So the freaks who have more alienated themselves,
And as consequence us all,
As though they are royalty
Slander the name of all of Europe;
It's nobility & law,
It's cultures & histories?
Asia and the Africas,
Even those of this same continent?

Where do you hope to go, creatures?

For when, not now if,
You craft for yourself a throne,
We shall pin you to it
And make ourselves a new monument.
There, on the banks of reflection,
You will hear our rally call;
Then you shall fall.

Ad tyrannos calcamus!

Bow to the aspirant? Be defiant!

Quite the to-do of the ado hoo-ha.
Shan't you have forgot,
The place you have come up
Is and forever will be democratic.

If Kings are making a comeback,
Kneel.
Give me the crown
Or I will pick it out of the gutters:
I will pick it off your corpse.

If there's pitch to be made,
Prepare for the tar & feathers.
Prepare for the pikes & pitchforks,
For the oil & torch.

Blockade your birdges, flood your moats,
Ready the given defenses!

If Kings are making a comeback,
I will **** you with pen
And put you to death by the sword.

We will march your head around
After we've torn it off.
We will parade your silly decrees about
After we've ripped them apart.
We will drag your body through town
After we've murdered you.

There we'll leave you
In some famous roundabout,
For the crows to feast;
For the animals to pick you clean.

They will say of you,
"Now he's only skull & crossbones!
I had thought him a royal
But he burned & boiled -
Screamed & soiled,
Just the same as I would!"

Sins of the father, eh?
I only hope you didn't ***** your family
With your crimes & repulsiveness.

Submit to the giant? Slay the tyrant!

Are you a good person?
Are you good men?
Are you good women?

Are you a mature adult?

Because only a child
Believes bedtime stories & fairytales.
Go to sleep!

I get it,
You'd rather a fantasy
Outside of reality.
Get to work!

Things still haven't fallen in place,
You feel out-of-step;
You're crawling
And you feel you should at least
Be walking.
Wake back up!

It's *******, I know,
I hear you.
But, here among us,
This is our daily regiment
And the butter of our sustenance.
Eat your oats!

I hear you, I get it,
It's a lot to swallow.
Get it down or choke!

It's more than simply what you typed,
What you spoke over the phone;
It's how you've done it
Down to every detail,
From the face you made
To each little keystroke.
The trends, the habits, & routines
By which you live your life by;
Tagged with geolocation & time.
Nowadays, there's even more devices
Like the phone or speaker or television;
Like satellite, transmitter, receiver.
There's a tag on your ear
By which you're known by-
It's just not what you go by, chattel.

2004 felt so far away from 1994
2014 was another world compared to 2004
2024, and it all looks the same

Sure, we feel different; scattered, deranged
Not knowing who to believe or blame
You gave it all to us too fast at once
All the movies, music, and TV
All the books, articles, and self-help
All the DIY guides and platforms to perform
We never realized we were not cut out to be the curators
and communities all by our lonesome selves in our bedrooms
We crumble at the weight of it all, blame ourselves for not achieving dreams like the pretty people on the tiny screen
Boomer producer parents spend so much dough to help their kids seem bespoke  

I'm afraid many poors got too smart between 2004 and 2014
Too much decent community college, Marxist pdfs, and low down creatives coming together

You can't find what you used to in real life, let alone online

The 6 rich guys that run the world got scared of too many redneck dads actually liking Bernie Sanders and the new sushi bar downtown

People were getting too smart, so they flooded us with slop
to get us back to the naïve pissants we were before 9/11, or maybe even before the Industrial Revolution

Underinterrupted silence,
none to gather at the gates.
Sell your warey wagon's axle,
feed, the castle masticates.

Oh the joyous altercation,
angled, dangling neatly down.
Hold your elder father's picture
underneath your writing gown.

Words defy the lonesome meeting
of the dogs in golden chains.
Herds arise of loathsome chieftains.
Battlecries as arrows rain.

Open book of monstrous brethren,
teach them how your pages turn.
Loving violence, kindred-hateful;
gutted, for a beat you yearn.