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how can we achieve peace globally
when we can’t even find peace locally
in the bathroom
when we’re taking a shit
and the young gentlemen
in the stall next to you
is blasting some foolish
video game with no
consideration?

the truth of the matter is that we
rain a hellfire of asinine disturbance
upon each other’s little slice
of celestial heaven without any
realization to our actions

meanwhile,
I’m going to turn the noise
pollution all the way up
with the ear splitting sounds
of Slayer and reign terror
all over this motherfucker’s
nerd world of animation.
when an executive feels
outnumbered or out of place
in a room full of common men,
they’ll take their well-starched
button down shirts and their
hiked up dress pants and walk
away from the Spanish tongue
and the smell of burning
corn tortillas

the mariachi band
will strike up again
and the meek will
prevail into aspiration
there’s something remarkable
about the magical realisms
between the admixture
of writing and driving.
of course, it’s a difficult task
to literally write while driving
and I don’t recommend it
to anyone but the ideas you
can come up with in your head
become evidently transparent
like a clearing through the fog
and if I was given the chance
with a reliable car, a mixtape of
good tunes, a decent amount
of time to road trip from
Portland Maine to Portland Oregon
and getting lost in the
reverie of elucidation
and neglected dreams
along the countryside
and over the mountains
and through the Great Basin
I could easily write an overkill
of poems in my head and if I
could just get them down on
paper would be a
magical realism
in itself.
being squeezed like strawberries
red and porous
until the juices come
squirting out of us and
we must retire to our
fantasies of escape
because we’re choking
choking on self-involvement
choking on lack of confidence
choking on bad commercial music
choking on stupidity
choking on laughter
choking on living
choking on media
choking on stress
choking on words
choking on the dread of work
and just when we gasp for  
a breathe of fresh air
there’s always gonna be
someone to approach you
and tighten down the pressure
around your neck again
with their fingertips
and if you can’t breathe
you can’t fight
and become more docile
and subservient
to the hard pill of
commanding superiority
to swallow

supervisors and managers
are like road construction
on summers break,
making it more difficult
for you to get to where
you wanna go when
things are already
running smooth

I’ve seen too much enforcement
and not enough leadership
to last a lifetime
and I no longer
care
boys look like boys
girls look like girls
boys look like girls
girls look like boys

people look like people

and that is all that I see

every single beautiful soul
worth living

especially the bus driver
who just flicked me off

she’s more deserving
than most.
in a room called “living”
I catch death
lolling on the couch
adjacent from me
like guillotine heads
in tightly woven baskets
as I simply try to ignore
him by distracting myself
with the greatest killer
of them all....the television
but it’s hard to ignore those
dead eyes in my peripherals
gazing into my maddened soul
and I tell him  “I’m not ready yet”
but there’s no reply
no words
no hints
no clues
no puzzle pieces
just silence and that cold stare
I use to think that this day
would never come....
that I was immortalized,
luxuriating in foreverness
and untouchable to the
mortals offerings by
suppressing their drugs,
booze and relationships
that have crossed my path but
preoccupied with flogging time
has lead me to this moment,
abusing it like a step-child
that took me here,
misusing it like a drug
that took me everywhere
because my childhood was  
bygone of terror and
having kids of my own before
I could become an adult myself
was a frightening experience to face
but when the silence of death
comes to take unexpectedly
and without reasoning
it’s still not as scary as
the living shortened up
your living with
dread and boredom
it just hurts more
and when you get the chance
to be alive, to feel alive and
break away from the yawn of life,
embrace it like a clasped asshole
and when things have gotten bad,
smile, laugh and give a nod
because it’s time,
it’s time to go now
and I won’t be able
to find a good line
to end a bad poem
like this one
until after
I’m dead
sitting on the floor
flipping through my old cd book
and with every page I turn
I recoil in horror just like
recalling every friend
I spent my time with listening
to this cringeworthy music
but when you’re young and
you’ve got nothing else better
to spend your money on
you invest in regrettable
decisions for the future but
at least it got you through
some times during your
adolescence and that’s got
to be worth something?
but now, I just peruse
my bookshelf
and I say to myself,
“at least I did something right
the first time around.”
looking back on it now,
the worms burbling up
out of the ground from the
thunderstorm’s aftermath,
I watched the hungry birds
swoop down and swallow
the worms bit by bit and
that instant transition
from life to death
as it was once whole
began to vanish,
reminded me of our
simplistic acceptance...
as we too are submissively
swallowed by the world
bit by bit without flinching

we must accept liberation
in the first 4 or 5 years of life
without knowing what to do
or barely remembering it

we must accept an educational system
that doesn’t prepare
us for the real world

we must accept a full time job
as a part of life
that takes us away
from living

we must accept lies as the truth
and the truth to be crazy
because lies are easier to accept

we must accept marriage as a
grandiose victory where majority
are miserable and disappointed

we must accept reproduction
so that our offsprings can
continue in the same loophole

we must accept a law enforcement
that strikes brutality
instead of protecting

we must accept a corrupt justice system
that lets killers, rapists and thieves
walk freely on the streets

we must accept a war
that we do not choose

we must accept the rich
the executives,
the 1% of the world’s
population to stand
on top of the hill and
keenly look down
on the 99% of inferiority
as we blissfully
run around in their circles,
devouring their spoon fed lies
and make more money for
them while we struggle to
stay afloat in a sea of green
because we are contempt
and no one ever stops
to even attempt
to run up the hill
and dethrone
the elitist’s rulership

we just accept this life
as a certainty
like death and taxes
and continue to play
the part of the worm,
roaming around in the
mounds of dirt and
mindlessly eating away
at whatever product
was given to us,
while the prosperous
brings the thunderstorm
and force to expose
our sacrificial bodies
to the ravenous world
with sharpened beaks as it
swoops down to begin again

I see many lives but much living
and what little living there is
there’s not much magic
and what magic is left
leaves hardly any satisfaction
and what satisfaction that’s there
only lies with the greatness
of our death
amidst the subtle headaches
and pulsating temples
like mountains raining
jagged side down and
wooden nutcrackers
bayoneting the insides
of our brains
our lives keep riding
these burning carousels
of monotony

there’s no war in our hell
or fire in our incinerator
anymore

and these chessboard days
of recrimination keep
repetitively circulating
into the form of a
spherical motion

get up, go to work,
get yelled at by the boss,
fight traffic, come home,
cook, clean, eat dinner,
go to sleep and do it all
over again until
there’s no beginning
to tomorrows end. living our
vanilla lives with vanilla wives
until the something happens.

the needle of change pulls
through the thread of life
and we begin all over again
on a new chessboard
on a new carousel
and repeat steps
until our lifelines
look more like
a string of beads
than a mountain landscape
or a flash of lightning
because it’s easier to give up
and settle down than to have life
constantly changing in chaos
but only if we had enough
courage to shake the world
like an Ian Curtis epilepsy dance
and rip the necklace of listlessness
off the neck of inferno
and watch the pearls
of our routine fall,
bounce
and roll down
some dirty alleyway
where a rat never lived.
doing either one and
we dream of $8 haircuts
and no plans of anything
but watching the routine
of life unfold in front of
prying eyes through
venetian blinds
as singles mothers
prep their child for the
education of death
as dogs walk their masters
as fathers choke on neckties
and stress in traffic
as the mailman makes
his rounds
and someone is being born
and someone is dying
and someone is dead
and worst of all someone
is dead before they die and
money is made and money is spent
and someone is lubing themselves
with comfort and convenience to
make getting fucked by the world
a little more tolerable
and a little less raw
and I am here
eating walnuts and
drinking Spotted Cow
and listening to Sonic Youth
on this delving day
while the rest are scouring
through another day of
intolerable hell but we never
stop and think for a moment
to ask ourselves who we are,
we just enable them to run our
lives and tell us who we should be
because when they got you at
childhood
they
got
you
f
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e
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