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haya Jul 25
i was left alone
in the epidemic
All humans inside
I'm outside, seeing these horrible things

And i remember that i can't remember.

that I've probably forgotten
Where are my parents?
Where is my home?

No humans on sight, i think they're all dead
oh no, they're all inside it turns out,
I'm the one who's considered dead

Perhaps i am dead
because feeling alive is so distant and far away

And i can't remember.
Written somewhere in April, at the beginning of all the self-quarantining.
What a time to be alive,
Where words have no value
It is easier to understand animals than people,
Where people love in a cryptic language
only they understand,
Where being one to being apart
Takes just about a weekend,
Where the world is in political chaos
Capitalism is still at the top,
Religion and race still matter,
As if we got stuck in the same history chapter.
Where people don't say what they feel
But often feel what they say
Their voice lacking a clear purpose,
With thoughts running all over the place.
Empathy is a thing of the past it seems,
With nobody to hold your hand when you fall
But pretending they are in it for the long hall.

Are you a stoic? Is it keeping you at bay?
It seldom works as emotions always get in your way,
Times are trying, they are uncertain
Today every misdemeanour is costly,
Every mistake is sinful,
Times when silence is as good as violence.
Where people are seeking therapy but no one wants
To work towards finding happiness,
Where everyone wants to talk but,
With no one to listen
It sparks fear to even think about
bringing a child into this world.
Has the world gone far into the deep end?
Do you still want to pretend,
Like nothing has happened
And we are still the same?
Or do you want to take a stand
To make things better?
Rise from the ashes to save the world
Maybe it can't be saved,
Maybe this is it - the dystopia
Maybe we are just brave,
To even hold this thought of a change!
Ken Pepiton Apr 29
2020 - day 120

Wednesday, April 29, 2020
12:21 PM

passport day, despite the masks, there is humor, for a while,
in social distancing, plus masks...

yesterday on the Sunrise Highway stretch of the Pacific Crest,
we saw
flag men and the whole road gang, employees, not prison contract labor,

these guys are all smart enough to get the job, there they are, smart guys,
and all wearing masks, I wonder

who made sense of that, and who did it in solidarity with an us narrative.

United, we stand, divided, we fall...

Global Brain reports Mortal

Brains being trained to new normal,
such concarne systems, can,
if willed, pupose-ful, con determination mit energetic application made,
it appears, according to Youtube and Facebook,
such brains, meat-mind-gut-heart-skin sensation interpretation systems,

only get upgrades on this scale, once, in a generation.

The augmental roll out hits first adapters about fifty years after first frontal cortex
call, plea, actually,
for myination, squeeky voices, peeps, feed me, feed me
urges and cravings unheard of before,
puberty models future imaginations of hell, the body remembers,
advertisers play to that
comfort sells better than ***, in a hormonal reset crisis, *** needs no ads...

so many signals cross in chaotic knots, even stretching that last nerve
so tight...
some result in broken strands, but
human brains evolved the idea of normal, calm and continuing, carry on...
says the king of the village,
head of the clan,
da man o'dehouse; twas he who said what we do next,
and come a time, some say you remember wrong,
so writer man,
him say I write what seer say he see,
scribblers writ what was agreed, we all formed a public, for crying out

and neighbors had public faces, same as private faces... no opposing faces.

We danced with no masks... spaceship earthers have no secrets...

Time was, man's inhumanity to man was intolerable, now,
man's humanity
is intolerable,

--- you doubt? --- later, we talk how tuning and balancing was lost as senses,
but to a few... who knew the life in words can dissipate authority,
if left lying idle, too long.


the power in a free press belongs to the owner of the presses,
and we have voice activated presses connected to any hearing ear or seeing eye,
willing to listen in...

before radio evolved to the smart-phone,
a soap box in the village square was as far as freedom of expression could go.
Now, we have four and more generations of
humans who have heard radio music and commentary, from the womb.

These are the first adapters, sapien sapien augmented
radio heads, wired
with some vagus curve capacity to signal gut responses
faster, by virtue of habing
some bits slicker than, say
normal wierdos,
*** heads, like Johnny Appleseed Chapman...
ference: Certified Disneyfied Americana Clue founded,
standing on--
American Bogus Science Fable, which
teaches of JA as a crazy old man with something like a plan,

to live happy as ever, right now, as best he knew how,
Shane, and so on, mindphuck for boys in the fifties,
whose dad's had won the war and built the bomb,
and broke the unions...

lonely boys had songs, tuned to their comfort in sorrow shared circuit
being installed from early 1953 through -- current time

music in the air, or from the air, is took for granted by any child
as something doable, the poorest of the poor can play at playing internet games,
using Poke'mon cards...manually,

and their brains work different than even Turing and Von Neuman imagined.
Feynman and Teller both admitted the sense of humor,
kids have and
AI can imagine,
Ai ai ai can imagine,
in light of history, they agree,
that sense of the playful, ludologous letting go.
is the same sense in humans...

which does good, like a medicine.
a solitary man makes a solitary plan, leaving a mark mattered not,

living free as one man can be.
Pioneer social distancing, all my heros were outlaws,
rustlers, mostly,
my ancestors never wished to live in towns,
so they never did.

But, you know they poached turkeys and deer as order set in.

Old normal is fully functional, add electricity... how happy can a man be?

Less than not-alone, more than in a maddened crowd.

Out on the edge of civilization,
we walk along Al Gore's old info super hiway, asking for sneezers
willing to give a viral idea blowing in the wind,
one good whiff,
wrinkle y' gnose,
tickling fancies we
fancy few have tickled since Tesla became a car.

We make next up. No lie. Keep kicking.
The future is nothing like some people imagined. Stamps are no longer money, they used to be a way a poor man could make exchanges... wonder what they got planned?
dempsey Apr 27
now, as i wander through the streets
littered with the rubble from our broken city
sprinkled with the blood of our fallen people
i wonder where it all went wrong.
before, when we could enjoy simple things
like ice cream, kissing, gazing at stars
feeling a certain kind of breeze on your neck,
feels almost like a fever dream. before it all
went away. before everything fell apart.
i don't know what the future holds.
perhaps the dawn of a new age, a new
kind of world for future generations.
perhaps children will take it and run, use the
struggles they suffered through
as inspiration for their career, their songs
their creativity. why did you let it all go?
they will scream so loud, breaking their mic
they will smash the table to pieces, they
will bite the necks of men so hard they bleed
they will eat sour things and drink poison
study cosmology and the reason behind
our armageddon, they won't give up...
or else, they will. they will surrender to
the bad people. sit down and stay still
and cry themselves to sleep. i hope it
doesn't happen, at least not anytime soon.
now, as i kick through these ruins of our
city, breathe the smoky air, step over the
bodies, i ask the heavens, (no one in
particular, if we're being honest) did we
deserve this? yes, you did, they cry back.
with everything going on now, i think i'm more inspired than usual by the dystopian sort of reality we're living in. our houses have become like fallout shelters, guarding us from the dangerous world outside. it's not as bad as i described though, i just wanted to make it more dramatic haha
Prossnip42 Mar 11
Go there for your rota
There for your orders
Fill up the quotas
We'll bill for you quarters
Report to your foreman
But watch for construction
Cause if you get hurt you've damaged our property

Did you not read the Company policy?
That defines you as the Company's property
That waivers your say in autonomy
The conglomerates got you in lock and key
We put the dollar back into idolatry
If you're upset you can rent an apology
We're a family forged in bureaucracy
No I in "team" but there's "con" in economy

Were you expecting rights?
Were you hoping for fairness?
My friend you're indentured and pleasure's exempt from your tenure so venture back down to your slum
That's provided at generous prices
Your worth is determined by your sacrifices

A small term of service when down of the surface
Interment's a freebie that comes with the purchase

We work
To earn the right to work
To earn the right to give
Ourselves the right to buy
Ourselves the right to live
To earn the right to die
Ken Mears Nov 2019
Society has crumbled,

The world has regressed,

Everyone is depressed,

Mentally jumbled.

We think we are above,

All of those dystopian stories,

That we don't fall in those categories,

But they fit like a glove.

Fahrenheit 451?

Who reads books anyway?

There is no keeping the media at bay,

Our screens are on all day!

Orwell's 1984?

Thanks to phones we have no privacy,

Everyone inflicts their own policy,

And agenda evermore.

The Giver?

Our joy and suffering,

Are ****** away by our constant screening,

And pleasures made to deliver.

Ready Player One?

We turn to escapism,

So we can run,

From activism, racism, and fascism.

We think we are above,

All of those dystopian stories,

That we don't fall in those categories,

But they fit like a glove.
Anastasia May 2019
ashes, ashes we all fall down.
i’ve come to take back my crown.
ashes, ashes, you shall fall down.
i will destroy this town.
ashes fall with us.
can’t you feel the rush?
the ashes fall.
it’s time for your call.
ashes, ashes we will fall down.
ashes, ashes, no more ground.
falling into ashes.
we all have our gashes.
now I breath in.
the sky grows dim.
ashes, ashes, we all fall down.
a sort of dystopian poem i found in my old poems from a year ago. i only put my favorites on here, an d this made the list.
Ke-caster Feb 2019
Society has no regret

Stretches us out like human tack
Twists the gears to move the rack
To keep us tight and highly strung

Much easier to hold the notes
The ones that get stuffed down our throats
The ones that we think that we sing ourselves

Society has no regret

A child playing with marionettes
Then torches them when play is done
To watch the flames eat up and take

We entertain, to be its friend
But seeking value in an early end
Its wish we die before become a burden

Society has no regret

Tears out gold teeth for circuit boards
Greases gears with chewed up hoards
Then renders down their fats for soaps

Society has no regret

Keep us numb on drugs and hope
Steady pulse of dopamine
Notice nothing cut or gleamed

Society has no regret

The great machine has got to turn
Your body's your country fuel to burn
To expend the shell as it sees fit

Society has no regret

The ash spread out makes fertile fields
Let the future make the past its meal
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