The Acolytes come marching in and out and in, out again
Minds befuddles, rationalities amissing, fully indoctrinated
Pathetic Dogs of Attrition dressed all in white, all in pain
Compulsive obsessives, neurotics primed and oxygenated
Scrappers at the bottom of the barrel wants unlawful gain
By hook or crook is their recourse, to that they are mandated

From rhetorics long gone and ideologies forged in days of rain
Our intrepid Confused and Acolytes are soundly medicated
Just march to left, left, left, left and we will ease all your pain
Recognize that the enemies are those that think and are educated
They all claim domain at the top, with kudos, status and fame
While you languish in closed barrels, your poor lives truncated

Those Bosses are all there because they are all Masonic inclined
Doctors, lawyers and Professionals paid cash for Degrees granted
They did no work or study, rich Daddies just paid so they claim
All those Entrepreneurs are Robbers who bankraid unarrested
Because the Police are all masonic and help/share in all the gain
The Royals are  Top Mafiosas, with International links atested

So Dumb Acolytes Know the truths and fall with the wise in line
We must regain Power and march left, left so we're not left in vain
The republic shall live because it's 21 Century and we wake in time
We take all from the Secret Society and cut off all our iron chains
Begin by taunting, tormenting and harassing that ****** Wayne
The ****** Prince is the African Mafia Chief and Exploiter kingpin

Sing with me everybody
Viva la Revolution, viva la Revolution
We are clever, all in our White uniforms
We march to the left left left with our two left feet
We know our brains have left us but we go left left
Viva la Revolution, Viva la Revolution, Viva la Jinbba.
Hey! jinbba, jinbaba, hey! jinbba jinbaba, hey! jinbba jinbba
Sing.........

I am a creature of violence.

My fists are tired of fighting the deluge of rationalities and
my eyes have stared daggers too sharp for me to feel the scars.
But the blood flows ever on, and it rages and it burns and it screams.
I cannot let my anger paint my life in red and in wrath,
and I cannot let my wrongs be the reason I feel I am right.
So I promise, I will not let the fire burn through me anymore.

I had to lay down my arms one day.

I never had much of an ability to be anything except an emotional disaster. I didn’t spend a lot of time outside of my head, and when I did it was usually to dive headfirst into the head of someone else. I spent the vast majority of my daily life in a broken-down shell of myself masquerading as someone that had their **** together. For some reason, people accepted the facade. That’s what they usually ended up liking.
    I always regarded myself as a disease. I had an incubation period that was relative to how long it took someone to get me to trust them. After that, the cells of my disease would rapidly multiply and explode, permeating the membranes of all of their senses and rationalities. My disease would break through the double-helix of their DNA and integrate itself in the fragile bridges of their nitrogenous bases, reflecting adenine for their thymine, cytosine for their guanine until finally the helix reunited, delicately interconnecting the chromosomes as I spilled out all the worst sides of myself.
    The infectious agents of my toxicity would then slowly descend the ladders of hydrogen bridges and filter back out through the phospholipid bilayer to swim freely into their bloodstream, swimming through their veins to seek out the nervous system. Freely hopping along synapses, my disease gently touches neurons and triggers proteins buried deep inside their nuclei, causing the slow degradation and eventual apoptosis, killing off the ability to recognize that I am not a normal person.
    The electrical impulses spread from axon to axon, igniting a ridiculous idea that I am no disease. The toxins follow the impulses, riding along the shockwaves. The toxins arrive in the mind and slide off the branches of electricity to hold fast to brain proteins, forcing them to take on the shape of the toxins and eroding holes in all the neural processing centers that govern reason and logic, robbing the person of the ability to detect all the red flags I wave frantically in front of their faces.
    The toxins slide into the erosions and stand upon the corpus callosum, the delicate connection between the cerebral hemispheres, and wonder at the magnitude of the destruction they cause. They take a running start and leap from hemisphere to hemisphere and back again, skipping between the associative areas and primary cortices so the immune system cannot ever catch them.
They settle in the prefrontal cortex, the seat of neural power, the orchestra of complex thought. The toxins settle deep into the gyri and sulci, wedge themselves into the folds of all the grey matter.
Once infection is over, once I have eroded the very cytoskeletons that hold their cells together, they breathe, “I love you.”

Solitary, lie-back moments; of being in the coziest of places surrounded by the most mundane yet magical. Melancholy has a way of tinging itself with those little nuances of memory, and those little nuances of memory tinge themselves with shades of bittersweet and sad recollection over time. Silent reckonings, simplistically suppressing thoughts - all huge contradictions to the slow, natural motion of letting the waves wash over you.

Is this emotional maturity? Is this a step forward? Life is always full of too many intricacies to tell for sure.

The familiar scents of tearstains and revulsion being punctuated by the occasional flicker of light ahead; pain and perseverance, hope and the promise of heaven.

We are so full of contradictions - concrete, grounded beings yet with so many abstractions and complexities in our heads. A constant grapple, a relentless cycle. Coming back to places of washed up memories has this effect on you; but you pull through, you plough through quicksands, you pick up the small rationalities that have gone astray, and you move forward like you’ve always been doing before. It’s the only thing we know how to do.

Walk on our own, on our own two feet.

And pray that whatever knocks us down, will never be enough to sink us.

I plug my phone in until my computer dies
I plug my computer in until my phone dies

I’m in rage with myself on a beautiful day
I don’t believe in what I’ve been tacked into
strange walks and tumble down tricky triumphs
Back and forth from end to end, finding meaning
waiting for a call to arms and a wild whipping screaming
I refuse to let us fall, drowning and deserving
I don’t mean to waste your time
but i can’t help myself from tossing and turning
dreaming and dragging

Tell me more, another sasquatch bends down the street
his slouch, curving above us all, looking down with quiet stares
silence has been our only true retreat from insecure ideals
maybe those thoughts aren’t really there
We heard about them in a story of growing old and weak
behind a locked door and a fence made from steel
Keeling over, close your eyes and let me sleep
I can’t – I’m worried about you

The mirror is not where you want to find yourself
It will **** you dry and realizing ridiculous rationalities
about who you are and what you really mean
the storm of emotions from my eyes staring back at me
post your words on a figment of social structure and control
it was good to hear about your day at the park, but did you think at all?
i forget just who you were, just how i talked and how you coughed
crying and spying and partially lying about yourself and your home
the foaming up of some great old heartbreak that wont let go
it’s okay, having is savvy and letting is retching

Newspapers every day of same world changes – little cups of stress
defending your mowed lawn and property and lines of fools gold
snorting the treasures and dying again from inside your soul
you realize that the papers never made you smile except initially
and internally you take the pills and hand yourself over when they grin
you saw that smirk, it was a play, a hidden gem that you couldn’t understand
give it all away
make those mistakes

Dear you,
I have nothing but hope

Inclination is a contagion
         that affects the cerebral cortex.
Infecting other organs in a complex
                                method of defilement.

Once one has succumb to the influence
             of this pathogen, the following
                                 is woeful in its method

1. Heart rates do palpitate to an extreme beat
2. Part of mind isn't playing on the same spreadsheet.
3. All reactions of thought & heart aren't as discrete.
4. AWOL are the rationalities within every heartbeat.

But still those who fall foul of this moment,
                           do not wish for a cure even though
out of ten three prove semi-fatal for a time to these organs.
            They still live,
                       but singular,
                             alone,
                                desolate
                o­­f what made them in pain.



But they will once again look for one who is a carrier,
                        to be once again infected by this moment..
                        

I must confess that I have fell foul,
               and my clock ticks with not one
                      but another beat..


Infection isn't as bad as I once believed.
                I just hope that I contaminate her
                life with more than she infected me.

TO WHOM IT MAY COCERN
Run Run Run, I seek you hide
You shriek the sight of you, one reckless move
I find you, dragging you in my snuggle, Like a swirling wind
Tosses fallen grass, you know no guilty or remorse, believes
Conscience, rules and law, domain in pain and fear,
The exquisite music of life and death, heart of a rock
They call me the cremator. Known
By the name prince of darkness

Run Run Run, I seek you hide
You shriek the sight of you, one reckless move
I find you, giving you all the rationalities for your devotion,
Tailing and nailing every last of your kind unto my dish,
Tossing you to the realm of doom and gloom though
My intent to you has never been ideationally

I can't concentrate when I'm with you
You ****** my attention away
You hide my inhibitions
Immediately and greedily
But you're not culpable
I lose all rationalities loving you
I lose all sense of self loving you

Very, very often
people compare mental
illness to a
monster. Big, parasitic,
and life-stealing.
I wouldn't not
use this comparison
myself. Because, anxiety...

Its teeth are
cracking my bones,
peeling my skin,
closing my eyes
to the rationalities
of this beautiful,
beautiful world. I
am not, me.  
My thoughts are
destructive hurricanes to
my own mind.
They dig deeper
each time, into
tiny spaces of
my brain, my
soul, and heart.
It's a dark
reality, with supposed
reasoning... but no,
it's a parasite,
growing inside my
head. I try
to think I
am good, but
all it says
is 'you are
bad'. I try
to think, they
like me, but
'I am unlikable,
unlovable,' in the
face of this
Earth. How can
you greet a
thing that lives
with you everyday,
let alone, how
can you say
goodbye to it.

Anxiety
Becomes
Contagious,
Depression
Evokes
Familiarity,
Good
H­as
Induced
Juxtaposition
Killing
Livid
Memories,
Nonchalance
Obse­ssively
Portrays
Queer
Rationalities
Surrendering
The
Utmost
Vali­ant
Ways,
Xenophobic
Yellow
Zebras

Swimming in memories
Four minutes old
Trying to rewind to
Find the time for all the times I told
Myself

That I would never find true love
Never thought there'd be two loves
Two sets of hands that fit like gloves

Two seperate sets with unique functionalities
Fit the hands perfectly splitting rationalities
From fears

The mind
The heart

Working in tandem
To slowly tear themselves apart

Step
One

Love is like a flower
Grow it with some watering
And try not to shower it

Two
Much

Step two

Too much love and it'll drown
With some time you'll know the why and how to
Spread that love around

Step Three

Your single bud's turned into more bouquets
And suddenly your love has grown in many subtle different ways

Step Four

Wear gloves when you go  gardening
Pray that if you ***** your hands
That you won't feel a ****** thing

Step Five

Don't be afraid to fall
Don't be afraid to lose it all
You love and live recklessly
So why would more love
Change a thing?

Society’s decorum is tissue thin
still it’s imagined to be miles thick
those rationalities that try to assure
the animals are fully secured

those appetites for flesh and much more
******* pretended to be deplored
demands a day to be released
have its way to freely feed

wriggling in masses against the walls
appetites questing to be observed
still the pundits will avow
nothing is there as they indulge

staid purity asks the world to be contrite
turn from the darkness to the right
observe the decorum while in gods’ eyes
while finding depravity outside of the light.

© 2020. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20200112.