarecrows morph into Romulans and two additional figures emerge from the mist, namely a Jewish grandmother wearing a babushka held at butter knife point by Kirk’s implacable archenemy, Khan).
Kirk: Romulus! Remus! Chometz! Mom! Ricardo
Montablan? I mean, Khan. (pointing to his head) Mad cow.
Kirk’s Mom: Do as he says, bubbeleh. This mamzer is engansen mashuga. He stabbed my Chihuahua with a fork and then ate him like a knish. Zull ehr veren fachopped.
Khan: Kirk, we meet again. I see you’ve put on a few pounds. Must be the high carb macaroni and cheese diet you’ve been reduced to.
Kirk’s Mom: Don’t listen to him, boychikel&, you look like a million dollars.
Khan: And your ship looks quite shabby. Are those tears I see in the Corinthian leather of your console?
Kirk: It’s true, we’re having a bit of an economic
problem. Starfleet has ignored our repeated petition for repairs and
Khan: Indeed, these are hard times, so what I am suggesting is we call a truce. Let bygones be bygones, water under the bridge, fugedaboudit! With your warp speed starship, our Romulan friend’s cloaking device and my undergalaxy connections we can join forces and open a profitable joint venture. I’m thinking an express shipping company. Our slogan will be, ‘We ship your cargo overnight and, if we hit a wormhole, we deliver it the day before yesterday’. We’ll make gazillions. What do you say, Kirk? Do we have a deal?’
Kirk’s Mom: Hey, this mamzer’s got a point. Bubeleh, Strafleet hasn’t given you the respect you deserve. How many times have you saved the galaxy for those shmendriks? Five, six times at least! And what did they give you? I’ll tell you what they gave you. Bupkehs! (making a fig gesture with her thumb) A feig! You should be wearing Armani, not polyester shmatehs you can buy for a yuan on fleaBay! I’ve seen better costumes on goats.
Khan: (removing the butter knife from her throat) Listen to your mom, Kirk. Hard times call for hard decisions. Nu, ready to play hardball with the big boys?
Kirk: I’ll put it to a vote. Sulu?
Sulu: (over the top) Put my phaser on stunning! Ohhh, yes!
Bones: Dammit, I’m a doctor not a voter…Ahhh, O.K. I’m out of Vicodin.
Chekov: Da, Keptin. My Uncle Vanya’s dasha is in foreclosure – not to mention the tzuris I’m hearing from my three sisters.
Uhura: I can sure use a new pair of shoes. Count me in.
Kirk: Then, Khan, I guess we have a deal..on one
Khan: What’s that Kirk?
Kirk: I get to rename our starship.
Khan: Sure. What do you have in mind?
Kirk: The U.S.S.
Kirk’s Mom: (lifts a bottle of Maneshevitz) L’Chaim!
Heat waves in iced water.
Chilled moonshine on the scorching sun.
Blades of green earth on a long-lit fire.
Fresh-water creatures in the salty sea.
A glow, brighter than, and in the ocean of night.
A rock in the sky and birds that can't fly.
A whale on the beach with the sea out of reach. And Blossoms in a dark room.
An infant on his feet soon to fall into defeat.
Ever-greens in winter and ghosts in mid-day. Lungs underwater and gills in air. Like drugs in one's system that slowly pass through.
Owls at dawn, daylight birds in nocturnal song and eyes staring at the sun.
A snake on smooth surface and a worm on the rough.
Like a house cat in the wild mountains and rivers in suburban territory.
Like pillows stuffed with stones and a child with evil inside.
Free spirits in a cage and prisoners freed.
Like a stick in quick sand, a weighted mass floating on a light surface.
Like a dog, a cat and rat peacefully below one roof.
Like a beaten lion and a victorious antelope.
Like the colour of green against the shadow of black. Like hopping on concrete and civil wars. The hood in a college girl and a college girl in the hood.
Like curtains in the morning and yawning windows at dusk. Like an aged oak in the midst of a flood, like a water lily in the days of drought.
Like a forgotten pearl in a waste dump and fake gold on a woman's index.
Like a loud song muted by those who fear volume and a soft one forced to yell above its pitch.
Like a ladybug on a pesticide- poisoned crop.
Like a polar bear in the African Sahara.
Like a camel by the coast, ants with no work and busybodied sloths. A scarf in summer and crop tops in autumn. Plants dying in September and coming back to life in June.
Like a written-on page on a brand new day and wordlessness when that day is old and weary.
Like a torch at midnight. Like cellphones in a filled bath tub.
Like a fat man sprinting and the turtle losing the race. Like a homeless mother in a mansion.
Like a teenage girl with no tongue, and oppressors with no power.
Like David and Goliath, like a insane Albert Einstein. Like a flame on the ocean floor. Like me in this world, I shouldn't be, but I can be and I will be.
She moved away when I turned 9.
She's the best drummer I've ever met.
He used to sing Ocean Avenue when we walked to class.
He said that no one could keep secrets quite like me.
He told me to learn how to say no.
It didn't seem as important as it does now.
She was half my height but had twice the heart.
She was the nicest friend I ever had.
He'd wake up at four in the morning to go running.
He read a lot of books and never spoke to me.
He wasn't quite the fastest swimmer on the team.
I wasn't quite the slowest.
She likes shelves and the color red.
She hates sloths.
He is the fastest swimmer I knew, but I'd never seen him swim.
He told me that he liked my haircut when I hadn't cut my hair.
He told me I owed him four years.
I don't owe them anything.
The children, they wait, for the first snow of the season
Anxious and breathless for nary a reason
Sleep will be kept with little ease and
Their love betrays the summer, but it’s hardly treason
The night before, the forecast calls for
A blizzard and storm and a frozen shore
Enough snow to reach the top of the door
The ice will be thicker than the old wood floor
The children, they waited, for the storm of the year
They fell asleep filled with hope and good cheer
Anxiety and breathlessness disappeared
They slept with dreams of all they hold dear
The morning of, the children arose
To pile on many layers of clothes
A fuzzy scarf to cover a nose
Four pairs of socks to cover some toes
The children, they sprinted for the front door
Worn boots scraping the old wood floor
Exiting the house, hearts ready to adore,
The children, they stared, it was frost galore
The ground was sprinkled with a layer of frost
The trees had vanished under a stark white cloth
The pond had frozen like an eggshell clock
The sky was misty and gray aloft
The children, they sprinted for their new playground
A wonderland of snow was what they had found
Crystals of ice covered the merry-go-round
Kings and Queens of the ice, or so they’d been crowned
With every step, fresh snow turned to slush
Every footfall forced chilled rain into mush
Royalty of snow played, and with just a push,
A fallen Queen urges snow to rush
The children, they trudged back inside
With calls from their mother to be complied
They warmed their hands by the fireside
While recalling their moments of wintery pride
Naptime calls for the children to rest
So they admit they had fought only their best
Slow like sloths with their heads to their chests
The Kings and Queens of the snow undressed
The mother, she recalls the new wood floor
As a child, sprinting for the front door
Wishing and hoping for something more
Snow so powerful, her heart would adore
beyond Montana’s yellow lines
there is a field
~a field of painted soles
and laces rubber tread
~a field of virgin curls
and fallen headlights
where kaleidoscope lenses
look onto twisted frames like origami halos
where teddy bears hug stop signs like pickets
fringed in anger
runaway childhoods sleep cautionary tales
beyond Montana’s blushing acne
there are red cup melodies
blasting from blacked out tints
weaving blues notes through Rock & Rap
distant cries are drowned by Bass
or maybe Bud (light)
a haze of teenage eyes
they might as well be ghost riders
whip game copped from GTA
these pubescents are a Vice to their City
blooming sidewalk sloths
is a country of bar stools
where bar tenders play therapists
and therapists play coroners
precedents are shots of whiskey - taken to the head
and reflected in flooded eyes
is a country of MADD mothers and SADD students
is a country of unexpecting pedestrians
is a field
~a field of wing-clipped snow angels
That field is Mariah's home now
and she challenges you to change
she challenges you to
STOP DRUNK DRIVING
Also sloth is a group of bears. MADD is Mothers Against Drunk Driving. SADD is Students Against Destructive Decisions
I'd just took a sip of my tea.
"To most, they remain a mystery".
The remark remained a mystery to me.
A caring heart for an outsider that speak few words with the smile each time
A talented guardian with a slight psyche to ease the push of the world
Showed a guilted heart for crime she believed she commit when no anger held towards her
Saved the giant from self extinction just with the simple glimpse of eye
Checked in the battleground to see if the shoulder was down even though no battle was fought
A hidden support for my journey in the unknown
was the example of bridal I continue to seek
The first to hear when I made a comeback
Why was I cowardly? Why did I not speak the truth to my mind? Is it me or just she see the same thing? I would love to take her by my side and show her the legends that is growing, she was one of the ones that helped get the seeds sewn in the right place.
a giant that shared not a care for others out of shyness
a bear in the eyes in most but a teddy to those that care to look
loving to the family youth as I care for them as if they are mine
a bit psycho to all that catch a glimpse, but a resort that leads to peace for the elder
How many more battle must take over the skies before I can see the starlight dance once again? Where is that old lake that made the lights dance in her eyes? The trash of mankind has fogged the grounds, making it harder and harder to see the paradise I built.
judgemental sloths that never bother for the whol story
Time and time again, we experience things that we assume are great,
We soon find out that each thing would lead to our eventual fate.
It’s hard to trust someone that has lied to your face,
It’s hard to get over the past and move on to a new place.
Sick and tired of liars, cheaters and the weak minded,
Living life day by day oblivious to society; blinded.
Saying that things will get better and continue forth,
Believing what we hear daily and henceforth.
Taking in every little white lie and replaying each word,
Ignoring the atrocities that may have occurred.
You claim to be someone you’re not and neglect who you really are,
Actions contradict your words, how truly bizarre.
The words you speak turn to silent tears,
All you stood for is dead after all these years.
Time can’t change the past; it determines what may come,
Time can only heal the hearts and minds of some.
Even if we’re given all the time we may ever need,
Some still can’t hide their lust or greed.
Gluttons for attention, sloths throughout the day,
While pride, envy and wrath control all we ever say.
Those truths that you claim are real are far and few,
Lie to me again and prove to me that hypocrisy, thy name is you.