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Dec 2021 · 24
Eat Of My Truthiness
Scot Dec 2021
Hunger to make sense of the nonsensical tore through my mind.  Searching for a truthiness that was null because they said it was.  Not able to be possessed.  ‘Twas Laid before me a plate of maggots to eat.  Smell of rottenness, the foul stench of a bandwagon.

I looked up for the Sun and they pushed my face down.  My intellect tried to reason and so I was labeled; “ist.”  “Cast your eyes downward and agree” they bellowed belligerently.  Agreement is always truthiness as long as you agree with the approved.

But I was not moved, though the mob pressed in upon my flesh with angrily flashing blue checks.  Their ire raged at the prospect of dissent.  You must believe the right beliefs, the pure beliefs, the approved beliefs.  To stray leads to your demise and of that we will ensure.  

You see, YOU are the source of all truthiness.  Your hate is pure hate.  Holy hate.  Your “ism” is pure and holy.  A neo-ism.  A neo-ism that is unlike your isms because your isms are impure and unholy.  Not approved.  Void of truthiness.

I reeled at the contradiction.  My stomach cramped and my thoughts raced.  “Nothing is objectively known.  Nothing is true unless I say it is.”  But what I say is not approved so it’s a lie and untrue.  Unapproved.

I sensed the absolute quandary.
They drove me from the money changer’s table in the foyer of the temple.  Their righteous indignation raged against my impurities and lack of truthiness.  I was diseased of mind.  A ***** screaming “unclean!” to the holy and clean masses to prevent their corruption.

They hung themselves on the cross of my indignation.  My inability to gobble down the foul plate of maggots that they placed before me.  Unconvinced of it’s pleasant odor and deep flavor that was not.  Because they said it was.  Although it was clearly not.

“Do you not see our righteousness?  We are Pharisees.  Our father was Abraham, but he was not.  And we don’t believe in your lying religion or even in our own,” they said.  “But you must submit to our infallible religion because it is holy.  It is pure.  It is approved.”

“Because you people believe that which you can see, touch, and feel.”  But all religion is a lie they said.  Except theirs. “Believe or suffer the lake of everlasting fire for your treacherous thoughts.  Your weak search for unapproved truth.  Bow.  Confess your absolute wretchedness of which no evidence can be found.  Because we are truth.”

We are approved.  We are truthiness.
Feb 2021 · 571
Absolution
Scot Feb 2021
Don’t be sad now that I’m gone

For all my incompleteness has been made whole

My idiosyncrasies have synchronized

My evil has been turned to the good

My unwillingness made willing

Freed from myself I was allowed to right my wrong

Struggle free and find absolution

My absolution was quickly given away

To those that seek their own but cannot find it with the living
Apr 2020 · 339
Karma is a Terrible B!tch
Scot Apr 2020
When words carelessly spoken
Cause about them a terrible roar
When hearts they are broken
Selling feelings like a *****

Scorned, throttled and beaten
Torn as if limbs in their minds
Thrown down, burned into ash and eaten
Careless to hurt, living so blind

When the ones you have treated
Have died, cursed, or bleated
Bedeviling thoughts of him who is seated
Shall return to you with fire in time

With fire of their ire
Will you they seek
To tear at your bones and your heart to *****
And then you will learn that they were priceless

To a tone deaf ******* whose heart was of stone
Seek revenge upon your eternal and dying soul
Only then will you understand you were rich
Only then will you know that karma’s a *****
Apr 2020 · 369
Such as Death Should Do
Scot Apr 2020
Grip the side of the bed in fear
Swelling in the air, a curse run amok
Seeing faces turn gray the seer
Fingers turn white a stare at the clock

How can I go when I’m not ready?
The plaintive cries the hallways fill
See my hands shake, my legs unsteady
Jump out of the window or swallow a pill

Where will those with class go to mend?
Among the pittance of which they dwell
Without a small sheet to wipe their a$$es
Will they su€k and gasp to the pits of hell?

Where is the mercy that thou dost seek?
Not as gentle the mist that has released
Shall it be boisterous or commonly meek?
What shall your soul do if called deceased
Mar 2020 · 451
Listing Alone
Scot Mar 2020
I can’t share, the truths I can’t bear
Life is cold, it doesn’t seem fair

Walking beside yourself, passing you by
Needing some love, you cannot find

Earth is in action, it does not care
These are your dreams, vanish in the air

Seeing the truth in slices, that’s no lie
Gasping for air, why do I try?

Listing alone, off to the side
Seeking a purpose, a true and tried

Can’t ever go home, just wander wide
It’s all a loss, don’t know why I even tried
#songsinmyhead
Nov 2019 · 1.6k
What we are...
Scot Nov 2019
What we are isn’t what we were.
What we will be isn’t what we are now.
May 2019 · 2.5k
Earned These Wrinkles
Scot May 2019
I look in the mirror and see
Wrinkles impressed upon me
Some from good and some for bad
I've earned each one, I'm not sad

Each wrinkle tells a story
Some glad some gory
So many ups and downs
Caused the smiles and frowns

I gaze the mirror and ask
Is this really me I take to task?
How did time fly by so fast?
My life is set in wrinkles cast

Upon my face, I wear my life
My sons and dearest wife
Some happened in the fire
Some took form because it was dire

I prefer the ones that came from smiles
A raised brow to see for miles
A ripple around my face pointed up
I wouldn’t remove a wrinkle, it's been my cup
Apr 2019 · 1.5k
Nagging Question
Scot Apr 2019
If Jesus Christ did die for the sins of the world, then for which ones’ did He not?
Dec 2018 · 4.4k
Visit to a Juarez Morgue
Scot Dec 2018
A morgue is an unhappy place regardless of time or place.
The somber few that haunt the halls often project the surroundings dreadfully.
While walking the gray tiled rooms it’s known too that we shall one day wear the toe tag.
But mortality gives way to reality and jobs are done with quiet respect for passed souls.

And then there’s the Juarez Morgue...
A hot July day and a drive through Mexican customs brought a meeting with police officials.
A body in their possession, they thought, would bring transportation home.
Calloused officials with shiny gold 45’s aglow, spoke rhythmic Spanish in their police code.

A “******,” said one and this should be fun a ride with those looking more like hit men.
A car loaded with “Madrinas,” in tow and AR 15’s laid in seats in a row.
How odd thought he in a land purportedly free and fright on passerby faces.
Cocky bravado speaking radio slang,
did drive towards the Juarez morgue.

A couple miles out a turn in and out did place them in a neighborhood quiet.
But a familiar smell in a nose did swell, and wonder of how that could be valid.
Putrefaction it was, the odor rose above as the children played gleefully nearby.
How could it be when he could not see the edifice emitting the smell?

A small octagon building, small air conditioners in four windows.
Could it be that this was the morgue?
The desert sun bright and heat overbearing.
My God this is a place of death among many living, what a fright!

The escorts did enter, the detective slowly met the front door.
He was quite pensive when sliding from light to the dark.
His eyes gone black his vision insufficient, as he started to be able to see.
A wet sounding step and a curious glance, did place his feet in crimson water.

Disbelief as the room came into focus, he saw well the visions of what belong in hell.
Bags of bones stacked they were, a femur and skull, the fully decomposed welcomed.
Four porcelain tables and bodies disabled lay upon with nary a stare.
Just shortly behind bodies piled feet high forget a tray or a gurney.

Overcome by it all he began to stall, and try to gather his thoughts.
Rank smell in his nose sent him scrambling for his cigar.
The smoke unable to cover what he did discover, his heart fell hard to his knees.

How inhuman it was to see rampant disregard for the dead.
No scalpels used to cut the Y,
a kitchen knife he could cry.
Sewed up a corpse, with rough twine of course, he regretted where he did stand.
His spine became metal his mind did reel and a new wrinkle appeared on his brow.

On some summer nights when heat fills the air, he does look up to the moon.
His mind travels back to the withering stacks, and the odor still gathers in his nose.
The years have passed by and he doesn’t know why, the memories will not fade.
Restless sleep, fallen heart, many more new wrinkles have taken there place.

A war there has broken out,
and factions viciously ****.
He can’t help but wonder what has happened in Juarez.
The tractors and the bodies they plow.
No building this time a long ditch in the ground scores of people pushed into a long trench.

He walks each day with what he has seen, which cannot be unseen.
Wrestling with himself in the bed, and covering his head.
The dead they do come to visit still.
The Morgue in Juarez left it’s print in the mind of a young fellow.

Indulge the last line if you have some spare time.  Dios bendiga los muertos de Juarez.
True occurrences.

— The End —