I despise social media.
It's ugly, to state the obvious
Our lives are posted, retweeted, altered, reblogged, perfected, and photoshopped to exactly how we want to be perceived
We have the freedom to be exactly what they want us to be.

It starts with a few edits doesn't it,
pigmented our skin to seem smooth and sun kissed,
that would seem most acceptable right?
Maybe an extra like for the skinnier waist.
More reassurance for brighter colors.
Some more filters will hid the emptiness you feel with your friends
   Another like
Flashier clothing, phones, shoes, cars, other simple words our eyes have latched on to
     Another like
We urge ourselves to portray the life of leisure and effortless beauty, happiness, success,
       Another like
But what are we enjoying?
         Another like
Views of our changing world through a 3 by 8 view.
           Another like
Events pass by swipe
             Another like
and swipe
               Another like

And when we managed to unlock ourselves from this grasp
We always come back
Like flies to light, more like scratches to a scab
Festering we find ourselves getting ****** back in
To an imaginary world, that if destroyed, would have no physical effects on their fictional beings
For without this world, maybe eyes will open
We will step past the boundaries,
and start to love our beings
unfiltered

(sirens, emergency frequencies activated,
obese SJW's flailing arms & shaking bright purple hair in rage)

ANYONE

and EVERYONE
                                 to your RIGHT

is a   (wait for it . . .)




****   ****     ****    ****    ****    N-A-Z -I !

Evil empires, controlled by banks;
Committee mandates enforced with tanks,
Sociopaths on the Left and the Right
Prepare for your own eternal night . . .

drought dry only a fortnight, and no trace
of the swimmers--not a bloated bass or a skeletal carp
only a few lily pads burnt russet by the sun

all else, perverse interlopers from modernity:  
bullet banged beer cans, truck tires,  
and the ubiquitous bottle water plastic
waiting patiently for the next ice age

no sign of one fish that emitted a last gilled gasp here

deep beneath the bed though
progenitors rest, theirs and ours,
antediluvian, Permian, as permanent as the word allows
my footfalls above them today
tomorrow silent where they lay

Behold your public funds at work:
Trash-strewn gutters, loitering thugs;
Sidewalk dancers start to twerk
While tattooed clowns deal circus drugs.

Social workers check the pulse
In clouds of menace: sick-sweet smoke.
The cities brain and guts convulse:
Mad laughter for an absent joke.

Such Godless faces, Christless souls
Whose gazes show malign defeat
Evoke dysfunction. On it rolls:
A harsh, reptilian urban beat.

The ghosts of absent fathers fade
In methadone . . . the guttural yells
Infect the *****-reeking shade
Of demons bound in welfare hells.

America—reduced to this.
Fragmented, begging for repair.
A vicious and unkind abyss
Beyond all hope and all despair.

I want to flee such streets of noise
Where fate is read in scraps of trash
When sirens urge the circus boys
To pocket their illicit cash.

When nations give God the *******,
Remnants of his bronze-age wrath may linger
And mess with investments or data-plans
Or gender (both the mother’s and the man’s).
National cycles of slow boom then bust
Reveal the limitations of our dust—
And the Lord who prospers may change, and curse
From behind the facade of our universe.
A tech-addled farce: that’s the dying face
Of our graceless, depraved and inhuman race
Glowing with sin; lit up by tiny screens
Upon which the globalist ends and means
Seep into clueless souls. These dead-in-life
With which our funereal times are rife,
Live for online shopping, Facebook, and sports
Immune to all the incoming reports
That their doom is hastening on its way
Inexorable progress, no delay . . .
With the Sovereign Lord, there is no plan B
For the tools of a godless technocracy.