Welcome to the age
of information
when we are blessed
by wireless waves
passing through
our body/minds
and awakened
by the electronic chemistry
of the computer,
the television,
the radio,
all the little
electrical gizmos
which are everywhere,
so I wonder
what is this doing
to our brains?
so this is not a forest anymore
and it's no wonder
that we can't quieten our minds
no matter how we try
so why don't we just
learn to love
the new electromagnetic ocean
and float on our sea
of meaningless thoughts?

Widgets and gadgets
gizmos and apps.
Whatever happened
to cause the collapse
of my simple world?
What happened to the
simple pleasures?
The joy of simply living;
the joy of simply loving?
All consigned to the limbo
of a thousand electronic
gizmos.

I used to love a lass.
I gave her all I had
in time and space
and multiple delights.
But it is not enough
to satisfy her nights.
Without apps
she snaps.
That *****
needs her gizmo.
Without widgets
she fidgets.
She must have
her gadgets.

I’d like to bury hatchets
in her gadgets.

The comfort and luxury of the world today
we have more than we did on any other day.

No old-fashioned letters or telephone calls,
today technology does it all.

Latest gadgets and gizmos we have access to
that make our days easier to get through.

Separate fact from fiction,
or look up a definition

Technology has got you covered
better than you’ve ever wondered.

Just press a button and watch it happen
technology better that you can imagine.

Like a genie in a bottle that will give you three wishes,
technology, on the other hand, does not have a limit.

Ask what you want you’ll get a reply
with a clear answer of how and why.

Technology will keep on getting better
but it’s a good idea to keep in mind that
old-fashioned letter.

Stuck at home with nothing to do?
Technology is where we go to.

With this new virus keeping us inside,
technology is where we spend our time.

We all sit at home
using our computers and our phones

Our days have suddenly gotten longer
so we see what technology has to offer.

The comfort and luxury of the world today
we have more than we did on any other day.

No old-fashioned letters or telephone calls,
today technology does it all.

Latest gadgets and gizmos we have access to
that make our days easier to get through.

Separate fact from fiction,
or look up a definition

Technology has got you covered
better than you’ve ever wondered.

Just press a button and watch it happen
technology better that you can imagine.

Like a genie in a bottle that will grant you three wishes,
technology, on the other hand, does not have a limit.

Ask what you want and you’ll get a reply
with a clear answer of how and why.

But while we are all at home waiting for this to move,
remember that there is one thing you can always do.

Take some twenty seconds and give your hands a thorough clean
with warm water and soap to stop the spread of COVID19.

My country right or wrong
we shall still sing her song and bombs away
on you
Bombs away on FDR we think he got away too far
in giving peasants below, our merit, the audacity to inherit,
our country 'tis only for me'

We'll work you until your flesh falls off, nine till five is not enough, to sell our gizmos here and far, to gluttons all alike
Ooops! (melody old man river)
...  Oh tote dat barge and lift dat bale,
ya gets ah little drunk and ya lands in Jaaail

Pull yourself by your own bootstraps, who cares if opportunity naps, while the "America Dream" fades away
cause thirty years of us

America ' tis only for me but not those signers of Democarcy
in Philly where they took that oath, on that **** parchment
I abhor,
on that damnable parchment I ABHOR!!

In all my years as professor of Paleontology at Ublique University, I never thought I'd have a bad day. My life was a happy one. I had a car that was payed for. A cold refrigerator, full of food. New & improved gadgets & gizmos. A wife who would rub my back on request. & it all changed when I turned 42.

It was the morning of August 12th when things changed. An orange & cool, slightly windy day. The sun had a warmth that started as soon as I woke up. No heat. Just warmth. I woke up to find nobody at my bedside.

"Bacon." I quietly whispered in excitement.

If Sharon woke up before me that meant breakfast. & that meant coffee. I could use some. The night before, we had a party celebrating my 42nd birthday. A special one I think. Making it to 40 is a feat. Surviving the next year is an accomplishment. But, driving gracefully past 41 into a mature 42 is... smooth.

I stretch & roll out of bed. Squeezing into my slippers I noticed the bedroom is messier than usual. A few things are missing out of my drawers & the rest of my room. The bathroom is missing a few things as well. Soap, washcloths, towels &...

Oh dear, lipstick!

There's a lipstick message on the mirror in elegant cursive. "Goodbye" is all it says & needs to say. Sharon's left & taken my heart & soul with her. & the bacon.
"Alright, time to think." I keep repeating in my head. I'm thinking, but only one thought comes to mind.

"Why?"

Sharon's gone. I get up from the bed. My heart drops to the floor. That's not her handwriting. We've been robbed & she's been taken for ransom.



I sit down for a minute.
No!

Not for ransom!

It's a sicker crime. They only want her. For their own sick, twisted reasons.

"****, what should I do?" the only thing rushing through my body.

Again. Stop it.

I run downstairs into the kitchen. Alright, i have a knife. I'm armed & dangerous. I run into the living room. My blood runs cold. They're still here. ****, ****, ****, ****, ****, ****.

I run back upstairs.

In a flash of white light the scenery changes.

I'm in a hospital.

"How did I get here?" I ask myself. My stomach hurts & my left arm & leg are wound in casts. There's a vibrant red lipstick stained kiss on my left foot with the words, "You knew all along" written in cursive along the bottom of the kiss. Before I can collect my thoughts, a sharp looking doctor walks in.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to run with scissors? Or rather, knives?" he asks.

She did & I musn't have listened. I had a hard time listening. Sharon! She almost slipped my mind.

"Doctor, I need to go home." I semi-ask.

He rebuttals with, "Nope, the wound in your stomach isn't life threatening, but we want to keep you here for a few days."

I bite my tongue ax logic kicks in.

"Okay." I say.

I'm going to escape.

I pull out the IV's in my arm & look for my clothes. Can't find them, so I settle for the guy's down the hall. They're a little loose on me, but the belt fits. The shoes however, do not. ****. How am I going to get past the guards?

Wait, there aren't guards in hospitals. Are there?

No.

Maybe.

No.

Definitely not.

I take the elevator down to the main floor & walk out the front door. It was easier than I thought to escape from a hospital.

I'm outside & no one is chasing me. I hail a cab & realize my wallet is back at the hospital. This whole thing is crazy, I know.

I arrive at home & pay the guy with some of Sharon's jewelry. Looking around, I realize the living room isn't trashed. & only Sharon's purse & shoes are missing downstairs. Maybe she wasn't taken for ransom.

Again, time to sit down & relax. Not relax, but think.

Last night. Something must have happened last night.

Okay, there was a party. It was a surprise party. Ron, Sue, Burgundi, Jon & a few people from the campus were there.

I'm not that guy who hates surprise parties. Or surprises for that matter. They're great. So, I remember walking in the door a spectacular Friday. All my students  wished me a happy birthday.

The house was dead dark when I walked in & then, KABOOM!

The place lit up. "Happy Birthday!" they all shouted & champagne is thrown my way. All was normal there. I talked to everyone. Had cake & opened my presents. My favorite was the pen/pencil combo.

Then I went outside to the backyard, lit a cigar & watched a silvery, grayish cat scurry along our wooden fence. Night had fallen & the moon was half full.

I can't believe I broke my leg, my arm & stabbed myself in the stomach. I walk back upstairs to change.

Wait.

There's no blood on the stairs. & who called 911?

It's quiet in the house. Too quiet. Someone's here. I'm three steps up the stairs, no point in turning around. The bedroom & office are safe. So are the closets. Under the bed as well.

Relax. Change clothes & relax. It's difficult getting into pants now, but I make it happen.

Back downstairs. The living room, kitchen & bathroom are safe. Okay. Either I don't bleed or something strange is going on. Maybe, Sharon came back & saw me.
But she couldn't be that heartless as to leave me in the hospital alone, could she? Oh no! Maybe she didn't come into the house. Maybe, she really has been kidnapped.

I'm staring at my hand. Noticing the deep & fine wrinkles along with my veins & cuticles. My palms look like satellite images of rivers & microscopic views of capillaries. There is a candy bar on the coffee table. I eat it & instantly feel better.

My head swings back & my body warms & tingles. I close my eyes & see my granpa showing me how to measure & cut wood to turn it into something useful. We're making forms for a concrete pathway from the house to the garden. A blooming garden with peas, onions, spinach & okra. I reach my hand to write my name in the wet concrete & a bee stings me. It hurts for a millisecond. Then the pain moves away. My granpa looks at me from in the garden. Then he hunches over to look at something in the ground. My arms goes numb as I walk towards him. I feel something pulling me back.

I look behind me & see myself unraveling. The threads of my shirt & cast are being unwound like thread from a spool. In a few steps, I'm naked. I keep walking as my granpa shouts my name. I see his mouth moving, but can't hear him. My body feels lighter with every step. I look at my bee wound & find that my hand is unraveling along with my arm & the rest of me. Layer by layer I'm being unwound. I'm down to my nervous system, brain & eyeballs when I open them & see my granpa's face. he's smiling. I'm down to my eyes when I start to look at what my granpa sees.

Time slows & my eyeballs unravel,
leaving me in complete & silent darkness.

My childhood bicycle
was like a Cadillac
with fins and gizmos
but my brother suggested
we strip it down.
My brother tried
to fix a red corvette
in our family's garage.
The computer has replaced
my childhood bicycle
with its journeys
to cyberspace.
The 5 year old car
of my mother's
which I drive
is orange and waits
in our family's garage.

There you are!
Don’t you know, you’re the star?
My dear, to stay hidden,
Is just straight forbidden!

The show shall begin,
Your blood, sunlight is in.
Crimson moon, you are mine,
Play the tune, be my crime.

Ring around the carousel,
Send a wish within the wishing well.
Stay with me, for eternity,
You may plea, but cannot leave.

This is fun, don’t you agree?
This is Carnival, doused in gasoline!
Your show is the one that matters,
This is the night the world shatters!

I will break me, to take you,
You are my alluring brew.
What if I told you I convinced time,
Just to be your immortal mime?

Don’t forget, my ****** dove,
That this Carnival is for the one I love.
Endless fun for a small price,
I shall die for you a million times.

Have all you can eat,
Then you may take a seat;
Get your utensils, paint some art,
Let magic course through your heart.

This is Carnival!
Oh babe, this is unbelievable!
You just stay in the hat,
This is where the joy is at.

Can’t you see it?
Maybe your mind is just not fit.
Beautiful light, nothing ever bleak,
Truthful sight, you find my innerfreak.

Without my jacket, hat and gold,
I believe it’s you that is all I hold.
Without my gizmos, wand and magic.
I believe you’ll witness my tragic.

Oh...but baby, it’s your Carnival!
Nevermind the acid rainfall.
It’s just my own catastrophe,
Just don’t ever......leave...

You don’t know it, but I’m your man,
It’s a quite simple slight of hand.
I’ve stolen your heart,
Formed our future, our soon to be art.

Breathe in the fumes of my hell,
No worries! In Carnival, all goes well!
Just breathe in my fumes,
Your dreams are no longer dooms.

It’s just a Carnival, just our Carnival.
Clown town, and the mirror hall.
In this Carnival, it’s our last dance,
Oh dear, never break this trance.

.with rob zombie's: ***** liquor in the background,
a man perched on windowsill,
              one foot tapping along,
                                 the other foot folded
and sat on...

    come to think of it,
                 why am i not bothered,
   not bothered by the neighbours?
well, one ****** tried it,
complained about me smoking out
of my window,
   and that one time i was making a b.b.q.
and he said: 'you should have warned
us!'               the ****?
            all beause he had been doing
his washing and was drying his clothes
on a washing line, 20 metres from my b.b.q.,
and now they're moving house.

the english,
     they always want a house with a garden...
in the vicinity?
    you know how many times i've
seen the english use their gardens?
              roughly 5 times per year...
they rarely even attempt to switch
the garden to a ******* venture when
the one toilet is occupied by someone
taking a shower...
                      for all the wants of a garden,
i haven't seen anyone around here
take to planting a cherry tree,
            or burrying their cremated cat...
i guess i must be the odd one out...
            i mean: i'll integrate up to a point,
but then... well there's just me,
               rumours...
rumours...
      apparently donald tusk got
the job as the president of the european
council, because he mingled
   with frau kanzler
   over the position...
                     **** me...
        27 prime ministers,
    but only 1 chancellor...
                  who said the stereotype
of jews being good with money,
never made it to the stereotype of germans?
   the rumour is...
   he got the job...
       only because his father was
in the wehrmacht...
             after all, he did write
a bestseller book about the city of Danzig...
no surprise there,
  given that Danzig was reminiscent
of a city-state akin to Athens or Sparta...
mind you, better than any movie
on a friday night,
   tuning in on the 66th minute
of Liverpool vs. Southampton...
                waiting for the 1 - 1 draw...
but the genius of jürgen jürgen (klopp)
came through...
                     funny that,
people with funny surnames...
             dialect distinctions...
      klop in western slavic implies
the ******* - ide na klopa -
      i'm going to sit on a toilet...
            ****** must have been a funny surname
before its notorious prominence...
but rarely do you get to see 28 minutes
of a football match of this sort of quality...
    wolverhampton wanderers...
they're playing a very interesting piece
of football this season...
very portugese barzilian-esque...
      everybody knows that
        italian football is boring
  (too many passes),
   and german football is just too predictable...
but how the hell did Liverpool
come up with 2 goals in a period of 28 minutes...
mind-boggling...
       i'm always there for the sport per se,
i don't really feel inclined
to have a vested interest in the sport
as to pick a side,
               what once was
          religion, now becomes infused
in sports... seriously...
  count me out of this secular take
on religiosity...
            i'll pay my dues: were deserved
dues are due...
                   that's probably i much
prefer the olympics to this coming farce
of a world cup...
   how many footballers are going
to drop dead, from heat exhaustion?
we must thank our camel cockey bwovers
for cracking up the heat
          in air-conditioned stadiums...
once upon a time, the arabs had,
enviable traits...
   now? with all that wealth?
                                         take a guess;
if muhammad was raised from
the dead?
                     you'd see a forest
of pikes, on top would sit, decapitated heads
of his own people...
         but that's a wild idea,
perhaps even he, couldn't avoid
the temptation;
nonetheless, is it wrong to say that some
sports are over-represented?
   well, d'uh!
                 olympics comes,
and i always look forward to classical
wrestling matches,
    archery,
                             ha ha... ping-pong...
sure... none of the tennis allure...
  but it's a welcome break from
mainstream sports...
                                 and this whole
team religiosity influence...
                  that **** bores me to death...
clearly religion didn't die,
it just morphed...
                oh, really? it's that time of year?
the one time of the year
where i become a gambler?
   what? it's the quiche thing to do
in england, a bit like sipping
                 pimm's and eating eaton mess
at wimbledon...
       the grand national...
   betting on a horse...
                     and just to prove i'm no
gambler - why would i dream about
going to las vegas?
                   that shitshow of a town?
all the best strip-clubs in the world:
but no brothel.
      eh?!
                 tiger roll (7 to 2)
is attempting to make history,
     by clinging to: two years in a row...
i only have 4 quid to spend on the bet...
   so 2 horses...
               2 quid each...
                         hmm...
                      'further rain would help
him to step forward'
             i checked the weather forecast
(the grand national happens somewhere
south of liverpool, i think)
                     rainy...
overcast...     step back (25 to 1)...
                         now a compensation
horse...
                          i'll need a few more whiskies
before i make this blind bet lucky hope...

i'm not betting on tiger roll (7 to 2) -
the odds are not wildcard enough...

mind you, not being a gambling *****:
i do know that rolling tobacco
needs to be fresh,
   slightly moist, in order to roll it,
you can still roll the dry tobacco,
but then you'd also require
obc cigarette tubes,
         and one of those "gizmos" /
machines, to pull off
             a perfect match...
no in a millions years will you get
out a perfect rollie
with dry, pall mall tobacco...
when no golden virginia is available...
point: but you're also
not going to **** dry the filter
with dry tobacco...
harder to roll,
               but an easier smoke...

anyway...
   back to the grand national...
look, i'm no dustin hoffman
rainman hack...
         i felt like ******* away
4 quid's worth on an event, sue me...

   1             up for review (25 - 1)
         'could relish this test;
      must be a contender'

2a            folsom blue  (50 - 1)
          'mud-lover; stays well
   but at veteran stage'

2b           general principle (40 - 1)
     'best not ignore this irish
national winner'

3            ramses de telilee   (25 - 1)
             'welsh national second;
               stays well and improving'

4   ballyoptic    (28 - 1)
   'scottish national second;
                   cannot rule out'

  5a       mala beach (50 - 1)
               'fresh; could suit;
              a lively outsider'

    5b go conquer      (33 - 1)
         'bids to give his trainer
a third national'

      5c     lake view lad      (14 - 1)
             'improving steadily and
this trip should suit'

   5d jury duty    (16 - 1)
     'should relish this trip.
         could get a positive verdict'

6 vieux lion rouge             (33 - 1)
     'has tried three times in
this; fourth time lucky?'

   7       bless the wings                (66 - 1)
              'would be the oldest winner
       since 1853'

so...
      gambling, fascinating,
   how there's no objectivity argument,
and all the sort of superstitions associated
with it... a truly, magnanimous,
secular age...
   football as a religion,
   gambling on horses as the trials
of fate / luck / whatever belief...

       truly... gratifying...
   and i don't imply that in any pompous
sense, i'm about to invest 4 quid
in the whole affair!

   my pick?
              step back 25 to 1 odds
first choice...
   so it's either between
the mud-lover folsom blue... 50 to 1 odds,
ah... i'll need more wizard like
uncertainty when it comes
to gambling,
repeating to myself:
   there's no such thing as luck,
there's no such thing as luck,
gambling is only subjective,
gambling is the reiteration
of a religious experience,
        it's the sensible option,
it's the sensible option, ****...
i'll just split the 4 quid over 4 horses
rather than bet 2 quid on 2...

per quid:
                      step back
                      jury duty
                      up for review
                      go conquer / folsom blue

****...
                   no wonder i never got
into gambling...
         i never fathomed the aspect
of winning
as much as i never fathomed
the aspect of losing,
   or how they're paired up
     and consecrated on the same
altar of, "thrill"...

    that cut               /
betweeen
       go conquer  and folsom blue...

horses have the oddest names...
          dogs?
                 probably the shittest names
in the whole of the kingdom...
oscar darshan...
                            quorus...
these being cat names...
                                           go figure.

You ever think about how shallow some people are?
So shallow that if you stepped in a puddle of them your feet would still be dry
The people who aim to do things, maybe even great things just to impress or gratify someone
To put someone down
To make up for some kind of weakness
To prove others wrong

Those who create this image of themselves that appeases others perception of them

Money
Material things
Cars
Planes
Designer clothes
Gizmos and gadgets

Things that don't mean anything more than a look see to anyone of real depth

You know depth?

To appreciate everything you're lucky enough to have or gain
To understand the little things and the bigger picture
To have been through hardships and learned from them

Empathy
Patience
Passion
Creativity
Selflessness
Respect

Depth

But then, there is something worse than being shallow

Hollow

To be empty of anything

No desires
No pleasure

Just numb hopelessness

The ones who have been hurt and just couldn't get back up
And fill the void with either drugs, things of only monetary value or self-inflected lashings of pity, loathing and mistrust

They look at the ones with depth and see them as idiotic idealists with no direction or any idea what it means to be part of a normal society

They look at the shallow ones and see great figures of wealthy stature
Exciting lives being lead by beautiful elitists

The ceiling fan makes a comforting noise
As it whirs gently, with the premonition
That winter is near

She sits up hesitantly, somewhat afraid
That there might be something there
She just woke up from one of those nightmares
She could barely control her breathing
Fear and anxiety painted in her eyes

She's almost used to it, or so she thinks,
Till it happens again
She begins to shake just a bit
Almost subtly
She doesn't want- need- to think
Any more

She switches on another one of those gizmos
Whiles her night away
So she doesn't have to sleep
She doesn't need to go back
To those **** nightmares

A chill runs down her spine
But she turns up the music a little louder
She doesn't dare to cry
Scared of being heard,
Scared of acknowledging
That which lies silent, looming ahead
In the darkness

She doesn't want to because
Once she does, it would be tougher
To tell herself that they
Hardly matter

That they are not premonitions
Of the future

My eyes are roving, clever and playful
In the tensest moments I don’t lose my cool
From my fingers the bullets fly
I dive deep and jump from the sky.
I do hide behind occasional beard
I want my martinis shaken not stirred
My mantra is only one word ‘win’
The only car I ride is Aston martin.
My name turns my enemies morose
They’re pinned down by my gizmos.
Women just madly fall for me
Clad skimpily in alluring bikini
Chiseled figures slim and tall
I choose the good but go for all.
I am pressed for time so much
I can’t do without my omega watch
Though I’m not stuck in a brand or two
Rolex and Seikos will also do.
I feel instead of lengthening the list
It’s time for me to clear up the mist
A suave smart and fearless guy
I also happen to be a timeless spy.
I play with the villains dangerous games
Love to be called Bond without James
With me the baddies can never get even
You know the world knows me by 007.

The governments of the world have united,
acting upfront but they’ve really gone underground,
implementing a behind-the-scenes scheme
to defraud the global-people
of their money & sovereignty.

While we battle semantics, terrorist & drugs,
it’s business as usual for the real thugs,
who keep filling our pockets with gizmos
like I-Pods & I-Pads & tablets,
modern technologies
making our life’s simpler,
draining us of our hearts & souls,
forcing us to write about what’s missing
in this universe of abundance,
stolen by the greed-mongers.

I love you kindred spirits,
because you understand
these reasons for such emptiness,
this destruction of sacred spirit.

While others talk about it & do nothing,
you bleed your hearts & write about it,
trying to save a smidgeon of humanity
gone sterile.

You are more true
than any government on Earth,
you are a secret society of scribblers,
telling the truth.

Far below the watermark, it’s really all the same…
A Youth screams in truth—Bloated tongue and footloose—for her father, underwater;
While her mother lifeless too, floats along the Grimy hue, face disguised with ****** blue, down the bank-- about a mile or two…
But these words are all in vain, because it’s really all insane, that

Far Below the watermark, it’s really all the same…
Names next to X’s, Signed by anyone of your nagging Exes, haunt your dreams like shapeless hexes--
Reminding you that to succeed, you need to feed from their luscious Platinum ****-- which you learn to love by, first, ******* on their feet.
So, climb that money ladder! Gadgets! Gizmos, all galore! Stab this back with small “e-chatter”, and raise your wallet up one soulless person more…

Because these words are all in vain, and it’s really not all insane, that
Levees break, Truths are fake, and X’s, Exes, Fears and Hexes on their own, do write your fate.
So worry not! All your dreams make sure you maim, for
Far Below the watermark, it’s really all the same.

A posse of cronies
With button-marked thumbs
Were part of a ring
Of cyberspace chums

With crimson-lined eyes
They played night and day
Till some solemn stranger
Took their machines away

The stranger stole through the dark
Before they, could awake
To tip their technology
Into a lake

The groups sleep-rested eyes
Opened to see
The redundant space
Where gizmos should be

Some shouted, some cried
Some just couldn't speak
They rose from their beds
Confused and knees weak

Once clothed and clean
And breakfast was through
One cry could be heard
'Now what do we do?'

Bits and Bobbles
Gizmos and trinkets
Testtubes with creatures
Coming to life with my skill.

Magic and Science
My domains to command
Creating life, Cheating death
Manipulating the very fabric of the Universe.

Dark swirling matter and energy
Bending to my will.
Every thread and wave,
All under my understanding
Yet I pleadge these powers
To the man I love with all my heart.

“Can you hear me?”  “Can you hear me?”  …. “Come-in”
Boys with “walkie-talkies”, walking and talking, squealing and squawking
The girls were chalking – on the sidewalk
Range, one quarter mile.  More over water, the box said

If all you hear is static
Run some wire in your attic
Or tie it to your gutter
“Can you hear me?”  You may utter

Copper wire strung on a fence
For Russian signals the pretense
Every beep, buzz and whistle
Was that to do with someone’s missile?

A weather fax for steaming ships,  “doodle doodle” sound
Deadly tips!

Vacuum tubes soft-lit for me
RCA, Westinghouse, and GE
Their glow-warm magic casting a spell
A hook set lightly - I could not tell

Gizmos, and gadgets, in crate after crate
Rolled into the business - helped shape my fate
War surplus it was, "truck's in" they would holler
Purchased for two-bits on the dollar

So thank you Dad – the hook you set
grew into a job, my needs were met
A needed change, a needed change

Courtesy, Machinery Exchange

Boredom bored some,
but for the rest of us it became a lifestyle.

The rest of us,
who spend so much money and time,
on objects and gizmos...
Just to while away our lives.

And, on comfort!
If we're going to do nothing,
we've at least got to be comfortable
while we do it.

We've gotta work though,
gotta hustle.
The trick is finding that tipping point...
The Grand American Treasure:
To find the least amount of labor,
for the greatest amount of leisure!

So let's climb that ladder
Make money! Get paid!
So we can quickly and painlessly,
whittle away our days.

My flow conceited cause the ingenious genius
Thinking of the supreme being
I'm undefeated against intermediates
But I rap not at my highest pinnacle
When I'm mentally focused inside my spiritual temple
I'm like a monk an humble individual
Ferociously lyrical
Words are gizmos I use as an sentinel
Against rappers in this dimensional
Magical sword that's an General
Go thru Armies of troops
Flaming an spinning an music shoots
Out when it's swoops thru tissue
The mission is to the top but the training is critical
Rappers need miracles
To beat the god emcee

I
I thought that it would last my time –
That children would always read books
There would always be fields and farms
Where whippersnappers would climb
Where they would run and play in brooks
I knew there would be false alarms
II
But I never thought the malaise would spread this far
Kids not knowing what it is to be out in the air
What it means to use their mind and creativity
Just plugged in to their DSs and their Ipads in the car
Kids rooted to sofas, couch potatoes in the chair
Somehow I always thought their innocence would be free
III
There is always another day, just
As there will always be another excuse
Why we cannot go outside to play
Just sit glued to the idiot-box if you must
Passively watch this world of abuse
As our generation becomes stupider day by day
IV
Don’t write a poem or read a new book
Don’t go and sit out in the sun
The malaise is spreading and infecting us all
The crowd is young and beauty, but rooked
Rooked of their youth, it’s done
As they sit and stare at a screen in a stall
V
This really is what Orwell said, 1984
A world of computers and screens
Before I ***** it, the whole boiling will be bricked in
Nobody wants to play chess any more
A logged on generation, logging up through their teens
First cyber slum of Europe, a role it won’t be so hard to win
VI
Facebook, VK, Kikitalk, Instagram – a world that doesn’t exist
Just a world of fast past insubstantiability
****-eyed spelling and refute of grammar
And yet we let these kids get on with their imaginary bliss
We buy them the latest gizmos just for pacivity
And when we ask what’s to be done? You stammer
VII
We, the older generation, who knew a world better than this
A world of trees, and parks and streams
A world of old values, an idyllic pastoral
But with all pastoral, a world that can no longer exist
A world that can only reside in our dreams
Today’s world is ‘fast or nothing at all’
VIII
And I feel sorry for those kids, really
They never got to run around with a stick as a gun
They’re just getting angrier, as the malaise takes hold
Manifesting itself through boredom so easily
And then they go out and buy an AK-471
Oh well, most things are never meant, we’re told
IX
It seems, just now,
To be happening all so very fast,
For the first time, somehow
I feel that good values aren’t going to last.

He says, "Is this a stool?"

Turn it upside down and it is a wastebasket
Now it's a drum

There are no concepts
It is what it does

Anything you can use it for is what it is
A stool can be all these other things as well

Buddhism does not define
If you believe that, you are stuck with an idea
And are clinging onto it for spiritual security

You have a great laugh Alan

There is nothing you can hold onto
So man let go!

If you're enlightened you're like a dumb man
Who has had a wonderful dream

Nirvana means blow out

If you hold your breathe you lose it
Breathe out and you get your breath back

The ultimate reality is Shunyata

You don't meed any gizmos to be in the know

Every teacher of Buddhism is a debunker
He or she does it out of compassion

Blood filling the sternum
Of the work horse grown old
The rusty iron of an old train yard
Stagnate pools of ancient prosperity
Fill the scene of yesterday's tomorrow

Instead of futuristic gizmos
Zapping up our daily needs
We worship a silly piece of paper
Watching the ruins around us fade away

Instead of helping one another
Stand from a nasty fall
We fill our pockets with jingling candies
Trying to sweeten our sour lives

Instead of being the beacon of hope
The self proclaimed city on a hill
We watch the struggles around our walls
And laugh at the ones within

A day of reckoning is soon to come
With it we all fade to dust
A rebirth is in store
But it will not bring new life

Only more death and struggle
Because Lady Liberty only holds her torch
Shines upon her own achievements
And leaves others in the dark

Wheezing, she stumbles upon a notebook
Coughing the blood of her own horse
Rusting away like her prosperity
She reads of what she learned a day ago
But forgot for today

She awakes in a cold sweat
Still torch in hand
Will she have learned to shine towards others
Or will she only brighten herself?

flakes in the kitchen, flakes in the kitchen
my fate is holy like religion, old traditions:
live life greedily, follow your ambitions
without the stacks, i got an itching

thousand racks, volume of a bible
the day is black, that is my lifestyle
don't offer me gizmos, i know the skid row
above the earth, you see an airglow

above my head, you watch my hair glow
snow male machiny, breathing airflow
phantom with a whisk, never stop-and-frisk
my birthmark, no risk, twenty yumys in the carpark

when no one sleeps, the crowd dances
i'll be hanging with the focus, grabbin' chances
fountain flavour, the mountain and the savior
brash, blue bunnies burning all my moneys

Satellites, perfumes, smartphones and other gizmos
Then they forget the giant stench among them
Dwelling with them and moving with them
A monster with an insatiable appetite
A work of art some would say
It overflows from households and factories
Into works of Philosophy and literature
The sages that attained Nirvana in the midst
Of adulterated syringes and gross excrement
The New Buddha under the Garbage mountain
The Prince among the generations to come
Abounding in dialectical wisdom from distant worlds
Embodied in an era of savage monstrosities
Where heads are pounded with information
And hearts won over by shallow myths
Take me away from the world into excesses
Ungroudning my wretched appetites into sheer freedom
Garbage freedom, serfdom unleashed
A new religion emerges suffocating Ecological gods
Radically excessive backdrops for new sciences
We sing new songs as we ascend into thrash
We thrash and we rejoice for our destiny
The destiny of life over nature’s laws

I just happened to find this Gizmo
In my bottom left hand drawer
Now I take it with me
Everywhere I go

I take it out to play
I take it into work
I spend time with my Gizmo
For all that Gizmo's worth

It changes color often
Like a woman changes moods
So I can wear it with any outfit
On any day I choose

It also hums Broadway tunes
If ever we get bored
He and me tap our feet to disco beats
When dancing is in store

I hear that no two Gizmos
Excatly are the same
If you care to show me yours
I promise to show you mine

Life for me has not been the same
That I can guarantee for sure
Every since I found that Gizmo
In my bottom left hand drawer

Dear Dr. Heartthrob,
 
I’m guessing you did not know
Yesterday I was admitted to emergency
Taken from clinic in a death march
You pretended not to notice my urgency
Guess that all has to do with insurgency
 
That’s quite all right by me
My seizures are not pretty little features
The drug mishap is likely not to blame
No, they did not call any preachers
Agnostic I am and devoted to creatures
 
I have a complicated medicine regimen
Which is to be rationalized by conspiring minds
Dr. Eyes That Melt Me is a brilliant young intern
He had gizmos and probe scopes and interesting finds
He knows more specialists dealing in matters of these kinds
 
We had such intimate talks together
So I hope you're not embarrassed to hear
I’m firing you for lack of bedside manner
Though in fact you were prescriptively dear
My heart is now weak for another I fear
 
Your Loving Patient,
Poopsy

Time is a tool you can put on the wall or wear it on your wrist,
The past is far behind us,The future doesn't exist.
Whats the time, Its quarter to nine its time to have a bath.
Time is a ruler to measure the day,It doesn't go backwards, only one way,
Watch it go like a merry go round,going so fast like a merry go round.

Time is old like Victorian times,
With cobbles and plague and speaking in rhymes.
A tree that is old has circles inside,
A tree that is older shriveled and died,
A apple thats fresh is ripe to the core,
And i rot over time and im not anymore,

Time can be told by the moon or the sun,
But time flies past when your having fun,
There is a time and place for mucking around,
Like birthdays and camping,
And then what happened in the olden days?

Time got new and got old like history,
Stuff from the past went into a mystery,
A old man died, But look a computer!
Everythings cool, Its the future!

Time is new,The future anew,
And look at all the wonderful things you can do,
With gadgets and gizmos and email addresses,
Look at the time!

Now you see the importance of time,
It helps us make pizzas,
It keeps things in line,
But when did it start,
And when will it stop?

If we run out of time,
Where does it go,
Is time even real,
Does anyone know,

Sunrise,Sunset,Night and Day,
The change of seasons,
The smell of hay,
How time makes your appearance change.
We wont be fine,
Because everyone runs out of time.

Greens are curious eyes on exhausted game
Exasperated , miffed and melancholy all the same
Blues are hair bows , gray for gun metal gizmos
Red for flak at treetop level , white for pain
and tears for no known reason , brown for eyeing the
hunted out of season , Tiffany lamp soldered bits of glass ,
hiding histories homicidal past
Purple to calibrate the down hill day , yellow for catching
a ride on the astral plane
Pink for clearing , Winter afternoons , Nutmeg cobblestone lanes
Black for tyrants with the keys to destruction
Amber for Sheriffs that carryout their coercion* ...

It's surely incumbent on us to move faster
to try and prevent an impending disaster.
Widespread destruction is surely illicit
but those of high morals are fully complicit.
One ponders a path where production's pervasive;
our product promotion has grown too persuasive;
our gadgets and gizmos distinctly delight us;
the path of our passage lies deep in detritus.
We now find ourselves in a sad situation,
defiant of logic despite education.
One might think a culture of waste so permissive
might foster a climate of doubt more divisive,
but we, in confusion, prefer the illusion
that comes from the fusion of greed and delusion.
The outside observer could be quite confused
to see our surroundings severely abused,
but being objective, it it isn't that pleasant
observing the future consumed by the present,
so we have a culture that's deeply diseased
and live, for the most part, quite pleasantly pleased.