#factual
Your phone is my Camera on buses, in stores, on the streets,
Every step tracked, no place to retreat from you all.
Our privacy given away to tech, no fight no question
yet you like the fool you are push my video camera from your space
telling me I have no right to film you face to face.
You sold our souls for the convenience of now,
But what’s left of us?
Where’d we go, and how?
We Serfs in polos,
the white-collar star bucks ******
Spoiled and arrogant, we’ve all been scammed.
Cell phones killed the magic its gone, the mystery slain,
All answers in pixels, no room for your tiny underused brain.
Spoiled,
pampered,
entitled, and
mentally neutered
by the over-processed, corporate-approved content that’s
spoon-fed through algorithms,
YouTube, and
Facebook clones of clowns social media vampires soulless and genderless.
They’re stuck in an adult-sized version of what should have been childhood Disney lessons,
but all those lessons are blurred and neutered into
sheeple
mediocrity.
Coddled,
wrapped in mommies ouch free band aides and tear free shampoo.
Constantly bought and sold
and always told
their feelings are the center of the universe,
and now they’re the ones mindlessly chanting “Team One Direction” and “Big Time Rush Forever.”
The same kids who were never " bullied",
never pushed to confront anything challenging,
or forced to step outside their comfort zones.
Phone out ,
take that ***** picture,
then run and tell
and post all the " bad men " from a one sided fairy tale mirror.
Everything curated,
everything moderated,
safe from the harshness of life, only to grow into adults who
are still trapped in the glow of their ‘safe spaces,’ feeding
on pre-packaged, consumer-friendly fluff. Making office life unbearable for real men
and even worse
voting and making
laws.
Still can't sleep without a night light. As the prison door slams again, another
unwanted pregnancy.
All our faces are known, in an instant, they’re there,
A snapshot, a database, no secrets to spare.
The world’s all exposed, no corner too dark,
We film every moment, every spark.
In an instant you have my address, my job
and all the rest.
Stalker fantasy
psychotic and legal and
plain to see.
A Karen’s outburst, a cop gone wrong,
We post it, we share it, we sing it in song.
No mystery left, no quiet refrain,
Just constant noise,
the endless campaign.
We’re all content now, our worth measured in likes,
Trapped in the web, shackled by swipes.
Participation trophies, and the sanitized comfort of never feeling a real blow.
The ones who grew up on Disney-fied lessons, where nothing’s too hard, nothing’s too real—just bright, happy images, perfect for minds that were never asked to do anything for themselves.
Diary of A Wimpy kid poster children.
Glamorized and loving it.
Bedazzled soccer mom minivan Blaring Brittany.
The same people who never learned to think for themselves now telling you what to think and
giving YOU the life time ban
. Because the world around them was designed to stop them from ever having to try
to cry
or question why.
When everything’s curated by the Google and Chat GPT A.I., when the world fits into a neat little echo chamber of controlled opinions, there’s no room for
independent thought,
no need to fight for your identity.
Who are you anyway ? It doesn't matter. Go do your project in a group
as A group.
No wonder they’re all so eager to cry and tattle like the sissies they are
all overweight tools, easily
satisfied with plastic idols, mindless likes,
and a world that offers everything delivered to their doors on
an Amazon Jeff Bezos ***** rocket silver platter. It’s the loudest, most vapid echo of a monetary , greed society that’s
already
prostituted itself. Toddlers in Tiaras . Cash me outside.
Her mer gerd.
From " Friends " to Highschool Musical.
Trump truly is what you deserve.
Feb 25, 2025
Feb 25, 2025 at 3:13 AM UTC
we are all liars.
in the endless combat battle of our internal infernal eternal
wills,
we lie-kid-delude ourselves with futuristic promises,
false pretenses,
oaths and rosy predictions
in bold and bareface thoughts,
all lies, as they pass from the conscious
to the part of the brain where
guilt is stored and storied
our success leads to extensions,
the big white lies we tell others
from shame, or kindness,
and trip so easy off our moistened,
tongue licked lips, that we are continually
amazed
by our ease telling
lies.
I read the words **factual liberty” in the “newspaper of record,”(1)
regarding some political figures who oft
do tell short and tall tales
with great frequency, are
feel free by taking
“factual liberty”
and so
my
heart
skips a beat:
hostages released,
lies well dressed
and redressed
in prom attire lies well
dressed poems birthed
for the arbiters of
worldwide
propriety,
have granted me
life and the
pursui of happiness,
and most importantly
liberty, from those terrorizing
the
factuals
Sun~Day
Jun9
2024
8:55AM
_in my hometown~
Jun 9, 2024
Jun 9, 2024 at 8:57 AM UTC
It's simple...
There's no heaven, there's no hell,
Only good and evil
Atrocities carried out by people
One of the biggest cover-ups is under the steeple
...and even still,
Just to shiit and giggle a little,
Let's say da bible is factual
Then heaven is empty & hell is full
No one can live up to that mantle
Not a single soul
And if you do, by some miracle
Don't forget about his branding of a sin original
I'm not getting tossed in hell
To burn eternal
Because I couldn't unravel
Some self fulfilling riddle designed to be impossible
And as a whole
"Where the Fuuck've you been?" That's all we'd like to know
I'll go one step further, I want him held accountable
As the trinity or individual
I can't wait to ask questions that make a "GOD" uncomfortable
To watch him back track and stutter a little miiiiiiiiiiight be worth it all...
...okay, here we go...
©2024
Mar 5, 2024
Mar 5, 2024 at 4:00 PM UTC
I've always been the kid in the hall
Outside the office door of some metaphorical "principal"
Donning a dunce cap, back to the wall
Anticipation spikes in general
This time it's special
When waiting for the next hypothetical, often hypocritical, shoe to fall I make it a double
Dribble and drop the ball
Taking on the challenge of life was a bad call
The order's too tall, don't try it y'all
What I've been given to work with is abysmal
Can't rely on it being factual at all
A criminally out of date owners manual
A For Dummies series appealing to a low level criminal
Vaguely creating, and/or aiding, this failure ritual
Oh the unmitigated gall
Scheduling my burial service to take place before the funeral
Fuucking brutal
I hate it and it seems the feelings mutual
The line stepping is habitual
The backward motion is perpetual
Not sure any of this is avoidable
But, what do I know...
...everything and nothing is impossibly possible
©2023
Dec 20, 2023
Dec 20, 2023 at 3:00 PM UTC
It's a miracle that when I hit the proverbial wall I didn't split my skull right up the middle and spill it all
Not able to gain full control, a factual portrayal of self betrayal as usual
Once beautiful, evidence of it not admissible, miserable and hypocritical
A little dysfunctional don't ya know
All the scars that don't show are what slow the normal flow
Out of my mind cause its inhabitable, so I turn to a radical but experimental cure that'll baffle the medical field because its all hypothetical
What if I didn't hear my call to greatness or maybe I just dropped the ball
I could make a voodoo doll and place him at the finish line so I could win after all
Instead...
My fall hit terminal velocity before I stained the city streets and still survived impossibly
Low visibility so there's no way to see what's right here in front of me
All the money in the world couldn't put humpty dumpty or me together again indefinitely
They just don't have the technology to put me back the way I otta be
There's a high probability that I live in a realm of impossibly
To actually believe that I could ever be a normal man in this society is lunacy
But do I even want to be a part of this idiocracy? I mean really
But it's easy to get lost at sea, holding on so desperately to a buoy as the waves that represent the calamity of life pummel me savagely
No key to the shackles that bind me
I'll be lucky if luck ever finds me
Try not to give a **** but life always reminds me
So I gouge out my eyes to permanently not see
Now...
It's only darkness as I regress to a familiar residence
A yellow envelope taped to the door, no more light access, only dark witnessed at this address
Under constant duress from the excess stress and an abundance of B.S.
The absences of a conscience is the best plan to make it easier but I must confess
That this chess game is at a stale mate, zero progress
I don't even know what progress feels like, seems like I only digress
But I still obsess over a success that will never be reached due to being far to careless
Nevertheless, I continue the process even though I don't possess any finesse
Like a bull in a China shop, I make a mess of everything with nothing but my presence
So in essence you could make a case that my existence here, by every measure, pointless
And you might be right, at the very least it's a good guess
©2018
Feb 17, 2018
Feb 17, 2018 at 4:54 AM UTC
i feel like i am the only one hanging on
even the wind could blow us apart
your fingertips traced the cracks in my heart
the pieces a mosaic of pain
your disposition in the shadow of vain
how do flowers bloom?
is it natural, too focused on the factual
tunnel vision, student of the actual
if you wanted to, you would
if you sought to, we would
Sep 29, 2022
Sep 29, 2022 at 6:26 AM UTC
factual or fake
terse or sensationalist
trying to be as objective as possible
shamelessly partisan and polemic
or simply hate speech
esoteric remedies for all problems
cat videos and personal snapshots
on asocial networks
whether we believe it or not
it is difficult to avoid it
in our great age
of real-time digital information
the abundance of unreliables
is almost legendary
like hearsay in the Middle Ages
when wandering minstrels
spread the tidings
more or less
a challenge to all people with brains
not yet oversaturated with daily trivia
to decide what to believe
doublecheck
do follow-ups
Aug 15, 2019
Aug 15, 2019 at 4:25 PM UTC
Have you seen her yet?
haven’t you still met?
the little girl that you bet
would grow up to be
a woman
your favorite object?
So she could marry
a man whose beard
covers his double chin
and whose hair likens
grayish and doddering lint?
so she could be a
piñata doll to the cane?
a helpless dame
to scoundrels who became
guiltless sinners
only to taste her breast
and spit on her shame?
When will you see her?
this damsel you’ll set
soon in distress
but in the mind of whose
you’ll set a dream of
turning her into a mistress?
You must be quite sly
you’ll surely agree
in your little trap
she is much liable to sink
that she can be as strong
as a man or even Hercules
but would she know
that there would be
no one
when she would feel
human and cry
barely a soul around her
to hear her pleas?
That she is to trick
herself into faking
her real sentiment
into a heartfelt grin
because she will be
nothing
but a smiling condiment
amid the flavorless crowd
because how else can
she make you proud?
Will you tell her
that she was born
with her skin
not to cover her body
but to cover it again
by animal silk?
or better yet,
cotton, jute or laced pink?
That just a glimpse
of her ravishing thigh
can cause an ********
a sublime indication
of a man’s lusted high?
What about the time
when she would shudder
with desire
of feeling love
in its prime?
Or when she would
want to fly across the seas
and the mountains?
Would you simply
push her within
a four walled room
and shut the doors
while she rips the curtains?
Would you let her
learn to write
with a pencil
or make her sit
by the stove
by the window
in deadly still
while growing men
learn how to pay a bill
how to exercise a will
and gasp at life’s thrill?
She would still be a girl
if she came into this world
you made for yourself
a precious pearl
you’d only carve her into a stone
so she could be unfurled
to the wind and the perils
of man
Because you barely built
a world for her
along with him
together
little would she know
that we live in a
man’s deadly clan.
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 1:45 PM UTC