'2+2=3'
Go, on say it
Aren't you free?
You must be free.
Your Loving Leader
orders you to be

Love is hate
Hate is love
Whatever He says
Is the reality

'We good, they bad'
'We good, they bad'
'We good, they bad'
Repeat after me

What do you mean
'Yesterday you said a different thing'
I said nothing
You know nothing
This is the first time you're hearing me speak

All prostrate before our great, good leader
Magnificent, omniscient, transcendent leader
He never killed any except
His enemy

He can do no wrong
He sees us all
He loves us all
So he kills them all
It's only for
our benefit

What do you mean
'He's not giving us food'
Come on mate
Don't be silly
You've been fed
4 time today
You just couldn't
Understand it
He's done more good
Than anyone
Before in history

Whatever he says
Is reality
He can alter
History

What do you mean
'He's a dictator'
Don't you remember
You chose him
Democratically

You're free
Say anything
Do anything
Except anything
Improper to Him

We are all equal
He's just more equal
Help him create
The perfect society

"Art" that's evil
"Sports" don't bother
"Science" oh brother
Why do believe in such fantasies
Just follow Him
He'll lead you the promised land
Understand?

'Those men, over there
They are the devils'
You say they're good
No they are not
Now you are irritating Him
We must teach you a lesson
Surrender to Our Leader
He calls you tomorrow
Go, don't be afraid
He won't hurt
He'll just proselyte you lovingly
Oh, those machines of torture
Don't be afraid
THEY ARE JUST FOR YOUR BENEFIT

Today,
At the 19th hour 8th minute and second 4th
We'll have a meeting
To celebrate
His Highness
Don't be late
NOT A SECOND LATE

You wouldn't want to anger Him
Or he'll vaporize you
Lovingly

“Perhaps one did not wish to be loved,
So much as understood.”
I’ve never fully understood anyone,
I doubt they’ll understand me,
And that’s ok,
It might just not be meant to be.

In the haze of
Cerebral hemispheres
Counting the seconds between
Lightning and thunder
Returning fire
With the same manic glee
As eating ice cream
Right from the carton

Two Minutes Hate

I'm bleeding out like
Notes from underground
That contain secrets
Of the wounded sky
I feel a provoked heaviness like
Manhole covers
Razing cane over
The shoddy infrastructure

Two Minutes Hate

"The horrible thing about the Two Minutes Hate was not that one was obliged to act a part, but that it was impossible to avoid joining in." - George Orwell, from the novel 'Nineteen Eighty-Four'

~

What is reality?
What is theory?

Sometimes four
Sometimes five

Sometimes both
Of them at once

Control the future
By controlling the past

Listen here, Oceania
War is peace

First, we'll give everything its due
Then say it never happened

Again and again
Until you believe it's true

What did I ever do
to deserve a world where
avocados are underripe while they're overripe,
pens cede before their ink is spent,
rivers run dry, aquifers deplete?
What choice do I have
but to opt out of the technocratic misery,
overlorded by the Slither Circle,
to make my sways of the sun replete?

My country has a Military Complex
that fought wars over bananas.
My country prints Monsters on Money,
a desecrated spell to spill nature's blood
and use it in every commodity:
the ink, the encasements, the coatings,
the stains, the sealants, the wrappers,
even the food and medicine.

What did I do?
I ate. I wrote. I used.

The day was great in the state,
Hurry to your job, dont be late

The Sun was shining
The roses were red
Walls of happiness

Do this, not that, stand up, lie flat
The orders were clear, for every guy
Everything was fine, then one asked why?

Piercing sound, thumping sound

And the Sun was shining, on hopeless faces
The roses were red, from blood
Walls of happiness, segregating classes and races

The state is your new God

And on the corpses of others, that asked why
There he lies, that’s the guy
No need to cry, no need to mourn

His bones build the foundations-
of a New Society Reborn

An Orwellian term
used by self-righteous hypocrites
hiding behind a cloak of morality.

Wake up.

Political correctness controls the narrative
by shaming and suppressing.

It forces upon us
the “one true” ideological orthodoxy.

It eliminates decent and
makes people lie and self-censor their words.

Stand up.

We must allow others to speak
and voice their thoughts.

Some might be stupid,
so let’s expose their faults.

Some might be outrageous,
so let’s pause and defuse.

Some might be hurtful and mean
so let’s self-reflect and steel ourselves.

Speak up.

Political correctness leads to sameness
contrary to the individualism
it pretends to protect.

It is a road into slavery.
First the slavery of your mind
and later slavery of your body.

morning dove
or is it the mourning dove?
speaks this morning
of melancholy
rock and sheep
and a drunken friend
who each night
ended his day
the same

each minute
was nothing I knew
it was the sound of the bells,
around their necks
and from the church.
Above in the abandoned castle,
defenses down
in rooms
open to the sky
looking down
on the village life
the smell of the beach
fish and retsina
the wisteria sheltered agora

I came there
like the gypsies
we never saw
who snuck in at night
took our clothing
off the lines
and potted plants
from the patio,
leaving only what was missing
as evidence
they'd been there

the tune had been haunting
london for weeks past,
but when the lights went out,
they went out fast.

none of us thought
those days would end.
the music would always be there
anytime we needed a friend.

the sweetness of the soprano;
sprinkled over a sultry saxophone;
the steady heartbeat of an upright bass;
titillating trumpets tooting a tune.

the raven-haired lady: the envy of the room;
the men could only dream
of being so lucky.
the ladies could only scream,
hoping to catch the tall dark stranger's eye.
at the end of the night,
we all sang a whiskey lullaby.

but the wind blew cold-
it made us shiver.
the band packed up their magic.
the soprano ran off with the tall dark stranger.
all alone and without home,
the raven-haired lady blew her mind out,
nowhere left to roam.

nights became weeks and weeks became months.
our throats were perpetually plugged with lumps.
it's hard to say how meaningful it can be-
the touch something can have,
no matter how seemingly arbitrary-
until it is gone with the wind.