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Kagey Sage Aug 13
How does capitalism deeply impact my life?

I want to make music so bad, but I procrastinate with stupid ****.
I clean as if people could come over anytime and judge me superficially. I often go out and shop for things I futilely hope will organize me enough to make cleaning faster. I shop for obscure musical instruments and gear to feel like it'll make making music easier.

In capitalism, owning the machinery is more valuable than doing the work. We ingrain that in our soul, more and more. Negative liberty was always valuable, but when you had less you used to find others to help turn that liberty positive.  

I have a guitar, bass, and drums, but no band. Self-alienation at this point. All my friends play, but don't want to make it a thing.


Our leaders are just hype men and chaos actors to keep the mystery going. "Capitalism may be cruel, but it's the best system we got."

"Capitalism just means people have the right to go into business for themselves." No the owners are subservient to something greater too. They serve capital, they serve the absolution of all. Your automatic answer is "it wasn't my fault." It was incorporated, depersonalized.

So many dead and broken people. So much waste. Digging up so much petroleum, the plastic's in our veins. "It's no one's fault." If by some astronomical chance a concerned public win a Kafkaesque trial, all that's lost is money. No one goes to jail or suffers, if you own enough stuff.

But there's the pickle. "The things you own start to own you," of course, but what's much worse is the Nothing they serve needs to grow, until there's no humanity left. Becoming voids who only seek more efficient ways to delete.
nick armbrister Aug 2022
Peace Profit
Made in a country near you
Things to do a job
What type of job?

To heal to **** to create to destroy
All in the ACME factory
Ready steady go get to work!
Fulfil your shift

Do your quota
Finish the order yesterday
There's much work to be done

You busy little bees
Make the fat boss rich
Capitalist wage slaves
Even the commies are the same

Make some more do the work
Enrich the rich you ******
There's no profit in laziness or peace
We are all environmental commodities
Andrew Rueter Dec 2020
Down at the business factory profits were low
or at least lower than the shareholders wanted
so Hyper-Capitalist Genius Man masterminded a brilliant plan:
“We have three people performing a task
two people could accomplish while losing their minds
attrition rates shouldn’t be a concern
because we’ll just streamline the jobs
so there’ll always be desperate workers
who can easily replace the disillusioned ones.”.

The other businessers were impressed
the emperor of business had heard enough:
“****** you’re ‘Work People to Death‘ theory might just work.
I’m naming you chief execution officer of the company.”.
Profits went up and were disseminated amongst the higher-ups
so that everyone that mattered was happy
all thanks to Hyper-Capitalist Genius Man.
Mona Aug 2020
wine n dine
they say
faux sophistication
how pretty

oh culture, they say
but there's a price to pay
for the theatre show
endorse inclusion yet divide into rows

the stage is free
art they say
entertain me in exchange for pay

******* culture
deeper entrenched
day by day

isn't it peculiar?
we are politically correct
yet flawed in every way
shhhhh, that's not what you are supposed to say
Andrew Rueter Jan 2019
I need to find a job
But I’m told I’m flawed
No one will ever applaud
When I’m so far from God
So I hate them and Him
I start selling bags of trim
To become more grim
Than both of their whims

I turn teens into fiends
With no financial means
Forgetting their dreams
To buy my beans
They ransack homes
For permanent loans
Of turbulent tones
To pay my bill
And get their fill
Of pills that thrill
Leaving them still

My cardiac attack
******* packed
Cadillac
Drifts for twelve hour shifts
Driving families to cliffs
Of drug addled rifts
Until I’m mentioned
In interventions
Bringing attention
To my dimension

The cops are behind me
Can they find me
Through the facade I’m designing?
I’m a drug dealer hiding
From society’s bindings
I don’t make a single sound
Once they release the hounds
Searching for those I’ve bound
In my lost and found
They’re just doing their jobs
And so am I
Playing the odds
For a piece of the pie

I’m addicted to the danger
And exploiting strangers
To channel my anger
Into buying a hangar
But white blood cells have been released
Trying to cure my malignant disease
With aggressively insistent antibodies
That won’t let me do as I please

Should I listen to my town
When they’ve always had frowns
And always let me down?
I turn around
Showing them my back
And the piece I pack
If they choose to attack
The bodies will stack

There’s nothing they can say
I’m entrenched in my ways
I can’t see through the haze
Of this capitalist maze
Where I was raised
To look out for myself
By building my wealth
And ignoring the health
Of those hit by my belt
Outside Words Oct 2018
A Capitalist
burns each day shoveling dirt;
paid to dig his grave
© Outside Words
Narendra Jul 2015
If earth is a mother
We are mother *******,
I swear it's not an ugly name
It is a name
we have earned after awesome ashamedly acts.

We are not simply satisfied with unclothing earth
We love to drill deep inside her womb
And love to ***** huge minarets of her own meat and bones
On her emptied-self;

Earth is a symbol of our unending desires:
Our need are not in our little stomach
They reside in our devilish mind
We are ******* pampered children
We have learnt to live on her depleting signs.

Ignorance is our times' global religion
Lured easily by biblical stories
Told by our corporate priests
My stomach is a warehouse of fast-food chains
My mind is advertisements' gutterhole
Every night I wait to be slaughtered like a hog;
May be now days we are not born with brains
We are jungles of moving men
With umbilical cords gone.

We are dead suckers
We are mother *******.
Don Bouchard Apr 2015
A fluff of feathers
Black and white,
Hide the scrawny scavenger
Whose "Rick, Rick, Rick!"
Identify some place of death,
This careful bandit's visiting.

He leaves outright robbery
To his cousin jay,
And flits,
One disaster to the next,
To see how he may capitalize.

Dead carrion, his usual fodder...
Yet one subzero winter day
I saw a magpie perched
Upon a shivering cow
Belly deep in snow, and
Chilled in minus 30 air,
Peck-scratching through a healing scab
And pulling living flesh away.
Nature in extremes is a cold-hearted witch. A memory from cattle-ranching days 30 years ago....
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