What does it mean to be a modern man?
In the way in the Renaissance
you were a renaissance man?
What is the condition?
Let's check in.
Because you see,
I think it's the condition
of a reservist in waiting
waiting and waiting
to be necessary.
For a wolf to chase off,
or a meal to catch.
But instead,
we're opening jars.
We're reaching high shelves.
We're changing light bulbs,
and plunging *******.
We're taking out the trash.
We're battling for our right
to grow 'stache.
We're getting **** on at work.
And when we get home,
you won't let us **** on you.
I mean literally,
I saw it on the internet.
There's girls out there that will let you **** on them.
Maybe even, for free.
But we go to sleep unhappy.
We go to a *******.
We fantasize about that chick in the yoga pants.
We get drunk and wish we could club baby seals
and burn down churches
because we have a rage that can't be contained in a fist.
We **** if we think we can get away with it.
We still cringe when we hear our mother.

Some of us hang ourselves in attics, in barns, in public.
Or gas ourselves in cars in the garage
we never took full advantage of.
Some of us drive cars into trains, off bridges,
into crowds of screaming people.
Some of us still cut ourselves like teenage girls.
Although it does sound nice sometimes.
Just.. BLAU
**** it.
Yea, I'll have another Hoss.

I'm at my wit's end.
Fed up, burned out,
sick and tired.
Racing through alcohol fueled depression
because I'm not free, to be me.
Judged, criticized, crucified
held to the expectations
of other people's self-serving morality.

I'm a cog in a machine,
rolled under the wheels,
of a small business owner's
capitalist pipe dream.

I'm a pawn in a game
of war of money of politics.
Mislead, misdirected.
mission critical prime directive.

It's a story as old as "civilization"
all of this dehumanization.
Turning me into something
that serves you better.

I'm warning people
to stay away from me
because I see through their ****
and its ******* on ******* on ******* on *******.

I'm warning people
I can't take much more
because every human being
is an ******* and a *****.
Because we put these labels
on being truthful and free.
Because someone put a label on you
and now you put one on me.
Because someone taught you
its okay, to be
ignorant and mean.

And now I, have become
indignant and belligerent
which is just one step away
from being just like you.

But how do I move away?
Do I pack up the truck
and literally move away?
to where?
Are people somehow better somewhere?
Or do I just get as far away
as I can from them, from you?

Living off the grid
makes it hard to get laid.
Living off the land
makes it hard to get paid.
And you've been raised
to be a slave,
a wage parasite
on a dying host.
You want more than to survive.
You want to thrive.
You want to live forever
but will die of cancer or suicide.

The baby jesus inside me
has its face smashed into a tv screen.
The buddha inside me
is tired of taking the blame.

If every step kills a bug
and every bite kills a plant
and every breath kills a microbe
and every death of a dictator kills a universe of bacteria
then the only right action is inaction
and every action is inherently wrong.
Morality is a psychosomatic symptom
and our system is inherently flawed.

I try to escape and it seems like there's no way.
There's no light at the end of the tunnel,
and no traction on the corpses of the fallen.
There's a dream of hermitage, and the sadness that follows.

There is sadness in every corner bar and every heartbeat.
Sadness in every wilted limb and worried brow.
Sadness in every frustrated plea for release.
Sadness in the teardrops of the creation.

Sadness tumbling down like shards of glass
from the millions of dreams
broken by the machine.
Constant grinding.

I camped for four days,
near a swamp,
with mosquitoes.
Three different strains of wolf spider.
Night time camp invasion from a ******.
My dog got sprayed by a skunk.
I drank and never got drunk.
It was a great trip
I went to bed a few hours early.
Woke easily on Monday morning.
I was at peace.
Was happy, optimistic,
ready to start the week.
At my desk before eight AM.
I ate my bananas.
I checked my messages.
Everywhere the clocks ticked on.
Forty-Five minutes,
until my happiness was gone.
My peace was gone.
My optimism, gone.
For the next five days I'd be a husk.
One-hundred & Twenty hours,
****** dry by leeches.

It's September 2013.
A Coronal Mass Ejection scorched the Earth,
collapsing the Global infrastructure.
Those that weren't fried up in the killshot
traverse a world nearly foreign to them,
devoid of any form of luxury.
They make their ways to the FEMA camps,
setup all over the United States,
because that's what their TVs told them to do,
just days before the blast.
But they knew since the Remote Viewing program began in the Cold War.
A teenage boy,
now forced to be a man,
leads his Mother through the terrain,
avoiding building fires and roving gangs.
Finally they arrive,
the camp like a shimmering oasis
in the burned out barrens.
They stand in line at the gates,
poor and huddled masses.
When it is their turn,
they present the IDs they were informed to bring.
"Sorry son, your name's on the list,
you can't get in."
"What do you mean? What list."
"The list of people who didn't know how to keep their mouths shut on facebook.
So, you're out, but your Mom can come in."
Another guard approaches and squires her in at gunpoint.
"No, I won't go, not without my Son!"
To which the guard interjects
"Shut the **** up..
take your clothes off..
we're going to pour powdered sugar on you."
"Noooo! Mahhhhhhhm."
"We're gonna **** your Mom kid." the gatekeeper laughs.
*Insert Whale sound

You once stood for something.
When they told you "NO"
you stood like a black-eyed-susan.
like the tao.
but when they beat you, betrayed you,
hogtied and pepper sprayed you,
you got angry.
You did things that soiled your good name.
I guess you just should have learned to take it,
like the tao.
like the tao, and wait.
like the tao and let the waters rise.
like the tao and overcome.
the weak overcome the tyranny of man with numbers.
WITH NUMBERS.
as each drop of water equally starts the flood.
like each living being that has ever thought
"I will overcome."
I will overcome.
I WILL OVERCOME.
WE WILL OVERCOME.
OR AT LEAST WE'LL DIE TRYING YOU *******!

I hate social correction.
I hate anyone, ever, anywhere, telling me what to do.
I don't mind if they ask.
I just don't want to be told what to do.
To each man and woman, beast or snail,
govern themselves, that the soul may prevail.
yet still I do not hesitate at the chance to put some bully in their place.
to drive the point home to some self-important ******* that there are bigger ***** in the sea.
and still i thoroughly believe I am doing this because somebody ******* has to
and I'm not doing for me.
I don't even know what I'm going to do anymore.