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Like a psychotic docent in the wilderness,
I will not speak in perfect Ciceronian cadences.
I draw my voice from a much deeper cistern,
Preferring the jittery synaptic archive,
So sublimely unfiltered, random and profane.
And though I am sequestered now,
Confined within the walls of a gated, golf-coursed,
Over-55 lunatic asylum (for Active Seniors I am told),
I remain oddly puerile,
Remarkably refreshed and unfettered.  
My institutionalization self-imposed,
Purposed for my own serenity, and also the safety of others.
Yet I abide, surprisingly emancipated and frisky.
I may not have found the peace I seek,
But the quiet has mercifully come at last.

The nexus of inner and outer space is context for my story.
I was born either in Brooklyn, New York or Shungopavi, Arizona,
More of intervention divine than census data.
Shungopavi: a designated place for tribal statistical purposes.
Shungopavi: an ovine abbatoir and shaman’s cloister.
The Hopi: my mother’s people, a state of mind and grace,
Deftly landlocked, so cunningly circumscribed,
By both interior and outer Navajo boundaries.
The Navajo: a coyote trickster people; a nation of sheep thieves,
Hornswoggled and landlocked themselves,
Subsumed within three of the so-called Four Corners:
A 3/4ths compromise and covenant,
Pickled in firewater, swaddled in fine print,
A veritable swindle concocted back when the USA
Had Manifest Destiny & mayhem on its mind.

The United States: once a pubescent synthesis of blood and thunder,
A bold caboodle of trooper spit and polish, unwashed brawlers, Scouts and      
Pathfinders, mountain men, numb-nut ne'er-do-wells,
Buffalo Bills & big-balled individualists, infected, insane with greed.
According to the Gospel of His Holiness Saint Zinn,
A People’s’ History of the United States: essentially state-sponsored terrorism,
A LAND RUSH grabocracy, orchestrated, blessed and anointed,
By a succession of Potomac sharks, Great White Fascist Fathers,
Far-Away-on-the Bay, the Bay we call The Chesapeake.
All demented national patriarchs craving lebensraum for God and country.
The USA: a 50-state Leviathan today, a nation jury-rigged,
Out of railroad ties, steel rails and baling wire,
Forged by a litany of lies, rapaciousness and ******,
And jaw-torn chunks of terra firma,
Bites both large and small out of our well-****** Native American ***.

Or culo, as in va’a fare in culo (literally "go do it in the ***")
Which Italian Americans pronounce as fongool.
The language center of my brain,
My sub-cortical Broca’s region,
So fraught with such semantic misfires,
And autonomic linguistic seizures,
Compel acknowledgement of a father’s contribution,
To both the gene pool and the genocide.
Columbus Day:  a conspicuously absent holiday out here in Indian Country.
No festivals or Fifth Avenue parades.
No excuse for ethnic hoopla. No guinea feast. No cannoli. No tarantella.
No excuse to not get drunk and not **** your sister-in-law.
Emphatically a day for prayer and contemplation,
A day of infamy like Pearl Harbor and 9/11,
October 12, 1492: not a discovery; an invasion.

Growing up in Brooklyn, things were always different for me,
Different in some sort of redskin/****/****--
Choose Your Favorite Ethnic Slur-sort of way.
The American Way: dehumanization for fun and profit.
Melting *** anonymity and denial of complicity with evil.
But this is no time to bring up America’s sordid past,
Or, a personal pet peeve: Indian Sovereignty.
For Uncle Sam and his minions, an ever-widening, conveniently flexible concept,
Not a commandment or law,
Not really a treaty or a compact,
Or even a business deal.  Let’s get real:
It was not even much in the way of a guideline.
Just some kind of an advisory, a bulletin or newsletter,
Could it merely have been a free-floating suggestion?
Yes, that’s it exactly: a suggestion.

Over and under halcyon American skies,
Over and around those majestic purple mountain peaks,
Those trapped in poetic amber waves of wheat and oats,
Corn and barley, wheat shredded and puffed,
Corn flaked and milled, Wheat Chex and Wheaties, oats that are little Os;
Kix and Trix, Fiber One, and Kashi-Go-Lean, Lucky Charms and matso *****,
Kreplach and kishka,
Polenta and risotto.
Our cantaloupe and squash patch,
Our fruited prairie plain, our delicate ecological Eden,
In balance and harmony with nature, as Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce instructs:
“These white devils are not going to,
Stop ****** and killing, cheating and eating us,
Until they have the whole ******* enchilada.
I’m talking about ‘from sea to shining sea.’”

“I fight no more forever,” Babaloo.
So I must steer this clunky keelboat of discovery,
Back to the main channel of my sad and starry demented river.
My warpath is personal but not historical.
It is my brain’s own convoluted cognitive process I cannot saavy.
Whatever biochemical or—as I suspect more each day—
Whatever bio-mechanical protocols govern my identity,
My weltanschauung: my world-view, as sprechen by proto-Nazis;
Putz philosophers of the 17th, 18th & 19th century.
The German intelligentsia: what a cavalcade of maniacal *******!
Why is this Jew unsurprised these Zarathustra-fueled Übermenschen . . .
Be it the Kaiser--Caesar in Deutsch--Bismarck, ******, or,
Even that Euro-*****,  Angela Merkel . . . Why am I not surprised these Huns,
Get global grab-*** on the sauerbraten cabeza every few generations?
To be, or not to be the ***** bullgoose loony: GOTT.

Biomechanical protocols govern my identity and are implanted while I sleep.
My brain--my weak and weary CPU--is replenished, my discs defragmented.
A suite of magnetic and optical white rooms, cleansed free of contaminants,
Gun mounts & lifeboat stations manned and ready,
Standing at attention and saluting British snap-style,
Snap-to and heel click, ramrod straight and cheerful: “Ready for duty, Sir.”
My mind is ravenous, lusting for something, anything to process.
Any memory or image, lyric or construct,
Be they short-term dailies or deeply imprinted.
Fixations archived one and all in deep storage time and space.
Memories, some subconscious, most vaporous;
Others--the scary ones—eidetic: frighteningly detailed and extraordinarily vivid.
Precise cognitive transcripts; recollected so richly rife and fresh.
Visual, auditory, tactile, gustatory, and olfactory reloads:
Queued up and increasingly re-experienced.

The bio-data of six decades: it’s all there.
People, countless, places and things cataloged.
Every event, joy and trauma enveloped from within or,
Accessed externally from biomechanical storage devices.
The random access memory of a lifetime,
Read and recollected from cerebral repositories and vaults,
All the while the entire greedy process overseen,
Over-driven by that all-subservient British bat-man,
Rummaging through the data in batches small and large,
Internal and external drives working in seamless syncopation,
Self-referential, at times paradoxical or infinitely looped.
“Cogito ergo sum."
Descartes stripped it down to the basics but there’s more to the story:
Thinking about thinking.
A curse and minefield for the cerebral:  metacognition.

No, it is not the fact that thought exists,
Or even the thoughts themselves.
But the information technology of thought that baffles me,
As adaptive and profound as any evolution posited by Darwin,
Beyond the wetware in my skull, an entirely new operating system.
My mental and cultural landscape are becoming one.
Machines are connecting the two.
It’s what I am and what I am becoming.
Once more for emphasis:
It is the information technology of who I am.
It is the operating system of my mental and cultural landscape.
It is the machinery connecting the two.
This is the central point of this narrative:
Metacognition--your superego’s yenta Cassandra,
Screaming, screaming in your psychic ear, your good ear:

“LISTEN:  The machines are taking over, taking you over.
Your identity and train of thought are repeatedly hijacked,
Switched off the main line onto spurs and tangents,
Only marginally connected or not at all.
(Incoming TEXT from my editor: “Lighten Up, Giuseppi!”)
Reminding me again that most in my audience,
Rarely get past the comic page. All righty then: think Calvin & Hobbes.
John Calvin, a precocious and adventurous six-year old boy,
Subject to flights of 16th Century French theological fancy.
Thomas Hobbes, a sardonic anthropomorphic tiger from 17th Century England,
Mumbling about life being “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short.”
Taken together--their antics and shenanigans--their relationship to each other,
Remind us of our dual nature; explore for us broad issues like public education;
The economy, environmentalism & the Global ****** Thermometer;
Not to mention the numerous flaws of opinion polls.



And again my editor TEXTS me, reminds me again: “LIGHTEN UP!”
Consoling me:  “Even Shakespeare had to play to the groundlings.”
The groundlings, AKA: The Rabble.
Yes. Even the ******* Bard, even Willie the Shake,
Had to contend with a decidedly lowbrow copse of carrion.
Oh yes, the groundlings, a carrion herd, a flying flock of carrion seagulls,
Carrion crow, carrion-feeders one and all,
And let’s throw Sheryl Crow into the mix while we’re at it:
“Hit it! This ain't no disco. And it ain't no country club either, this is L.A.”  

                  Send "All I Wanna Do" Ringtone to your Cell              

Once more, I digress.
The Rabble:  an amorphous, gelatinous Jabba the Hutt of commonality.
The Rabble: drunk, debauched & lawless.
Too *****-delicious to stop Bill & Hilary from thinking about tomorrow;
Too Paul McCartney My Love Does it Good to think twice.

The Roman Saturnalia: a weeklong **** fest.
The Saturnalia: originally a pagan kink-fest in honor of the deity Saturn.
Dovetailing nicely with the advent of the Christian era,
With a project started by Il Capo di Tutti Capi,
One of the early popes, co-opting the Roman calendar between 17 and 25 December,
Putting the finishing touches on the Jesus myth.
For Brooklyn Hopi-***-Jew baby boomers like me,
Saturnalia manifested itself as Disco Fever,
Unpleasant years of electrolysis, scrunched ***** in tight polyester
For Roman plebeians, for the great unwashed citizenry of Rome,
Saturnalia was just a great big Italian wedding:
A true family blowout and once-in-a-lifetime ego-trip for Dad,
The father of the bride, Vito Corleone, Don for A Day:
“Some think the world is made for fun and frolic,
And so do I! Funicula, Funiculi!”

America: love it or leave it; my country right or wrong.
Sure, we were citizens of Rome,
But any Joe Josephus spending the night under a Tiber bridge,
Or sleeping off a three day drunk some afternoon,
Up in the Coliseum bleachers, the cheap seats, out beyond the monuments,
The original three monuments in the old stadium,
Standing out in fair territory out in center field,
Those three stone slabs honoring Gehrig, Huggins, and Babe.
Yes, in the house that Ruth built--Home of the Bronx Bombers--***?
Any Joe Josephus knows:  Roman citizenship doesn’t do too much for you,
Except get you paxed, taxed & drafted into the Legion.
For us the Roman lifestyle was HIND-*** humble.
We plebeians drew our grandeur by association with Empire.
Very few Romans and certainly only those of the patrician class lived high,
High on the hog, enjoying a worldly extravaganza, like—whom do we both know?

Okay, let’s say Laurence Olivier as Crassus in Spartacus.
Come on, you saw Spartacus fifteen ******* times.
Remember Crassus?
Crassus: that ***** twisted **** trying to get his freak on with,
Tony Curtis in a sunken marble tub?
We plebes led lives of quiet *****-scratching desperation,
A bunch of would-be legionnaires, diseased half the time,
Paid in salt tablets or baccala, salted codfish soaked yellow in olive oil.
Stiffs we used to call them on New Year’s Eve in Brooklyn.
Let’s face it: we were hyenas eating someone else’s ****,
Stage-door jackals, Juvenal-come-late-lies, a mob of moronic mook boneheads
Bought off with bread & circuses and Reality TV.
Each night, dished up a wide variety of lowbrow Elizabethan-era entertainments.  
We contemplate an evening on the town, downtown—
(cue Petula Clark/Send "Downtown" Ringtone to your Cell)

On any given London night, to wit:  mummers, jugglers, bear & bull baiters.
How about dog & **** fighters, quoits & skittles, alehouses & brothels?
In short, somewhere, anywhere else,
Anywhere other than down along the Thames,
At Bankside in Southwark, down in the Globe Theater mosh pit,
Slugging it out with the groundlings whose only interest,
In the performance is the choreography of swordplay and stale ****** puns.
Meanwhile, Hugh Fennyman--probably a fellow Jew,
An English Renaissance Bugsy Siegel or Mickey Cohen—
Meanwhile Fennyman, the local mob boss is getting his ya-yas,
Roasting the feet of my text-messaging editor, Philip Henslowe.
Poor and pathetic Henslowe, works on commission, always scrounging,
But a true patron of my craft, a gentleman of infinite jest and patience,
Spiritual subsistence, and every now and then a good meal at some,
Sawdust joint with oyster shells, and a Prufrockian silk purse of T.S. Eliot gold.

Poor, pathetic Henslowe, trussed up by Fennyman,
His editorial feet in what looks like a Japanese hibachi.
Henslowe’s feet to the fire--feet to the fire—get it?
A catchy phrase whose derivation conjures up,
A grotesque yet vivid image of torture,
An exquisite insight into how such phrases ingress the idiom,
Not to mention a scene once witnessed at a secret Romanian CIA prison,
I’d been ordered to Bucharest not long after 9/11,
Handling the rendition and torture of Habib Ghazzawy,

An entirely innocent falafel maker from Steinway Street, Astoria, Queens.
Shock the Monkey: it’s what we do. GOTO:
Peter Gabriel - Shock the Monkey/
(HQ music video) - YouTube//
www.youtube.com/
Poor, pathetic, ******-on Henslowe.


Fennyman :  (his avarice is whet by something Philly screams out about a new script)  "A play takes time. Find actors; Rehearsals. Let's say open in three weeks. That's--what--five hundred groundlings at tuppence each, in addition four hundred groundlings tuppence each, in addition four hundred backsides at three pence--a penny extra for a cushion, call it two hundred cushions, say two performances for safety how much is that Mr. Frees?"
Jacobean Tweet, John (1580-1684) Webster:  “I saw him kissing her bubbies.”

It’s Geoffrey Rush, channeling Henslowe again,
My editor, a singed smoking madman now,
Feet in an ice bucket, instructing me once more:
“Lighten things up, you know . . .
Comedy, love and a bit with a dog.”
I digress again and return to Hopi Land, back to my shaman-monastic abattoir,
That Zen Center in downtown Shungopavi.
At the Tribal Enrolment Office I make my case for a Certificate of Indian Blood,
Called a CIB by the Natives and the U.S. Bureau of Indian Affairs.
The BIA:  representing gold & uranium miners, cattle and sheep ranchers,
Sodbusters & homesteaders; railroaders and dam builders since 1824.
Just in time for Andrew Jackson, another false friend of Native America,
Just before Old Hickory, one of many Democratic Party hypocrites and scoundrels,
Gives the FONGOOL, up the CULO go ahead.
Hey Andy, I’ve got your Jacksonian democracy: Hanging!
The Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA) mission is to:   "… enhance the quality of life, to promote economic opportunity, and to carry out the responsibility to protect and improve the trust assets of American Indians, Indian tribes, and Alaska Natives. What’s that in the fine print?  Uncle Sammy holds “the trust assets of American Indians.”

Here’s a ******* tip, Geronimo: if he trusted you,
It would ALL belong to you.
To you and The People.
But it’s all fork-tongued white *******.
If true, Indian sovereignty would cease to be a sick one-liner,
Cease to be a blunt force punch line, more of,
King Leopold’s 19th Century stand-up comedy schtick,
Leo Presents: The **** of the Congo.
La Belgique mission civilisatrice—
That’s what French speakers called Uncle Leo’s imperial public policy,
Bringing the gift of civilization to central Africa.
Like Manifest Destiny in America, it had a nice colonial ring to it.
“Our manifest destiny [is] to overspread the continent,
Allotted by Providence for the free development,
Of our yearly multiplying millions.”  John L. O'Sullivan, 1845

Our civilizing mission or manifest destiny:
Either/or, a catchy turn of phrase;
Not unlike another ironic euphemism and semantic subterfuge:
The Pacification of the West; Pacification?
Hardly: decidedly not too peaceful for Cochise & Tonto.
Meanwhile, Madonna is cash rich but disrespected Evita poor,
To wit: A ****** on the Rocks (throwing in a byte or 2 of Da Vinci Code).
Meanwhile, Miss Ciccone denied her golden totem *****.
They snubbed that little guinea ****, didn’t they?
Snubbed her, robbed her rotten.
Evita, her magnum opus, right up there with . . .
Her SNL Wayne’s World skit:
“Get a load of the unit on that guy.”
Or, that infamous MTV Music Video Awards stunt,
That classic ***** Lip-Lock with Britney Spears.

How could I not see that Oscar snubola as prime evidence?
It was just another stunning case of American anti-Italian racial animus.
Anyone familiar with Noam Chomsky would see it,
Must view it in the same context as the Sacco & Vanzetti case,
Or, that arbitrary lynching of 9 Italian-Americans in New Orleans in 1891,
To cite just two instances of anti-Italian judicial reach & mob violence,
Much like what happened to my cousin Dominic,
Gang-***** by the Harlem Globetrotters, in their locker room during halftime,
While he working for Abe Saperstein back in 1952.
Dom was doing advance for Abe, supporting creation of The Washington Generals:
A permanent stable of hoop dream patsies and foils,
Named for the ever freewheeling, glad-handing, backslapping,
Supreme Commander Allied Expeditionary Force (SCAEF), himself,
Namely General Dwight D. Eisenhower, the man they liked,
And called IKE: quite possibly a crypto Jew from Abilene.

Of course, Harry Truman was my first Great White Fascist Father,
Back in 1946, when I first opened my eyes, hung up there,
High above, looking down from the adobe wall.
Surveying the entire circular kiva,
I had the best seat in the house.
Don’t let it be said my Spider Grandmother or Hopi Corn Mother,
Did not want me looking around at things,
Discovering what made me special.
Didn’t divine intervention play a significant part of my creation?
Knowing Mamma Mia and Nonna were Deities,
Gave me an edge later on the streets of Brooklyn.
The Cradleboard: was there ever a more divinely inspired gift to human curiosity? The Cradleboard: a perfect vantage point, an infant’s early grasp,
Of life harmonious, suspended between Mother Earth and Father Sky.
Simply put: the Hopi should be running our ******* public schools.

But it was IKE with whom I first associated,
Associated with the concept 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
I liked IKE. Who didn’t?
What was not to like?
He won the ******* war, didn’t he?
And he wasn’t one of those crazy **** John Birchers,
Way out there, on the far right lunatic Republican fringe,
Was he? (It seems odd and nearly impossible to believe in 2013,
That there was once a time in our Boomer lives,
When the extreme right wing of the Republican Party
Was viewed by the FBI as an actual threat to American democracy.)
Understand: it was at a time when The FBI,
Had little ideological baggage,
But a great appetite for secrets,
The insuppressible Jay Edgar doing his thang.

IKE: of whom we grew so, oh-so Fifties fond.
Good old reliable, Nathan Shaking IKE:
He’d been fixed, hadn’t he? Had had the psychic snip.
Snipped as a West Point cadet & parade ground martinet.
Which made IKE a good man to have in a pinch,
Especially when crucial policy direction was way above his pay grade.
Cousin Dom was Saperstein’s bagman, bribing out the opposition,
Which came mainly from religious and patriotic organizations,
Viewing the bogus white sports franchise as obscene.
The Washington Generals, Saperstein’s new team would have but one opponent,
And one sole mission: to serve as the **** of endless jokes and sight gags for—
Negroes.  To play the chronic fools of--
Negroes.  To be chronically humiliated and insulted by—
Negroes.  To run up and down the boards all night, being outran by—
Negroes.  Not to mention having to wear baggy silk shorts.



Meadowlark Lemon:  “Yeah, Charlie, we ***** that grease-ball Dominic; we shagged his guinea mouth and culo rotten.”  

(interviewed in his Scottsdale, AZ winter residence in 2003 by former ESPN commentator Charlie Steiner, Malverne High School, Class of ’67.)
                                                        
  ­                                                                 ­                 
IKE, briefed on the issue by higher-ups, quickly got behind the idea.
The Harlem Globetrotters were to exist, and continue to exist,
Are sustained financially by Illuminati sponsors,
For one reason and one reason only:
To serve elite interests that the ***** be kept down and subservient,
That the minstrel show be perpetuated,
A policy surviving the elaborate window dressing of the civil rights movement, Affirmative action, and our first Uncle Tom president.
Case in point:  Charles Barkley, Dennis Rodman & Metta World Peace Artest.
Cha-cha-cha changing again:  I am Robert Allen Zimmermann,
A whiny, skinny Jew, ****** and rolling in from Minnesota,
Arrested, obviously a vagrant, caught strolling around his tony Jersey enclave,
Having moved on up the list, the A-list, a special invitation-only,
Yom Kippur Passover Seder:  Next Year in Jerusalem, Babaloo!

I take ownership of all my autonomic and conditioned reflexes;
Each personal neural arc and pathway,
All shenanigans & shellackings,
Or blunt force cognitive traumas.
It’s all percolating nicely now, thank you,
In kitchen counter earthen crockery:
Random access memory: a slow-cook crockpot,
Bubbling through my psychic sieve.
My memories seem only remotely familiar,
Distant and vague, at times unreal:
An alien hybrid databank accessed accidently on purpose;
Flaky science sustains and monitors my nervous system.
And leads us to an overwhelming question:
Is it true that John Dillinger’s ******* is in the Smithsonian Museum?
Enquiring minds want to know, Kemosabe!

“Any last words, *******?” TWEETS Adam Smith.
Postmortem cyber-graffiti, an epitaph carved in space;
Last words, so singular and simple,
Across the universal great divide,
Frisbee-d, like a Pleistocene Kubrick bone,
Tossed randomly into space,
Morphing into a gyroscopic space station.
Mr. Smith, a calypso capitalist, and me,
Me, the Poet Laureate of the United States and Adam;
Who, I didn’t know from Adam.
But we tripped the light fantastic,
We boogied the Protestant Work Ethic,
To the tune of that old Scotch-Presbyterian favorite,
Variations of a 5-point Calvinist theme: Total Depravity; Election; Particular Redemption; Irresistible Grace; & Perseverance of the Saints.

Mr. Smith, the author of An Inquiry into the Nature
& Causes of the Wealth of Nations (1776),
One of the best-known, intellectual rationales for:
Free trade, capitalism, and libertarianism,
The latter term a euphemism for Social Darwinism.
Prior to 1764, Calvinists in France were called Huguenots,
A persecuted religious majority . . . is that possible?
A persecuted majority of Edict of Nantes repute.
Adam Smith, likely of French Huguenot Jewish ancestry himself,
Reminds me that it is my principal plus interest giving me my daily gluten.
And don’t think the irony escapes me now,
A realization that it has taken me nearly all my life to see again,
What I once saw so vividly as a child, way back when.
Before I put away childish things, including the following sentiment:
“All I need is the air that I breathe.”

  Send "The Air That I Breathe" Ringtone to your Cell  

The Hippies were right, of course.
The Hollies had it all figured out.
With the answer, as usual, right there in the lyrics.
But you were lucky if you were listening.
There was a time before I embraced,
The other “legendary” economists:
The inexorable Marx,
The savage society of Veblen,
The heresies we know so well of Keynes.
I was a child.
And when I was a child, I spake as a child—
Grazie mille, King James—
I understood as a child; I thought as a child.
But when I became a man I jumped on the bus with the band,
Hopped on the irresistible bandwagon of Adam Smith.

Smith:  “Any last words, *******?”
Okay, you were right: man is rationally self-interested.
Grazie tanto, Scotch Enlightenment,
An intellectual movement driven by,
An alliance of Calvinists and Illuminati,
Freemasons and Johnny Walker Black.
Talk about an irresistible bandwagon:
Smith, the gloomy Malthus, and David Ricardo,
Another Jew boy born in London, England,
Third of 17 children of a Sephardic family of Portuguese origin,
Who had recently relocated from the Dutch Republic.
******* Jews!
Like everything shrewd, sane and practical in this world,
WE also invented the concept:  FOLLOW THE MONEY.

The lyrics: if you were really listening, you’d get it:
Respiration keeps one sufficiently busy,
Just breathing free can be a full-time job,
Especially when--borrowing a phrase from British cricketers—,
One contemplates the sorry state of the wicket.
Now that I am gainfully superannuated,
Pensioned off the employment radar screen.
Oft I go there into the wild ebon yonder,
Wandering the brain cloud at will.
My journey indulges curiosity, creativity and deceit.
I free range the sticky wicket,
I have no particular place to go.
Snagging some random fact or factoid,
A stop & go rural postal route,
Jumping on and off the brain cloud.

Just sampling really,
But every now and then, gorging myself,
At some information super smorgasbord,
At a Good Samaritan Rest Stop,
I ponder my own frazzled neurology,
When I was a child—
Before I learned the grim economic facts of life and Judaism,
Before I learned Hebrew,
Before my laissez-faire Bar Mitzvah lessons,
Under the rabbinical tutelage of Rebbe Kahane--
I knew what every clever child knows about life:
The surfing itself is the destination.
Accessing RAM--random access memory—
On a strictly need to know basis.
RAM:  a pretty good name for consciousness these days.

If I were an Asimov or Sir Arthur (Sri Lankabhimanya) Clarke,
I’d get freaky now, riffing on Terminators, Time Travel and Cyborgs.
But this is truth not science fiction.
Nevertheless, someone had better,
Come up with another name for cyborg.
Some other name for a critter,
Composed of both biological and artificial parts?
Parts-is-parts--be they electronic, mechanical or robotic.
But after a lifetime of science fiction media,
After a steady media diet, rife with dystopian technology nightmares,
Is anyone likely to admit to being a cyborg?
Since I always give credit where credit is due,
I acknowledge that cyborg was a term coined in 1960,
By Manfred Clynes & Nathan S. Kline and,
Used to identify a self-regulating human-machine system in outer space.

Five years later D. S. Halacy's: Cyborg: Evolution of the Superman,
Featured an introduction, which spoke of:  “… a new frontier, that was not,
Merely space, but more profoundly, the relationship between inner space,
And outer space; a bridge, i.e., between mind and matter.”
So, by definition, a cyborg defined is an organism with,
Technology-enhanced abilities: an antenna array,
Replacing what was once sentient and human.
My glands, once in control of metabolism and emotions,
Have been replaced by several servomechanisms.
I am biomechanical and gluttonous.
Soaking up and breathing out the atmosphere,
My Baby Boom experience of six decades,
Homogenized and homespun, feedback looped,
Endlessly networked through predigested mass media,
Culture as demographically targeted content.

This must have something to do with my own metamorphosis.
I think of Gregor Samsa, a Kafkaesque character if there ever was one.
And though we share common traits,
My evolutionary progress surpasses and transcends his.
Samsa--Phylum and Class--was, after all, an insect.
Nonetheless, I remain a changeling.
Have I not seen many stages of growth?
Each a painful metamorphic cycle,
From exquisite first egg,
Through caterpillar’s appetite & squirm.
To phlegmatic bliss and pupa quietude,
I unfold my wings in a rush of Van Gogh palette,
Color, texture, movement and grace, lift off, flapping in flight.
My eyes have witnessed wondrous transformations,
My experience, nouveau riche and distinctly self-referential;
For the most part unspecific & longitudinally pedestrian.

Yes, something has happened to me along the way.
I am no longer certain of my identity as a human being.
Time and technology has altered my basic wiring diagram.
I suspect the sophisticated gadgets and tools,
I’ve been using to shape & make sense of my environment,
Have reared up and turned around on me.
My tools have reshaped my brain & central nervous system.
Remaking me as something simultaneously more and less human.
The electronic toys and tools I once so lovingly embraced,
Have turned unpredictable and rabid,
Their bite penetrating my skin and septic now, a cluster of implanted sensors,
Content: currency made increasingly more valuable as time passes,
Served up by and serving the interests of a pervasively predatory 1%.
And the rest of us: the so-called 99%?
No longer human; simply put by both Howards--Beale & Zinn--

Humanoid.
suicidal twitch Oct 2014
I like Homestuck,
Donald Duck,
Ancient Greek Gaea,
APH Hetalia,
Marzia and Pewdiepie,
Random bow ties,
Doctor Who,
That colour of greenish blue,
Sherlock Holmes,
Garden gnomes,
Boy/boy ****,
Sweet tea,
Left 4 dead,
Books I've read,
Minecraft,
When I laughed,
Yu-Gi-Oh,
Gateau,
Ender's Game,
Notre Dame,
World War One,
World War Two,
Mouse and shrew,
Bugsy Malone,
Jam scones,
Birthday cake,
Milk shake,
Drawing art,
Taking part,
MLP,
Shopping spree,
Sleeping in,
West Berlin,
Random songs,
When bells go ****,
Stars shine,
My blood line,
All my friends,
The latest trends,
Yuri much,
And such and such,
Fanfiction,
A prediction,
Doujinshis,
Marshall Lee,
RhymeZone,
My touchscreen phone,
I could go on,
But that's too long,
But my favourite is,
Hello poetry - so don't diss!!
Finally finished darlings!
Slam Jamson Jan 2014
S* is for Seduction, a vast verb saved for flesh,
But in her outer-worldly tune, my thoughts become enmeshed;
Like at the great Salamis, where strength sought strike the feeble,
Seduction marked our birth, their fall—an end without a sequel.

L heralds in some fifty lads, of whom mere five would pass,
Bugsy, Daphne, Sylvester, and Tazzy, above their peers compassed.
The tests were long, the trials were tough, from nothing we had fostered
A team of lucky, noble lads to fight these migrant monstærs.

A is the assault, outnumbered and outclassed,
Our heroes boldly braved their foes until their stalwart last.
Despite their lead by tyrants, such Nawt of Hispaniola,
Our foes were forced unto retreat, costing us Lady Lola.

M is for the ones who’ve fallen, for them mourn reminiscence,
For those who proudly placed their names for our petty subsistence.
The fight is done, the beasts beat back, denied all loot and hoarding,
And so a statue is *****: Honorum Mikael Iordan!
Big Virge Sep 2021
So These Days I’m Thinking...
WHO Can Be Said...
To Be... Heroes And Villains... ?
  
Cos’ It’s A Question That Begs...
For... INFORMED Decisions... !!!
  
Mainstream Descriptions...
Are Driven Through Pictures...
And Clearly Some Scriptures...
Do More Than Disfigure...
  
The Truth About Those...
Wearing... Emperors Clothes...
  
And Clearly Some Kings...
Have Done Villainous Things...
  
Just Like These Gangsters...
Who Like To **** Hammers... !!!
Who Get Hero Status...
In TV Show Chapters...
  
Or Are They Just Villains...
Who Do ***** Business... !?!
  
Which Leads Me To Money...
And Those Who Pursue It...
As If Their Name’s Bugsy...
And Love It Like Cupid... !!!
  
Are HEROES The Type...
Who’ll HIKE UP The Price...
Until You Can’t Pay...
  
Is That How They Behave... ?!?
  
Which Now Leads Me To Say...
That... Financial Villains...
Seem To Be... POLITICIANS... !!!
  
Who Deal In Restrictions...
And Secretive Missions... !!!
  
All Types of Conditions...
And Forms of Rendition...
That Use Ammunition...
To Indulge In Killing...
of Innocent Victims... !!!
  
But WHO’s INNOCENT...
And HEROIC In Death... ?!?
  
Whose Acts Are HEROIC...
When War Becomes POTENT... ?!?
  
Soldiers And Toters...
of BIG GUNS In Holsters...
That Cause Roller Coasters... ?!?
  
That Take Minds On Rides...
That DESTROY Peoples’ Lives...  
  
And WHO Gets To Decide...
What A HERO DEFINES... ?!?
  
Those Who Hold POWER... !!!
And Make People Cower...
Because Who THEY KNOW...
Embrace VILLAINOUS Roles... !?!
  
The Type That Aren’t Shown...
In... Online Videos... !!!
  
Or On The BIG SCREEN...
If You Get What I Mean... ???
  
Are Heroes UNSEEN...
PRISTINE And SO CLEAN...
That They’re NEVER Dirtied...?!?
  
And What About Those...
Who Are Now Claiming Thrones...
In World Media Zones...
  
Are These People HEROES... ?!?
  
Or Just... BIG MONEY **’s...
Whose Souls Have DEEP Holes...
When Their Lives Are EXPOSED... !?!
  
It’s A World Where UNSTABLE...
  
People... Get NICE Labels...
That Seem To Tell Fables...
  
So Who Was The Villain...
Was It... Cain Or Abel... ?!?
  
When Truth Is What’s Written...
WHO Then Becomes VILLAINS... ?!?
  
Cos’ Heroes Would Seem...
To Embrace Secrecy...
  
According To Themes...
That Are Seen In Movies...
  
Hiding Behind...
All These Costumes And Masks...
  
Needing To Disguise...
Who They Actually Are...
  
Which Would Seem To Be Farce...
Because What Kind of Hero...
Just Works In... The Dark... ?!?
  
When People Need Light...
To STOP Villainous Hearts...
So That They Can See...
Who The REAL HEROES Be... !!!
  
And Then Consequently...
GET RID of New Villains...
BEFORE They Can Reach...
A Place Where They Feed...
  
Something Like Vaccines...
To Humans... GLOBALLY... !!!
  
You See Heroes And Villains...
Are DANGEROUS Labels...
To Be Out Their... Giving...
To... Corporate Stables... !!!
of Minds Who Devise...
Some Insidious Crimes... !!!
  
Like These BIG PHARMA Guys...
Whose Products Take Lives...
  
Just Check Through Their Files... !!!
  
These Days I’m Inclined...
To Not Just Apply...
A Title of Hero...
Or Villain To ZEROS... !!!
  
Because There Are MANY...
Whose Lives Are UNsTeaDy... !!!
  
Who Are NOT Heroic...
  
Their Egos Are BLOATED...
And Just OVERFLOWING...
With Compliments Given...
By People NOT DRIVEN...
To Take TIME To Listen...
And Compute Like... VISION... !!!
  
To See What Is Hidden...
BEHIND All Their Grinning... !?!
  
While Those Seen As Villains...
Are On Righteous Missions...
That DON’T Deal In Fiction...  
... Abusing Or Killing... !!!
  
These People Are Willing...
To Take STRONG POSITIONS... !!!
  
That May See Them SUFFER...
Or Have To Take Cover...
From Villainous Suckers...  
Who Move Just Like DARTH... !!!
  
Because Heroes Are STRONG...
And Will Fight Against Wrong...
From The Moment They START... !!!
  
While It Seems VILLAINS Are...
More Willing To Play...
Along With The Games...
That Are Now On Display...
On Our Big Screens Today...
  
And Then Have The Cheek...
When It’s Late In The Day...
To Then Start To Speak...
And Make ALL Kinds of Claims...
About Changing Their Ways...
And That Things Need To Change...
  
Just Like Villainous Snakes... !!!
They Just Slither Away...
And Make Worms Turn And Hate... !!!
  
While Heroes Stand STRAIGHT...
And Don’t Fear Facing Pain... !!!
  
Which Is Why I Have Written...
This Verse That’s Rhyme Driven...
  
Because Right Now I’m Thinking...
That Heroes Are MISSING...
While Villains Are Shifting...
The Rules of The Game...
To Suit VILLAINOUS Gains... !!!
  
So My Question Is This...
Who TRULY Now FITS...
  
And BEFITS The Description...
of Those Who Are Claimed...
  
To Be.....
  
..... “ Heroes And Villains “.....
I'm not so sure who's who, in this world now ???
Leah Ward Feb 2013
Ruth T. ****** put her cigarette between
Her chapped lips and sighed
As she started the dishes.
She was feminine in the same way
that Clint Eastwood is; She wasn't.
"Mama?"
"Oh god!" Ruth squealed,
Allowing the cigarette to fall
From her mouth into the sink where
It went out with a sizzle.
"I don't mean to scare you none,"
"What?"
"Where's Papa? He said he'd be
Home tonight to help me fix my wagon
For Bugsy."
"Well he isn't." Ruth resumed
The dishes in the same way that one
would pick up a book.
"But where is he?"
"I don't know ******!" But she most
Certianly did know. "Did you string the
Laundry on the line like I told you to?"
"No."

Rosie J. ****** fell asleep that night,
Thinking that she had deserved
Exactly what her Mama had
Done to her left eye.
Jake muler Mar 2016
As far back as I can remember, i always wanted to be a gangster.
-Quote by Ray liotta in good fellas movie.-

“Nothing personal, it’s just business” ~ Otto Berman

“Las Vegas turns women into men and men into idiots.” ~ Bugsy Siegel.


“This life of ours, this is a wonderful life. If you can get through life like this and get away with it, hey, that’s great. But its very, very unpredictable. There’s so many ways you can ***** it up.” ~ Paul Castellano

Thirty-two hundred dollars he gave me. Thirty-two hundred dollars for a lifetime. It wasn’t even enough to pay for the coffin.” (ray liotta as Henry hill) good fellas movie.


“I hate to say this, but this place is getting to me. I think I’m getting the fear.” Dr. Gonzo( fear and loathing in Las Vegas)


“If my answers frighten you then you should cease asking scary questions.” Jules. ( movie pulp fiction with John travolta and Samuel l. Jackson. Also starring bruce Willis.)

“No matter how big a guy might be, Nicky would take him on. You beat Nicky with fists, he comes back with a bat. You beat him with a knife, he comes back with a gun. And you beat him
with a gun, you better **** him, because he’ll keep comin’ back and back
until one of you is dead.” Ace Rothstein ( movie Casino) Robert deniro, Joe pesci.
Kevin Eli Dec 2014
My Grandmother told me stories
How she lived across the street from Bugsy Siegel's mother in Brooklyn
If you knew my family, it's hardly believable.
Mobsters near the family, I was told "things always fell off the truck."
I guess Great Grandpa Willie made it by, must have had good luck.

Berger became Bock, Grandma Marcia married Joel, my Grandpa.
He left Brooklyn for the Air force and they moved to Arkansas
East to Midwest, to West....
Grandma went with him, they finally rested in sunny California.
Willie would have been proud of Joel when he served during Korea.

William Berger passed away, I never knew him.
We now have scholars, businessmen, artists and athletes
It's iconic how living here will shape your reality
The memories and moments of a family to which we clutch
Softly being recorded, my family history shows how much he loved us.

A mysterious, touching legacy was left over time.
I'm sure my grandmother keeps pictures and pages I will never find.
No matter what, whether he was honest, hardworking, or in crime,
I know he did it all for his family, prosperity or depressing times.

I was told he had a lot of courage, and always made friends
I wish I could have seen his face, I wish I could have met the man.

Grandma says I look like him.
Onoma Oct 2018
i was induced

to a laughter so

wild, of whose

cause slipped out

of the box undetected...

that the moon herself

scratched her head.
Butch Decatoria Nov 2017
Bugsy's dream                                Operatic fountains synchronized streams
                                                     Dead music legends interpreted by cirque
                                                     glamour the eyes neon and distractions

gangster's paradise
imploded and expanded                  stars in the sky out shined by fluorescent sands

desert roads in summer throes
craps and snake eyes
piercingly like void venom              artifice and slots easy as swallowing shots
                                                     life: a machination of mannequins
electric pulse of a new heart
as mob money mobs                        sincerely catering service champagne rooms
since greed barely sleeps
and lust is always hungry...             it be only history now viral and industry

sin city  
once only an idea, a peanut
from - y'know - "like whoa! what the frank??..."
but gotta hand it
the business took                            legit crooks, stashing books, making whoop...
dream getaways by blue moons      
in blue pools
privacy like freedom is a pension crap toss
EXPENSIVE...

where those blind to consequence
can witness
(convertible caddy)
the highway to losing grace              seeing is half believing when gambling
                                                       feels like a game, and the surroundings
                                                       rarely change.
Where the indifferent ego
Idled by self
becomes a parasitic pretender
talented liar
actor to some...                              walking among
                                                      the vapid vehemency of true victors & kings
brilliantly glamourized
in billboard lights
numbingly blinking                          hypno hyper active analogues
                                                      of high def diminishment
of common folly logic
displacia of senses
fairy-dust of forgetting                   (in a Benjamin straw)

duty discarded
familial responsibility a hollow weight
a close second to desperations

the hustle was once a dance

the true crime and you
metro and the fool
willing food                                   flash floods and tour buses full

just to be had

gangster pimped out a city
called it "the table"
dubbed by sin
stole some cash

catering to our vices / service entrance in the back

"What happened in vegas...?"

some call it  being had ...
Big Virge Aug 2021
Now When It Comes To Poetry...
Most Peeps’ Prefer To Read...
  
Poetry That’s... “ LOVELY “...
As Well As BRIGHT And SUNNY...
  
Well My Style of Poetry...
Deals With What Many...
See As..... UGLY...... !!!
  
And CRIMINAL Like BUGSY... !!!
  
NOT Quite Like Malone...
But Y’all Know That My Style...
Is... GOOD TO GO... !!!
  
Because I’ve Got Rhymes...
That... Flow And FLOW... !!!
  
That Sometimes Do Talk...
of How The Good Times Roll...
  
But... NEVER Resort...
To Refusing To Show...
That Humans Have Shown...
That We’re Gonna Pay Tolls...
  
For Making BAD Choices... !!!
  
When It Comes To The Voices...
We Choose To Make Moves...
  
In Ways That CLEARLY...
AREN’T... Nice And Snuggly... !!!
  
So What’s With This Need...
For What's... Light And Fluffy... ?!?  
  
In Poetry Written...
About How We’re Living...
  
From Gender To Women... !!!
  
When Roasting’s FORGIVEN...
And Is NOT Forbidden... ?!?
In Verse Built For DISSING...
That’s Clearly HARD Hitting...
And Quite UNFORGIVING... !!!
  
Due To... Opinions...
That Give Criticisms... !!!
  
That Are NOT...
... “ Light And Fluffy “... !!!
  
Well To Me Something’s WRONG...
When People Think ******’s...
What Makes Poems COOL...
And Good To Be Used...
On... Radio Shows... !?!
  
Instead of The JOKES...
Now Running Countries... ?!?
  
I’ve Said It Before...
ISN'T Poetry’s Cause...
To Feed Something MORE... !?!
In Its Subject Matter...
Than Frivolous Chatter...
And Poetic BANTER... ?!?
  
That’s DARK But LACKS PANTHERS...
Who’ll Stand Up To Those...
Who Wear Police Clothes... !!!
  
Who BREAK Peoples Hearts...
And Leave PERMANENT MARKS... !!!
  
When They Leave Lives SHATTERED... !!!
TATTERED And FORLORN... !!!
  
Isn’t THAT What This Art Form...  
Is... ACTUALLY For... ?!?
  
Is Critical Thinking NOT Cool Anymore... ?!?
Because Light And Fluffy Is Now What Is Poured...
Into The Psyches of Those Treading Lightly...
  
When It Comes To The Dummies...
Now Making BAD CALLS...
That Are HURTING Us All... !!!
  
Is It... BRIGHT And LOVELY...
When Their Plans ENFORCE...
... COMPULSORY Orders...
And PREJUDICED Laws... !!!
  
The MAJORITY Clearly...
DON’T See The Shortfalls...
And Future PITFALLS...
of Things That May SERIOUSLY...
  
Leave Freedoms FORLORN... !!!
  
Because of This NONSENSE...
That Seems To Be STOPPING...
  
Free Speech From Being RAW...
And A Critically POWERFUL Force... !!!
  
That Inspires DEEP Thoughts...
Instead of Fuelling WARS... !!!
  
But This CANNOT Happen...
If Critical Talk Is Simply Cut Short...
And NOT Heard Anymore... !!!
  
Because of OFFENCE...
That It’s Likely To Cause...
  
Well These Words MUST Be Said... !!!
What Kind of WEAK Thinking...
Leaves Conscious Thoughts SINKING... ?!?
  
When It Comes To This World...
And How It Now Turns... ?!?
  
This Pattern DISTURBS...
When It Comes To The Verse...
That's Fed To The HERDS...
  
Who DON’T Seem To Like...
... DEEP REALITY Rhymes... !!!
  
Because Their Faith's Placed...
In Political Games And Religious Faiths...
That CLAIM... " God Is Great "... !!!
  
But Then DISGRACE His Name...
With How They Behave... !?!
And What They’ve Embraced...
That’s Been Hidden Away... !!!!!
  
Until Those ABUSED...
Were BRAVE And Spoke TRUTH... !!!
  
I Hope That These Words...
Will NOT Go UNHEARD... !!!
  
Simply Because...
They Speak About WRONGS...
That Have Gone On For TOO LONG... !!!
  
And... CONTINUE To Do... !!!
  
So To ALL of These Crews...
Who Run Online Groups...
  
That Now Apply RULES...
That RESTRICT Certain Issues...
From Being... Perused...
  
These Words Are For YOU... !!!
  
There Is Much MORE That’s UGLY... !!!
Than There Is... Stuff That’s LOVELY... !!!
  
That’s Seen In This World...
That DOES NEED To Be Heard...
As Well As... Observed...
  
From Political Vibes...
To Those That Incite...
Some People To Fight...
When They Hear Words of Rhyme...
  
So It's Really NOT WISE...  
... To Try To DENY...
Verse That Speaks About Life... !!!
  
To Keep People ONSIDE... !!!
  
Everybody CAN’T LIKE...
What Another May Write... !!!
  
So RESTRICTIONS Applied...
Maybe Should Be DENIED... ?!?
  
Because What You Will Find...
Is That Within Mankind...
Everything Is NOT NICE...
And CLEARLY NOT Lovely... !!!
  
So STOP Restricting Lines...
Like Those of This Kind...
  
Because Poetic Vibes....
CANNOT ALWAYS Bring Smiles...
  
And Be... “ NICE “...  
  
... “ Light And Fluffy “... !!!
It's a trend I see becoming more and more prevalent when it comes to the art of poetic expression. It's all good when music surrounds to soften the lyrical content, however, when it's just the words, it doesn't seem to be quite as welcome, so this poem looks into why that may be, and more....
Not from the big Apple but I'll give ya
A raw sample preamble rhymes laid like a scramble
Life's a gamble as I rambles
Through the shadows of darkened plateaus
See my money movin' fast while yalls is slow
Feel the heat rising from the
Dough
50 Gs a show ya know how it goes no expenses so
Step back learn how to track and stack
Ya weight seal ya fate create my own legacy
Better yet a dynasty
So why ya eying me can't define me
By the m o n e y try selling me lies
I improvise
From a broken compromise demons in guise
Learned from the chakras ties and bakin' pies
Sweet cherry carry girls under my wood
It's understood I'm a champion breed
Played in the major leagues
Never catch me fatigue so all haters slowly
breathe
And Catch a disease so you can see my magnificence succeed
Indeed intrigued
By the deadly potency produce bars call me Quincy
Or Barry Gordy fake rappers bore me
Huh I got play and skillz get a freak from a tweet
Next week She in-between the sheets
like the Isleys despise thee
Haters that degrade me turn em to Jesus philosophy
Naw better yet turn 'em to my guns that'll empty
Full clips insert it to ya hip sealin' ya lips
The box is closed mama catching a runny nose
That's how it goes my flows movin"
Like the Nile river quiver damage ya liver
Without even touchin' shots of the hardest liquors
Yea...



Livin' out prophecies laid in pedigrees
Through out history tell me why black man is
Doomed for treachery maybe it's just me
And the things i see on TV??
Yo I'm Dangerous as Christ walking terrorities
Put me in the terroristic catergory cuz my conscious gory
Shed enemies before they get a chance to plan
An attack against me my attitude is rude
Crude as oil lay the war spoils bloods on soil
Watch how the earth heals itself hibernation
From bad health spiritual wealth keeps me stealth
Use half of the goetias embedded in me
Wearin' spells as a sigil cooking up sequels
Legal raw untouchable like Bugsy Segal
We lethal with our weaponry so don't think
You walkin' away free for talkin' about thee
Made a pact with the underworld so I can catch the swirls
***** of fire earth is mine as I desire
More than riches I'm all about knowledge of self
Yeah feel me I'm the lyrical Garvey got more wisdom
Than Socrates takin' over all mental monopolies
So that means ya property is under my captivity
So when the real Gs enter the building
Begins a new billing I'm pass the ceiling
Once I began fillin' and drillin' heads
Til the bloods spillin' unleash the souls
For the dead scrolls paid ya toll gotta go
Cuz I'm outta time rhymes running off the paper
Soon to scrape ya from the music that played ya
My vocals fit perfect none could surf above it
Ryan O'Leary Feb 2020
Lead writing on
                    a wall
happy Valentine's
                     you
******* Moran's
Onoma Dec 2019
Bugsy Siegel walked

unto Vegas' desert and

saw: "Twenty dwarves

doing handstands on the

carpet."

then scratched his *****--

knowing he could rig dust

before it comes back to itself.

suckers aren't docile, they

only if only think big.
Ring the alarm repeats of desert storm feel the harm
I embalm from an injection minus your protection
Pack the smiff and Wesson's thousands to chose
Haters we bruise catch the early news body in a snooze
You loose this mortal combat I combat the mortals
Opened up my third eye portals see the swimming halos
Fiery glow to my skull I'm spinal rip through any title
Hawk jones disciple my fist hit like rifle snipe ya view
**** the those who over grew I'm sitting up like glue
Pasted drunk and wasted still my conscious is face with
Iron grit mentality suckas wanna battle me my comfy
But ain't no fear in me I been trained for constant treasury  
Yo I'm your majesty **** me and watch highlander
Up your souls but at the same time I'll dime your souls
Night time vestibule see the dark shadows testing you
You see me in the 3 D like genies no wishing on the three
To the fourscore and many more I adore the scents of gore
Been made for war it's like an everyday metaphor
So what you waiting for? My casket gold plated mask fit
Sitting like King Tut arms crossed spiritual killer boss
Huh I'm link back with my baby Zekara Lelei some Nerfitities  
Acts pull like Houdini can you see me naw believe me
Dangerously pull more heat than Bugsy none above me
Represent the lost prophets live life to fullest with no profits
Broken souls spoken to those with their minds open hoping
While you scoping I'm scoping calvary scout smoking
Ya every pinpoints with artillery to point and anoint joints
Sparks the body fumes consume you just been doomed
Muthapukkaz slavery was the worst thing for humanity tragedy
Seems to make us go round and round their I found
My tears in the ground looking around all I see is frowns
Amongst us lights to shadows over my dimming plateaus
I'm tryna revisit jupiters exquisite dining facility can ya feel it
Trips like lsd did it admit it feeling like a protege of B Hemmit
Big Virge Aug 2021
Now I’m NOT Trying To Be Funny...

But My Artistry...
Is CLEARLY NOT For DUMMIES... !!!

The Types Who Think...
That Life Is JUST LOVELY...
Because They Have Money... !!!

So Have NO LINK...
To The One That’s UGLY... !!!

Where Poverty FILLS...
Like Music That DRILLS...
And Leads To KILLS... !!!!!!!

My Verse Instils...
Lyrics That BUILD... !!!

Instead of Those...
That Are From The Fold...
That DUMMIES Control...
That’s Right You Know...

These INDUSTRY **’s...
And Government Dopes... !!!

The Type of Folk...
Who Like To Joke...

About EVERYTHING... ?!?
But Here’s The Thing...
That Folks Should Know...

Every Smile Does NOT Profile...
A Person Who’ll Take Care of You...
When It Comes To Doing...
What They Say They’ll Do... !!!

Dummies Whose Jaws...
... EXPOSE Their Flaws... !!!

As I’ve Said Before...
The Type With...
Consciences That GNAW...
Right To Their VERY CORE... !!!

BAD EGGS Whose Yolk...
AIN'T There No More... !!!

Because They’re Broke...
And DEEPLY Flawed...

From The Old To The Young...
These Dummies Run Their Stupid Gums...

About Doing STUFF...
That Makes Them TOUGH...

When The Truth Is...
They Just LOVE To Pull Stunts... !!!!

Yup... ELDER Chumps...
Who Are Bugs Bunny Funny...
When It Comes To Money... !!!

Always Acting Like...
... “ BUGSY “... !?!

CLONES In Zones...
Where Stupidness Roams... !!!

So What’s Their Excuse...
For Behaving Like FOOLS... ?!?

Cos’ It Sure AIN’T Youth... !!!
And That’s Some TRUTH...
That These Dummies CAN’T Refute... !!!

When Their ISSUES...
Are SO LONG In The Tooth...

That New Age Crews...
NOW See Their Moves As NOTHING New...

It’s Hard To Now Make Moves...
When Dummies Are The MANY...
Instead of Being... The FEW...

You Know It’s True... !!!

Or Do These Words...
Apply To... YOU... ?!?

If So... NOT COOL... !!!

Which Is Why Like I Said...
I Now KNOW The Coup...

So When It Comes To My Scripture...
I’m A... KILLER Guerrilla... !!!

NOT Some... “Cuddly”...
Dummy Trained Monkey... !!!!

If You REALLY Want MONEY...
From... Creative Moves...

You’ll Probably Need...
To Have A Few In Your Crew... !!!
Whose Delights Are NOT Sunny... !!!

Or DUNKLEY Like ERROL... !!!
They’re More Like... FERAL...

... Rats In A Trap...  

So Are DIFFERENT But Brittle... !!!
And Like Stuart Are Little... !!!

In Mind So DEFINE...
What It Is To Be A FLUNKY... !!!!!

Which Is Why This Poem...
Is One That Suggests...
That My Art Is CLEARLY...

BEYOND These...

...... “ Dummies “..... !!!!
They seem to be a growing breed !!!
Big Virge Sep 2020
Ya Know The Human Race...
Seems To Move These Days...
In Ways That... DISPLAY...

A LACK of Respect For Coming CORRECT... ?!?
From Corporate Sects To The Streets Where Feds'...
KEEP KILLING Men To STOP Violence... ?!?

Did You CATCH THAT Rhyme... ?
... Let Me Say It AGAIN... !!!

KEEP... KILLING Men...
To STOP VIOLENCE... ?!?!?

Does THAT Make Sense... ???

NOT To My Mind... !!!!!
But It's Where We're At... !!!
And That's A FACT... !!!

... NONSENSICAL Acts...
Now... GOVERNMENT Backed... !!!

Did I Say... " NOW "... ?

Cos' It Seems To Me...
... Throughout HISTORY...
That This Is HOW...
Things Have Gone Down... !!!

Or... Have They... ?!?!?
Well It's CLEARLY The Way...
Things Are.... TODAY.... !!!

From London STORES To Bajan' Shores...
What's The SCORE When It Comes To Laws... ???
Well Cards Get DRAWN That Seem To ENFORCE...

That... ANYTHING Goes... !!?!!
When It Comes To GETTING Dough... !!!

YES I Mean CASH Because In A FLASH...
Corporates DASH And QUICKLY STASH... !!!

Money Like... " BUGSY "..........

MALONE... HELL NO... !!!!

The Way They ROLL's MORE Like That Show...
With **** DASTARDLY And MUTLEY In Tow... !?!

WITHOUT The... JOKES...
When Folks Are Left BROKE...
In Ways E.T. Will NEVER KNOW... !!!!!

When BILLS Make Homes...
... NO PLACE To GO... !!!!!

Telephone Companies...

... DISCONNECTING...
Dialling Tones... !!!!!!

So You CAN'T Pay Them...
By... USING Your Phone... ?!?

Customs GRUNTS...
Pulling... IGNORANT Stunts... !!!!!

Because They're SELECTED...
By Heads Now INFECTED...
With... Societies' VIRUS... !!!!!!!!!

That's WORSE Than CYRUS... !!!!!!
CONNING... HEIRS... !!!
Whose Names HOLD Shares... !!!

In Firms PREPARED To INFLATE And TAKE...
EVERY Last Piece of Your Birthday Cake... !!!!!

... NOTHING Left...
But Crumbs And Dregs And ANGRY Heads... !!!

When All They Get...
Are Bills By Text And TECH-Type Trends...
That Leave Heads... VEXED... !!!

Well I Take The View...
That It's REALLY NOT Cool...
For... Technological Tools...
To RULE HOW We Move... !!!

Is The... Human Touch...
... NOT GOOD Enough... ??!??

..... Hmm It Must Be ME..... !!!
  
To Nowadays FEEL That People NEED...
To... GET BACK To A World...
Where WE Do NOT Abuse The TECH We USE...
In Order To FUEL THESE Corporate Crews...
Who Employ FOOLS To Do THEIR DO...
And USE Technology As Some EXCUSE...

To Leave Heads *******...
WITHOUT The... ***... !?!?!

But FILLED With DEBT... !!!!!
From England To Barbados...
The System Does NO FAVOURS... !!!

Some Bajan' Ways...
Are WORSE Than LAME... !!?!!

And Make Laid Back...
Resemble... BAD...
And That's A FACT... !!!!!!!!!!!!

But Have The CHEEK...
To Be RUDE To Peeps'...
Who SEE Their Schemes...
IGNORANCE And GREED...

They'll Probably TRY To THREATEN Me....
Because I Speak FREELY...
While They... It Seems...

Are STILL Quite Happy...
To Be Paying RESPECT....
To.... " HER MAJESTY ".... ?!?

Now...... GLOBALLY.....
TOO MANY Sheep Are Joining TEAMS...
Who... NEED To Be CHECKED.
WITHOUT The... CASH... !!!!!!

... The World's Gone MAD... !!!?!!!

Well In ACTUAL Fact...
I Think The World Is Doing FINE... !!!

But PEOPLE Now I MOSTLY Find...
Have LOST Their...................... Minds...... !!!!!

And RUN Around Like Circus CLOWNS... !!!

I Think It's SAD That Human Kind...
In Todays' Times Can Be DEFINED...
As Moving FORWARD...
Whilst FALLING... BACK... !!!

And THAT THIS In TRUTH Is...

... " Where We're At "...
A few of my observances of the world and it's people, PRIOR to the Corona World we're now in !

— The End —