If it comes out the tap,
I'm drinking it.
Whatever is public.

If we can't at least guarantee clean water,
Who are we?

If you think I'm only talking about one thing,
I'm sorry.

If it shouldn't bother you,
Does it?
Why do different?
Why worry?
Like a fly buzzing,
Best just to ignore it.
Swat it!
Stamp it!
Crush it!

"Jesus, son of Stada, is the Jesus, son of Pandira?"

Rav Hisda said, "The husband was Stadia and the lover was Pandora. His name was Spartacus & her name was Pythia."

"But was not the husband Nicodemus, son of Socrates and the mother Juno?"

"No. His mother was Raet-Tawy, who let her hair grow long and was called Maccabees." Maacah says about her: "She was unfaithful to her husband."

"But what of the roots of his tree?"

"The fruit that you see be not enough?"

"What of that which still eludes me?"

Do you still wonder?

To the Earth, we mourn!

Goddess Mother & Father Cosmos,
How far we have fallen;
How much we have let you down
Though you've nurtured us
And helped us to grow.

We were specks
On the backs of giants
And we thought ourselves special!

How ignorant we are,
How arrogant we have become;
How confusing have we shaped our existence.

The shades of black made white,
But the way the light shines
Shows there is no difference
When we are open & transparent.

The shades of white made black,
But the echo of the song
Reminds us there's more than the wailing
Of crimes against humanity being normalized again.

Am I even religious? I ask myself.
Am I spiritual? I ponder.
Feudal, socialist, capitalist, fascist?
Hmmm.
Am I more over here,
Or more over there?
What's my hereditary, what specific mix;
Where exactly am I from?
From where did my family come,
Where have we been?
What did we take part in?

It's interesting,
But where are we going?
What's the heading?

There is not one
Which I have not rewarded,
One I have not punished.
From Cyrus To Moses
And each of their children,
That is their nations.
From Rome to Germany
And their siblings,
That is their family.
You stand with your tribe
And you stand against the species.

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.

He belongs to it
As a citizen of the nation:
Another voice among the crowd,
A plebian shotuing outside the assembly.
Raise up your hands, my compatriots,
And let them hear your opinions!
Is the conduct quiet? Loud?
Have you dampened all other noise out?
Do you have an ear to listen?
It's a re-run made parody
Having been so shoddily done
From being so poorly conceived
By a lack of understanding.

Six-shooters are holstered, swords are scabbard, arrows are un-nocked, blades are sheathed.
Not in the course
Of one petty conflict,
But comparatively throughout history.
There is more intergovernmental cooperation,
More trade and tourism,
More declarations and treaties.
The common person
Has greater breadth of movement
In travel of classes & region.
The ignition of all these dormant conflicts
Will not lead to any new or better resolution
But, more likely than not,
More conflagration & revolution.
To win or to lose
In a game of confusion
With the strategy of lies & ambiguity.
Better than to limply concede
And forfeit all claim to belief
In what you fought to seat.

And in fifty years from now
Some blasted fool shall say:
The ignition of all these dormant conflicts
Will not lead to any new or better resolution
But, more likely than not,
More conflagration & revolution.

I walk alone
Purposefully,
I rest afar
From home.

These aching bones,
Debride me of such woes
And deliver restitution
Of with what I was born.

Painless, happiness,
Life without sorrow
Free from fortune.

To live as I was young
But with the benefits of growing old.

Bless me with that gift of insight
And provide me with good experience,
That I might grow & blossom.

Into the butterfly & not the buzzard,
Into the dove & not the eagle.

From the deserts & the mountains,
From mediterranean to peninsula.

Let me walk away
From the affairs of the needy,
Who have their fill
And are even fat because of it.

Let me walk away
From the affairs of the greedy,
Who can't stomach more
But make room by vomiting.

Let me walk away
From the affairs of the seedy,
Who have good families
But can't keep to themselves.

Let me walk away
From the affairs of the piety,
Who possess nice quarter
But must room in others'.

Let me walk away
From the affairs of the ******,
Who know what is wrong
But still freely engage in it.

I walk alone
Afar from home,
I rest purposefully.

Painless, happiness,
Life without sorrow
Free from fortune.

For the sake of wisdom, virtuously.
For the sake of virtue, wisdomously.

Modest & humble.

There's talk of rules in a capitol,
Whispers around Moscow
Of how to act clandestinly.

On how to move in the shadows,
Of acting without notice & silently.
On how to avoid & evade,
Of how to deflect & debate.
On how to turn people over,
Of how to churn up info.
On how to survive the living
Of an actor of a foreign agency.

There's talk of rules in a capitol,
Whispers around Washington
Of how to get away with things.