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Don’t Defund the police and don’t say all capitalism has got to go
Lets be honest, your research is little and there’s lots you don’t know

Capitalism, ain’t here, its Neo-Liberalism’s the name of your fear

Okay so the voting system is kind of whack
But where’s your money gone to and who do you back?

Whenever there’s a bandwagon you might jump on board
When you hear “Anti-Racist”, you applaud
But on Black Friday you open doors,
You leap right into the Capital Maws

Here’s the truth, here’s the fact
You little post, it won’t do jack
When every other step you take is on the beaten track
Being, its more than a Scene, and that’s there’s crack


Jheeze, one Act an Actor makes not
If you’re a quintessential ‘Alternative’, you’re still a robot
You’ve an arrogance of rightness, that’s what you’ve got
The saddest thing is, so does your Despot

So maybe there’s a chance your desktop’s got more than social functions
Maybe humility with clarity would yield a better unction
Than screaming for the death of those with a truncheon

Yes they do bad, but they also do good,
Many aren’t here, when for their children, they should
They’re at work and in stress, or the in grace of Grim’s hood
When the **** hits the fan they run towards it, I ask if you would?

The point is to remember the good, and from this then grow
Not to dismember what’s built, and from bliss go below
To be clear, there are clearly systematic problems with policing systems that need to be worked on. Better community integration, use of social-contact theory, aggression displacement, expiating arbitrary stress as well as facilitating proper mental & physical health, robust education that teaches critical thinking and empathy, energy and resource infrastructure that's fairly distributed as well as enabling people to engage in labour they find meaningful.
Once all this is sorted, police will become largely redundant.
Until this is all sorted, millions of human animals are living in close quarters that are all getting riled up because of normal problems and covid problems. Maybe taking away a check on their primordial impulses isn't a great idea because under all that humanity you're still an animal.
I grew, I was planted in mire
but I grew.

I shared my shoots with
reaping roots,
and still. I grew.

Wind that tore came.
Hail that burned rained.
But I endured.

Pressure came,
I stood.
Pressure came,
I bent.
Pressure came,
I broke.

In ash I grew
I cried.

You came.

You looked not

You stayed.

You gave me
Life Again.
Thank you
ME: Access your root
There lies your pain
If you could just clean This chakra This stain
Then this time’d be different.

ME: Then why, why, why? Is it the same?

ME: Maybe that’s all we’re allotted,
intermittent relief,
that’s slotted twixt rain.

ME: Nah bun all dat nonsense, this time I’ll switch grain. This time will be different.
This time…
You might think the title a subtle reference to Mr.Anderson's role in the Matrix as The Adversary and that, as with Neo, it is by immersion in The Adversary that we can ameliorate our inner being and motivate ourselves. You might think this and my sub-conscious might agree.

The rest of me just chuckled at the text and slipped in a joke
At first I thought I was born to succeed,
Which was good and great because I lack luster for greed
To give and to cherish was largely my creed,
Life blooms everywhere so why covet its seed?
For shame and for glory, my truth was a story.

  A story, not a fable, one with use in its cradle
No. Not my truth, my feeble fiction. That to give and to gain was no contradiction.

With strong head and strong body I’ve wasted my days,
To think beau intention wouldn’t lead me astray.

You see I’ve done all I could in the space of this mind,
To unravel the hope to create world’s in kind.

Eureka! I had it, for one second’s perception,
A prospect in favour of catastrophic direction.

Though its gone I still taste it, like the vacuum in glass,
My pious mis-deception that my chance has not passed.
Some day it'll be the day
I feel like an old man, trapped in a young man's body.
One side screams to end this toil,  while the other awaits these lithe muscles a'turn groggy.

It's strange. And conflicting.
To be youth and feel wise, must scream contradiction.

Tho it's my unquestionable foolishness that i think i call wisdom. For i've chosen a fight what needs constant conviction.

And more. I must tell my eyes not to see, that each leap and each step is too great for me.
Yes, i made the last, but the next one's still greater.
Not one step, not one. Was made for "the maker. "

Nor mine, that one half. My 'father', fled from sight. Far from divine.
Ironic his job role, to be of system design.

For, at brass tacks, thats all i am too. I look at what's broken, and think how to renew.
Compost is just waste, so i look to the rest, and i know insufferable can create that what's blessed.

A part of the whole. That's all we can be. One some level i strive for yee and for me.
But that level is high, its where the cloud reaches. Where the order of chaos comes from butterfly speeches.

On this level, My Plane, the stage where i act.
Its for those that i Love, for them alone do i act.
I guess I'll have to make it up.

    A bird came to me, she did not chirp
    And he did not whisper.
    The wings sheathed on its back                  
    Were in no disrepair.

    Was it blue? How hard to tell, for its
    Skin and coat were of glass, but

    This bird a flower.
           So far from bloom.
           So frail i'll keep it, to nurse in

Not all birds need sun, nor all flowers flight.
But this of mine will soon have both, for mine must wrest day from night.
I'm so tired i can't sleep.
Everything moves in units per minute.
From day-dawn to non-stop, then repeat.

Well, i guess there's the quiet moments.
The walks to and fro.
The beauty of the crack of dawn starts is the Sun's maw, golden, yawning, lo.

But the moon comes with no respite, busy hands and nimble fingers makes for empty bellies, and lets face it. Packs of kingers.

I don't get it.
Where's the restoration?


Now my skin itches. Im truth I'd sleep sooner if my slumber's journey left me in, not needing stitches.

Always they  come. Sometimes i fight, tho many i run. What good's a fist against a smoking gun?
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