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ethan gaskill Jan 26
i walk through this thrift shop
as an old and withering man
i see the products of a lifetime
and i imagine them in my hands

that lamp would've fit nicely
on the table in our living room
and that blouse in the corner that i see
my darling, she had the same one as her
these old and worn out books
were once my constant entertainment
they inspired me to write and to travel
and now they've been banished to the wastebins

metal castings, music to listen to, movies,
denim jackets, photographs of people long since dead,
paintings and mirrors and gadgets,
hats, pants, shirts, shoes,
neckties in every color
somebody else lived their life with these
and soon i'll be giving up mine like all the others

we all spent our lives
buying things and wasting precious time
so i know that someday soon
all my things will be bought by you
life moves in waves
Bard Jan 23
Rolling dice in the garden of eden
Take chances so my heart will keep beatin
Got a bad hand but I'm still goin all in
Greed and avarice is my choice of sin

Gold chains are what I want  choking my throat
A sinking feeling on a sailing boat
Need gratification to stay afloat
Feelin sick I'm greener than my banknotes

Take risks play games with my life for a chance
My life interwoven with my finance
Paper and tokens have me entranced
Material things have me romanced

Things always there when I reach for em
Name your price and ill hit the atm
Ask for my soul and its no problem
Losin blood, sweat, and tears its no problem

Love can be bought
Friends can be bought
People can be bought
Rights can be bought

Money and chance is what I call god
I have lived life committing fraud
When life is so deeply flawed
You have to make your own god

Worship something in a sea of nothing
Statistic and chance the sweet nothing
Of something intangible feels so loving
Imaginary value and numbers my calling
Sparkling wine and sparkling smile,
new fashion and new car,
a house and new gadgets to show,
a veneer that shines and glows,
underneath lies more,
unsettled and unknowing,
we show a reflection of not what is true,
a fabrication of our discomfort,
a fear of not belonging,
for the truth lies not in mankind,
but in the nature that surrounds us.
It is hard to be natural.
Nico Reznick Dec 2018
“But maybe your real job is shopping…”

Sleepwalk through stock footage.  Life as
documentary.  Soundtrack of horror movie score:
ambient electronica, bubblegum nostalgia and
**** love songs.  Everything becomes
visual metaphor: blackbirds, barcodes and
birthday candles; Big Pharma pick & mix;
lipstick ritual; pigeon superstition; fraying flags
of fading empires; migratory patterns of
shopping trolleys; special offers; fantastic prizes.
Worker bees are vanishing - they all want to
be queens - and our hives overflow
with honey, but are empty and dead.  We got
infected with aspiration, with individualism.  
Generically unique career consumers: remember
when you were more than your credit rating,
more than your demographic, more than your
market-driven self-diagnosis?
Ivan Brooks Sr Nov 2018
All year, you waited on Black Friday
Just to Feed your Indulgence.
After, comes broke Saturday,
Which is partly spent in silence.
Next is Prayerful Sunday
Off to church for solace.
Next comes Monday, a workday.
Wearing things you don't need.
Home stuck with material things
You've been finessed by greed
Yet your task is what today brings.
At home, you hear the bell as it rings,
And look at the watch on your hand.
A man strikes on the guitar strings
Then a song raised by another friend.
At least all your friends are here
Time to party and enjoy yourself
Bring me some wine over here
Time to celebrate my materialistic life!

Not hating, just writing!
Graff1980 Nov 2018
Is it relative
to the struggle
to live
that worked
its way
from all
the epic yesterdays,
each generation
passing dna,
each saga
set in stone
by the sages
who remember?

Is it based
on the formula
of hourly wages
times the time
we put in
constantly working
as a cog in
the machine?

Is it
a product
of relationships
from familial
to all of our

Is it
by potential
future achievements?

Or are we just
pounds of flesh
easily discarded,
meat for the factory
cannon fodder,
children to the slaughter?

I wonder,
what is the value of life?
Consider a bee
while the sunbeams dance on a bench in front of a melting clock
Consider a bee
while the cradling mankind sees a gun under the pillow and feels safe.
The dust of the soul,
the soul dusts away
The bee
Interrupts a series of copulations
and a run across the industrial lawn

The sacrifice
of a fat lobster named eternal consciousness
garlic sliced bread & a fear of a thing
as per the given prescription?
am I right?

I have no more time for such nonsense,
Consider a bee
5 more minutes, a 90-degree angle, you are dead.

- Samar Charulingah Godfrey
Inday Sep 2018
Fur coats, Malboro smokes and fancy labels,
Fabricated faces closed off, segregated, false.
Pretending to be these people, these cloned plastic dolls.

Dark lips, skeletal figures and decadent glances,
Small waists, tall bodies and negative spaces
With hearts going nowhere, only lipstick traces.

You like to talk about people, about insignificant things
Not birds, or mountains or the potential life brings.
But just remember this: you will never tower over a mountain or grow any wings
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