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Chinedu Dike Jan 2020
In a wayward adventure in curiosity —
lured away from savvy of cooler judgment,  
he oversteps the bounds of reality 
into a state of altered awareness.

Overwhelmed by a rapid beginning
of a buzzing sensation — The Rush;
emanating from deep inside him, 
surging along the veins streaming 

euphoria through cells of his entire body:  
inside the body, with warm pleasure waves
flushing over the by now tingling skin
soughing off all unpleasant feelings.

Mouth numbed, limbs heavy, and eyeballs 
rolling back from hitherto an unimaginable
state of bliss, he savours the calm explosions
of the pulsating bubbles in his head.

A magical moment of sheer ******* 
rapture—that ends in a lasting sedation—
during which he's dazed with wonderment
while covered by a cozy blanket of content.

He falls in love with the insidious drug.
And he begins to relish its sweet fruition
in a seemly pattern of use that is put
in the shade to protect his best interests.

A stake in normalcy that seeks to confine
his usage of the opioid to a social occasion.
But soon enough he drifts towards a regular
recreational use; indulging on weekends,

floating, flying, and soaring in wonderful
ripples of pure delight, feeling very mellow
and satisfied, in an illusionary paradise of
forgetfulness where nothing hurts any more.

Bit by bit as time goes by his body builds up
a tolerance for the sedative, prompting his
intake of higher and more frequent doses
to feel as well as to sustain the desired effect.

This occurs because his body attempts to
adapt to the presence of the drug by quickly
breaking it up and purging it out of the system,
thus making it less potent as it was before.

At this stage of his drug abuse he's still able to
control whether to use the stuff or not, where
and when to use it, without stress. He could
also abstain from the opioid fairly responsibly.

But at the limits of his body's flexible response
to the dangerous substance, he begins to suffer
from its unpleasant side-effects that show up
a short period of time following his last use.

The pleasurable, but short-term, therapeutic
effects of the hard drug are now being
overshadowed by several of its undesirable
withdrawal symptoms that manifest as:

fatigue, irritability, cold chills/sweat, itchy skin,
muscle spasms and tremors, body ache, and
stomach cramps among others, with an
increase in his body's cravings for the opioid.

The onset of these torturous side-effects of
the stimulant marks the beginning of his body's
physical dependence on it, as he now relies
on the drug to fend off the terrible affliction.

He has bitten at the bait of pleasure oblivious
of the hook beneath it. The once casual user,
who had thought he could quit the habit at will
without stress, has advanced to problematic use.

The drug has become an integral part of a daily
routine that is gradually heading towards chaos.
Regardless, he's still able to go to work and
take care of his day to day responsibilities.

In time, a new sickness begins to fester inside
him: the opioid is tightening its grip on him,
as his body's physical dependence on it
is now generating his addiction to the drug.

This psychological dependence on the drug
has set in with anxiety disorder accompanied
by emotional and behavioural problems:
the duo classic signs of a progressive disorder.

The drug has become something he needs
to sleep or to fully wake up. His sleeping
pattern has also been altered; up at night
and intermittently dozing off during the day.

As dosage of the narcotic rises, so does
the torture of the painful lows and other
symptoms of addiction, making his cravings
for the sedative increasely more intense.

As it is, he's needs several hits of the drug to
make it through the day. All at once he wants
to use! He begins to look forward to using.
He would ingest the drug in risky situations

such as, while at the wheels of his car or
working at his job; always desperate to avoid
withdrawal symptoms as well as to revel in
the bliss of the drug's comforting warmth.

At times he'd skip work 'chasing the dragon':
pursuing the out-of-reach elation levels of
his initial euphoric high, swinging between
feelings of mediocrity and that of ecstasy.

Always, his body would afterwards crash
below baseline, barely able to cater for his
daily needs. The habit has long ceased
to be the fun that it was intended to be.

Like a vicious cycle the relief from the opioid,
which is not justified by external reality,
is being obtained at the cost of the
worsening addiction and a spike in distress

whenever his body is low on the drug.
The more he indulges on the sedative
to calm his racing mind, the more
its comfort zone seems to be desired.

Disoriented in the rigours of his vice,
he strays in the abyss of drug addiction:
a dark, weary place where priority disorder 
is dictated by events outside of his control.

It is this corrupted impulse control that
causes his sick obsession with the narcotic,
rendering him unfit to articulate rational
thoughts: a chronic brain disorder.

In this harmful shift away from reality,  
utmost in his mind is the insidious drug:
over and above his job, his goals, family,
love, friends, hobbies and personal hygiene.

Oddly enough the foremost essentials of life
like water, food, and sleep are also not spared.
He could be ill and he won't care.
No other thoughts can cohabit in his world.

Emotionally invested in his fantasy world,
the toxic substance has kindled in him
an inner turmoil — setting off an overriding
feeling of emptiness that aches in his heart.

The habit much harder to lose than it was
to find: an ongoing effort to wean himself off
the drug is being crushed by a dysphoric mood
and a sickly feeling that intensify in severity.

These horrifying withdrawal symptoms
are a result of the sedative's induced
alterations in the biochemistry of his
brain's system of reward and punishment.

Instead of a mild, blissful flow of the brain's
happy hormones, as is experienced while
one is indulging in a tasty food, on receiving
a great news, or while engaged in any other

kinds of novelty that fill us with a delicious
pleasure, the opioid whose chemical structure
is similar to that of the natural chemical
messengers of the brain, Happy Hormones,

by mimicking these primary drivers of the
brain's reward system the psychoactive 
drug sends a false signal of euphoria to
the complex *****, triggering an instant

and fast secretion of an abnormally large
amount of the 'feel-good hormones', that
begin to surge along its pleasure pathways
overwhelming the reward centre of the brain.

It is this huge outpouring of happy hormones
in the region that elicites in him a sudden
burst of energy, a pleasant state of mild
drowsiness, mental alertness, relaxation, ...

This already intense, euphoric effect of the
opioid is further amplified by the drug's
blocking of the pain partways of the reward
system, thus dulling his emotions and worries

by eliminating any feeling of sorrow, regret,
guilt, fear, or loneliness. Upon intake of the
mood-altering drug, he would feel warm when
cold, calm when angry, bright when grumpy,

filled when hungry and happy when irritable,
with almost a total refrain from the tendency
to view anything in bad light. This dramatic
result makes every normal thing look better

and brings forth a deep sense of satisfaction
as though all his needs have been met.
However, this almost perfectly desirable 
body and mind experience is an artificial

feeling that only lasts a few hours at most.
When the drug's effects wear off, because
the brain, which has come to rely on the steady
supply of happy hormones, cannot adjust

all at once, it gets stuck in overdrive which
results in the withdrawal symptoms. It is so
because his brain, whose system of reward
and punishment has been tampered with,

seeks to counteract and accomodate for
the sweet thrills of the drug's euphoric high,
by secreting much less happy hormones while
the foodgate of pain hormones is thrown open.

Just like a huge surge of happy hormones
elicits unnatural levels of euphorical pleasure,
a spike in flow of pain hormones produce
in him the torturous withdrawal symptoms.

These unwanted side-effects whose rise and
fall are subject to drug levels in the system,
is the debt he has to pay for the supreme
bliss that is relished during his opioid highs.

It is all about his brain seeking to maintain
Homeostasis: a normal, healthy body function.
Once he's able to amerce with penance due,
he'll feel good again with no need for the drug.

Another flip side of the illicit habit is that over
time, the regular surge in happy hormones
disrupts the resilience of the reward region
of the brain, causing physical changes that

have drastically reduced his brain's ability
to produce the 'pleasure juices', or respond
to any stimulus other than the one being
triggered by the psychoactive substance.

This is clearly seen in his lost of interest in
activities that he once enjoyed, since his brain
suffers from lack of happy hormones which
influence one's capacity to be in a good mood.

Because the narcotic has also disrupted
activities in the control region of the brain,
his whole thought pattern, perspective and
behaviour, all radically change along with it.

It is this reprogramming of his brain that has
altered the interior reality of his mind, in ways
that result in him going into 'survival mode'
in the absence of the drug during a withdrawal.

While in this irritable, aggressive and erratic
state, he would forego anything and everything
to obtain the narcotic because he's thinking
of his drug use the same way an individual 

who is parched with thirst thinks of water.
This desperation in seeking out the drug as
a vital lifeline is due to his compromised brain
'thinking' it needs it as a matter of survival.

A habit he had maintained at the outset
because it made him feel extremely good
has tuned against him, quite often, coercing
him to use for the avoidance of pain.

The sedative as dear and painful to him
as an imbecilic child is to its mother,  
he continues on the foreboding route 
for which he has no power of deviation.

Despairing in the clutches of addiction,
the drugs traumatize him, they infuse
toxins into his spine, and he wouldn't
know whether he's coming or going.

He's kept on saying to himself, 'I'm going
to quit for good after using one last time.'
But that remains to be seen as the drug
goes on dulling his inner light day by day.

In a downward spiral that stuns those 
acquainted with him, he loses his job,
his car is repoed, and he's evicted from
a nice home that had been stripped bare.

Drowning in unpaid bills and desperately
in debt having blown an entire life-savings
on the drug, the loss of everything and a few
remaining friends leaves him fatally devastated.

The dangerous drug has evoked a negative
ripple that is felt throughout all that he's
part of. An awful realization that settles in
with cold clarity, eliciting a lurch of dismay

over his dire ignorance about the drug
which has led to the ugly entrapment.
In deep, sorrowful thoughts consumed
with self-loathing he puts a curse upon

the day he first laid eyes on the hard drug.
With the best resolve he's able to muster,
driven by exasperation to kick the habit,
he strives to make his will like stone —

a facade that is soon razed by his urgent need
for the ****** to stave off withdrawal. With a
burden of guilt and shame that can't be faced
he retreats into the haze of his own misery.

With more problems and stresses than ever
he plunges from troubled life to no life,
completely losing touch with reality as the
disorder assumes a more dangerous form.

His fixation on the ****** has taken a turn for
the worst. Besides his strong cravings for it
to ward off withdrawal as well as to experience
its euphoric high again, it has become more

crucial than ever for him to keep his emotions
constantly desensitised to life, by numbing
the agony of living to ease the passage of
day with purchased relief from the sedative.

Locked in this highly destructive pattern
of drug use, he would stop at nothing
to feed the habit: he would cheat, steal,
lie or betray no matter who to get his 'fix'.

Like the spreading of cancer in the body,  
his affliction has metastasized way 
beyond him, chipping away at the sense
of wellbeing of everyone around him.

As frequent and ready targets for theft
his family have to always watch out for him,
in a resentful relations in which they never
could feel at easy with him around their home.

Wallets, jewellery, gadgets, or any other
easy to carry household valuables, that are
not safely locked away, will go missing.
For days at a time he, too, will vanish.

He'd eventually return like the 'prodigal son'.
Always, he's found the door open after
prolonged periods of avoiding home, even
on occasions when he'd been kicked out.

In the many months gone since losing his
source of livelihood, he's been pushed
into a number of rehabilitation facilities,
but as yet has failed to clean up his act.

He's also been in and out of rehab thrice
following hospital discharges for drug
overdose. On the last occasion, he was
found passed out in the family's bathtub.

Timely arrival of the paramedics had saved
his life. Notwithstanding, a nagging urge
to 'use' continues to feed and reinforce
the habit after each discharge from rehab.

It's been most upsetting to the parents
who have had to watch him visibly change
before their eyes: from a good, healthy
son, who had always had his act together,

to as it is, a thin, patchy-skinned loner with
a baffled demeanour — who buries his head
in low self-esteem to conceal the frequent
dilated and glassy pupils from mutual gaze.

Nothing points more to the helplessness 
of the family's plight than having to finally
admit to their little, or no influence, over
the ravages of the stigmatized disorder.

A harrowing experience for a household
whose life-savings, along with compassion
for him, have completely been exhausted
with no more tears remaining to shed.

The hurting family at the end of its tether
confronts him with an ultimatum:
to get his life in order or face the music.
Coldly, they all watch him leave home.

His descent into the final stages of rock-
bottom has been swift. He starts by crashing
on fellow addicts' couches and floors,
but soon his welcome quickly wears out.

Now among the ranks of the homeless the
hobo would wake up feeling sick, and his day
would consist of shoplifting, petty thefts,
begging, and struggling to find others ways

to obtain money in order to feed the habit.
At nights, even on stormy ones, the rough
sleeper would crash wherever there's shelter,
never worrying about waking up the next day.

A hellish existence on the street that has
provoked a string of run-ins with the law. 
Nabbed stealing on ill-fated occasions,
he's manhandled in a most indecent way.

Tired, hungry and sick, the erstwhile ray of
hope, who once had a strong sense of self,
is currently a nervous wreck who envisages
life through the lens of opioid stupor.

Much beyond his ability to ask for help, 
his hurting family proceed to rescue him.
Under the humbling load of drug addiction
he staggers into another rehab facility.

But the often slippery climb to recovery
is never easy. It's yet another chance for him
to submit to a slow and delicate therapy on
his brain, whose structure and functions are

badly impacted by years-long use of the drug.
The healing process is a labour of discipline
and commitment, coupled with patience
in order to allow the brain to adapt back

toward normalcy by gradually regenerating
and rebalancing itself. In a gruelling task he's
expected to learn to care for a body that
now must struggle to work in a different way.

Desiring to put their lives back together many
druggies have been able to crawl their way out
of the murky shadow — a big chunk of them
through the guiding light of structured help.

Amongst them were 'walking corpses' whom
possessed by their 'enough is enough', were
enabled to find the inner fire vitally needed
to rekindle the cold embers of self-image.

There's the fella cast adrift feeling wholly
disconnected from self and the world.
He's mourning the loss of a vital lifeline
that has always helped him cope with life.

He had been through it many times before,
the fatigue, stomach cramps, aches, itchy skin, ...
But, he's in the early stages of withdrawal when
cravings for the narcotic are at their worst.

This initial withdrawal agony is the biggest
hurdle any addict has to overcome in the often
stop-start journey to recovery. If he could
somehow find the courage to suffer through it,

the fierce and ceaseless cravings for the drug
would be considerably reduced, making
them easier for him to deal with. Eventually,
they will dissipate the longer he stays sober.

He's being offered a way out of his captivity,
but he's unable to embrace the opportunity
with open arms because the addiction,
which convinces him the only option available

is to indulge on the drug, is blocking him from
seeing the available escape route. It has shut
off his ability to get up on the inside to face
the seeming overwhelming barriers to sobriety.

Like one in the grip of Stockholm Syndrome,
he has developed a type of trauma bonding
with the treacherous drug: the more it hurts
him, the more his irrational affection for it.

With his consciousness constantly revolving
around the insidious substance, he just
can't imagine a chronic user like him
being sober and happy again without it.

That being the case, he fails to see any point
in struggling to remain sober when in such
times he's beset by an awful illness attended
by a serious depression that is no help.

Regardless of the wreckage of his past,
everything that is dear to him plus the very
essence of life on the line, he's left convinced
that giving up the destructive habit would

mean endless suffering and feeling deprived
for the rest of his already sad existence.
More than any other reasons, he just
won't quit because he's powerless to resist.

In default of any dreams of ever recouping
losses that are manifestly out of reach,
the drug with a firm grip on him serves 
as a buffer to keep his ugly reality at bay.

All that he wants is to return to the 'loving
arms' of the opioid, very much aware that
the feeling of the drug's high now that he's
in pain can be one of the best things ever.

But even so, as tempting as the desire to jump
the healing process may be, he's bitterly
mindful of the horrors of street life that
loom upon him with such frightening aspect.

Savagely trapped with no good choices he
slips into a real fear of relapse. In anguish
withdrawal and cravings plague him daily,
and they won't allow him a moment's peace.

Utterly incapable of rising from the ashes 
to hold it all together—no hope—
nothing to hope for—everything out 
of focus—mind spiraling out of control.

In a fit of extreme anxiety the now rampaging
urge to 'use' prods him, closer and closer,
to the brink of a nervous breakdown. Suddenly,
his need for a 'hit' becomes most vital as.

Sweating profusely and trembling all over
with fear clutching a pilfered smartphone,
forgetful of future suffering the rehab
jumper hurries along the forbidden path.

All alone with the merciless companion: 
nowhere to go and no one to turn to. 
Wretchedly wretched in additive agony
the ****** fades away into nothingness.








AUTHOR'S NOTE


The Abyss Of Drug Addiction is written in 112 non-rhyming quatrains.

The rendition is a poignant story depicting the sad existence of many drug users. The verse uncovers and illuminates, step by step, the different stages of drug addiction and the mental processes of the unable to function drug users.

The paramount aim of the work is to shed some light on the sinister shadow of drug addiction: to unveil to all and sundry, especially teenagers and the youths, the hazards of drug abuse and the vicious downward spiral that can be caused by it. 

Just as the euphoric experience of all kinds of hard drugs differ significantly, so are their withdrawal symptoms. Despite their seeming surface unrelatedness, whichever hard drug it may be, the creation of an illegal and dangerous dependency in users is a common denominator.

[The Rush is described as a feeling very much like a heightened and prolonged ****** ******. A great relieve of tension. It is mostly felt when ****** or any of it's derivatives opioids/opiates is administered intravenously].

In quite a disturbing hyperbole a ****** addict described the drug's EUPHORIC RUSH as follows:
"Take the best (******) ****** you've ever had, multipy it a billion and you're still no where near it... "
Mutted sounds
The city sleeps... traditional
Rest...closed shutters
Against the heat....skies white
Blinding, implacable
Brurnt, liquid: coupolas baking
Through centuries of glazed splendor
My lover's breath on old fashioned
Sheets: starched, crip...ironed flat
Our bodies recouping
In the cool inner wall... welcomed presence
Nary a sound...inanimate objects
Enrobed in silence
Languid , heavy, waiting for the shadows
Announcing night's fresh enconter.
Colette Anne Naegle

copyrights 2005
The intimations of our golden youth
Are whispering the dreams of manhood-
Subtle ways of ageless yearning
Which in kind with ambient stars
Quarterly describes, in subtle play
The chiming of a universal soul
Whose consort is a universal heart
In man or woman, ever yielding scales
From pole to pole, the hermeneutic art.
Sweet songs of knowing, harmonies in time
Resolved, upwelling, urging on the climb
Of sacred being, born to unify…
Conceived of ash, from ash to mount the skies
On wings supernal, loft on fiery reins
To ring the victors’ anthem and the aims
Of truth and love for life’s enduring worth!



O fair noblesse and sweet repose
Of sacred care, always we hold you dear
In trials of election and sojourning.
Your constant grace, deep from within, unfolds
To free the tortured thought and lonely fears
Of desperate nights and homesick yearning.

At last in you we find the kindliness
Of heart, whose honored worth is bright as gold
To phantom souls and this, too darkened, world.
Your equipage and host of tenderness
Wrought pure intent, more sure than has been told
Of truth by men, the best of mind unfurled!

Let none forget, in U we find our rest
From whom we’re born, to whom we must return
Our hope of innocence, in us the best
Of love, whose lamp has ever inward burned.



Mystery of love that sends
In timeless whispers, on the mend
Of heart and mind, eternal tides
Of being; faith unto sacred faith
Raising up the ancient gates
Where mercy ever abides.

Patiently, your mourning dove
Has preened the pinions of our love
Recouping every bit of life’s content.
At last, what awful beauty drapes the sea
And broods the dark on holy wings of peace
A train of captives, born to pure intent!

Still working yet upon the day
Though battered in the idols’ fray
To overcome the world and show forth
The proven heart, all worthlessness disposed;
Not trusting in those shadowy ways
But piercing what, upon the naked eye
Has taunted love, too dimly beheld.

While alone the thought matured
One social pact allied the tortured doubts
And rose upon the gate Beautiful
Acceptance and cooperation
Our universal worth, more brightly lit!
Heidi Franke Dec 2023
After he died
Without warning,
I planted a tree
Announcing
Just as suddenly
The Serviceberry
To the others
In the garden
Each bud of a branch
  welcomed by the fresh earth
And dormant bulbs yet to burst
The Aspen as role model
Hastily, deeply
she was added
As quickly as he left
In pursuit of
Recouping buoyancy after starving for oxygen.
Consoling under her generous shade
Begging for silence of sufferings and
deep sorrows

Three years have passed
Has it been that long
There they are,
our memories,
in the control room
That cling, stab like a blade
Taking over the clock
A contagion of disorder
That eats away
like acid
Explicitly unwanted  
Clarity of that night
Frozen in time,
like the winter
  it happened.
Time ended without warning
Deaths metronome gave birth.

Uneven disbursement
Over one thousand days
Since
Asking why,
Why?
Why!
Prone and exhausted.
Drowned in tears that forged
A lake of salt
Why then
Do we not float?
What's holding us up?
And another thing,
Where does the wind
Go when its gone?
It dispatches
   without warning
Whirling in circles,
Catching conditions
Why am I
not so
shaken then?


The Serviceberry has yet
To bare fruit in its
Short life to fifty
Holding steady,
Enduring the rooting road
In the pragmatic ground
Surrounded by leaves from seasons
As messengers of compassion, companionship
At the foot of her trunk
An offering
Once again in winter, here we are
Sleeping until the sun
Bleeds more time
Why does three years
Feel so heavy and capricious
As if it were just yesterday


Will the depth of sorrow remain
After she blooms and feeds
The hungry birds,
Over 35 species,
Who love her nectar
Caring for the offspring
Obscure, neglected and hungry
Giving back, keeping the healed
From further storms of
Sudden causes
As he did for his flock
Harbored in what the doctor
Ordered.
Tender
Loving
Care

Will heartache be replaced
By forgiveness?
Like the passing bus
That descends the hill
Into a valley of green hearts
Picking up new passengers
Loving another
Forgetting the importance
Of yesterdays bus ticket that
Flew out the window
Arriving without intention
To its destination
Neutralizing the anger
That came without warning
Glancing out the window
Towards tomorrow
As the birds songs
Are sung
The unintentional death and road of recovery.
I see an army of boatmen of bowmen of old men stretching way back into time,
on the Thames and the Rhine a long line of troops.
The Crimea's not here I shout in disgust but my words turn to dust
as I knew that they must.
Recouping some strength and at length, I go searching the files which file past me,for miles I am searching,a lost little urchin looking for Captain John Kyle.
And in some style he appears from somewhere in the rear and lends me his ear for a while,
I complain,
you're at it again and they're going to war,I don't understand,can you tell me what for?
'Orders',says he,'I know not or care why,I joined this army to do or to die'
Then the line carried on until the troops were all gone and somewhere on the Somme another rose smiled.
Big Virge Jul 2020
So EXACTLY... WHAT... !?!
Is The... " INDUSTRY "... ?

A Place For Sheep To BLEAT... !!!!!
Or Somewhere For The Weak...
To CLAIM That They Sound Sweet...

REAL ART Is RARELY Seen...
Within The... Industry... !!!!!

Because of These Sheep...
Who Choose To Be Meek...

So Therefore DO NOT Speak...
On How They're MADE TO BE... !!!

PUPPETS Like The Muppets...
Who Act Like... ***** In Buckets... !!!!!

While Those Who Choose...
To Speak The... TRUTH...
Are Seen As Crews
Who CAN'T BE Used... ?!?

I Guess Because... ???
They WON'T BE USED... !!!

To... " Play The FOOL "...
When They've Been Schooled... !!!

The TRUTH Is It's... " EXCLUSIVE "...
To Be Someone Whose Music...

Gets To Be... " INCLUDED "...
In Being Seen As GROOVING... !!!

They're Seen As Being... " Artists "...
When They HIT Profit Margins... !!!

When All They've Done Is BARGAIN...
To Get Their Music Charted...

Producers TOO Be... " Cooling' "....
On Artistry That's Movements...
Are Challenging And Prudent...

They'd Rather Be Producing...
For Music That's Recouping...
BIG BUCKS For Sounding STUPID... !!!!!

And Artists Who Be Choosing...
To Do Music That's Proving...
That Artistry IS... LOSING... !!!!!

It's Really Quite INCREDIBLE... !!!
What They'll Do Cos' It's... " SELLABLE "... !!!!!

Setting Up Their Schedule...
To Work On Instrumentals...
That CLEARLY EARN Them Medals... !!!

For Stooping To...
... "low levels"... !?!

And Nowadays The... " Lyrical "...
Is Seen As Being......................... Dismissible.......

Because It's CLEARLY NOT...
What THE INDUSTRY Wants... !!!

So This Verse HERE Is CRITICAL...
To The Industry's... UMBILICAL... !!!!!

Because It's Chord...
DOES NOT Enforce... !!!!

Those Whose.... " CREATIVITY's "....
Made To FEED The... INDUSTRY...

If Your Art's Made For WEALTH...
You NEED TO... CHECK Yourself... !!!

And RECOGNISE THE HELL...
That Comes For Souls Who SELL... !!!

The DEVIL Has Lived WELL... !!!
Off... INDUSTRY Type Smells... !!!!

So Those Who NOW COMPLAIN...
About The Game... TODAY...
Should RECOGNISE THEIR PLACE...
UPON The... " Wall of SHAME "... !!!

BEFORE Saying What They Say... !!!!!
Because THE ROLE They've PLAYED...

Has Shown How They've ENSLAVED...
The ARTISTRY... They CLAIM... !!!!!

To Be Their... INSPIRATION...
For Making Their CREATIONS...

If MONEY Is Your PRICE... ?
For... DEVOTING Your Time...
To Creating Art That's FINE...
And UNIQUE By Design...

Then RECOGNISE The Line...
That You CROSS EVERY TIME...
You CHOOSE To Make The Music...
That You Say... KEEPS POLLUTING...
Our NEW... CREATIVE Minds... !!!!!

I'm Gonna Say That TWICE... !!!!!

If Money Is Your PRICE... ?
For... DEVOTING Your Time...
To Creating Art That's FINE...
and UNIQUE By Design...

Then RECOGNISE The Line...
That You CROSS EVERY TIME...
You CHOOSE To Make The Music...
That You Say KEEPS POLLUTING...
Our NEW... CREATIVE Minds... !!!!!

When YOU KEEP Contributing...
To ART That Should Be... "MUTED"... !!!

And RUN AWAY From Movements...
Where Art DEFINES IMPROVEMENTS... !!!!!
Because of What It... CHOOSES... !!!

To Deal In MORE THAN LOOSENESS... !!!

And Artistry That's... " Coolness "...
Comes From Being... TOOTHLESS... ?!!!?

I Guess They'll Say THIS PIECE of ART...
Comes From A Place That's WAY TOO DARK... !!!

So WON'T Get A PASS...
To CLIMB UP The Charts... !!!
And... SHINE Like A STAR....

"Okay, Blah DI Blah !" …

These INDUSTRY Farts...
REALLY Make ME Laugh... !!!!!!!!


But THESE WORDS Impart...
REAL VERSE That... PIERCES...
Through THEM And Weak Hearts... !!!

From Producers To Rappers...
To... Singers And Actors...

One Day You'll NEED Answers...
For... What You Have Done... !!!

DON'T PLAY That You're Dumb...
When It Comes To... Your Stunts...

WHO You Have... "Worked With"...
And WHO You Have.............. SHUNNED... !!!

To Get Your Art NOTICED... !!!
Because It LACKS DOPENESS'... !!!

COMPROMISE ISN'T Cool...
If That's What You've USED...
To Get Yourself... INTO...

A Game That's NOW RULED...
By Art That Now PROVES...

How Artists Have SOLD...
TRUE Artistry... short... !!!!!!

And Have Made A NEW BREED...
of Fans Who Now FEED...

On Art That Is MADE...
NOT FOR THEM But For Heads...
Who Could REALLY CARE LESS...

About... REAL Artistry... !!!!!

So... As I've Now Said...
If YOU'RE One of THEM... ?
DON'T... EVER COMPLAIN... !!!

Cos' You Should Be ASHAMED.... !!!!
of... " PLAYING The Game "...

Where.....
Artistry's Drained...................................

For What's FAKE To GAIN FAME... !!!

You're Just PROVING How Weak...
That You... TRULY BE...
By Sowing THE SEEDS...

That FEED The....

...... " INDUSTRY "......
Listen Here :

https://soundcloud.com/user-16569179/industry
the leaders of tomorrow bravely take to the dais
justified their precious life,
     liberty and pursuit of happiness -
     stolen under their figurative nose)

     asper an unparalleled heist
recouping quintessential basic human rights,
     and will NOT yield an inch
     (or any other minuscule amount),

     if for no other reason
     (and many more valid claims prevail)
     such inalienable American birthrights

     (codified decrees endowing freedoms -
     tattered to shreds via frenzy of bullets)
     guaranteeing harm inviolable unjustly out priced
     sacrificed by lax second amendment spiced

within wanton murderous sprees wherein assassin
literally calls the shots (supplanting
     assigned storied halls with din
of fire arms (acquired

     from pennies on the dollar,
     or bartered for a bottle of gin
within the underbelly (viz black market)
     of society, where trigger happy jinn nee

     as slaughter sans killing fields mount
     with resignation vis a vis
     tocollective shrugging shoulders prithee
and upend safe havens i.e. storied academic re:

deuce sing self preservation (UNFAIRLY)
     to activist minded students tree
ting each day as a survivalist course, thus WE

as coined on legal tender (E Pluribus Unum)
MUST unite against love affair with pistols, no matter
     one or more mere mortals
     think Matthew Scott cray ZEE!
When you sit alone at night
And can't help but stare blankly into darkness
Remembering all those times you were
torn up
  chewed up
    spit out
      stepped on
        shattered into millions of pieces
Not knowing why, and wondering how the hell you ever made it


Curling into a ball and hugging yourself tighter than ever
With the quiet, shallow breathing you've perfected so as to not wake a soul
And tears escaping your eyes and cracking your insides as if you were nothing but raw
Shaking as if the room was cold beyond compare
Fighting inner demons as they try to escape through every pore of your body
As if they were trying to take hold of where a warrior once possessed
Spasms of terror paralyze limbs, thoughts taking over
Closing your eyes tight until the time has passed
Falling asleep, recouping for nights to come
Avast emotional gulf manifested; courtesy
series of unfortunate events; sundered
biologically accorded, cherished, enshrined
paternal bond; resultant dereliction defies,
justifies, ratifies...dissonance; unbearable
hindsight excoriates impropriety reviewing

***** deeds done dirt cheap; impossible mission
to excise indelibly etched psychological
impacted repercussions upon mine fountainhead;
weighing excruciating deserved self loathing;
permanently deplorable depravity yoked;
unyielding choke hold, no longer asking

forgiveness, but airing errant culpability;
dada's guilt indefensible impropriety; begetting
permanent fallout; exacting just desserts; bitter
regret beast of burden (oxe see *****) housed
within self made villain; unjust to impinge your
providential opportunities, whose blessed smarts

plus unfettered, unencumbered, undaunted...
daring do promise productive existence par
excellence, versus anxiety riddled torturous
legacy writ large across countenance this papa;
analogously das scribe bing mortal epitaph, while
dark shadows haunt this edgy rusty knight, who

once pawn time shrugged off mischievous
lascivious actions as payback; recognizably erred;
misperceptions (mine); deduced ex post facto,
when the missus doled out unpleasantries;
exploding anger; vented regarding significant
roiling perturbations harkening to her own

unrepentant poisonous stinging toxicity;
delivered courtesy birth parents; hands lack
king awareness to rock cradle with tender
loving care, hence burdened with childhood
tsoris prior to accepting yours truly as life
contra dance partner these preceding xxii+

years avoiding unseemly behavior; aware
that the mother of our two darling daughters
doth love and forgive me, though recouping
similar results with first offspring may remain
tense, and many years past not a happy camper.
battered pinata like

Yours truly courtesy servitude
tethered existence suffers neck
brunt of yoke
fiscal recklessness got me woke
within cosmic schema,
a mere infinitesimal speck.

Insolvent crisis principally bespoke
interestingly enough
caught me off balance
sudden pennilessness
(dollar short/ day late dada)
analogous to vice grip
stranglehold doth choke
coffers emptied
*****-nilly Okey doke
colorblindness
fundamentally governed me

into zombified state
thus another plaintive plea
I repeatedly, lamely, and feebly evoke
meaning remuneration welcomed
courtesy altruistic generosity, magnanimity
and philanthropy humble
anonymous Lake Woebegone folk
ideally Norwegian bachelor farmers
to alleviate fiasco from fiendish
fraudsters frazzled father.

In plain (Schwenksville speak)
broken English,
I fell prey to hustlers
audacious, ferocious, malicious,
voracious, zealous tricksters,
who stealthily found entry
into my Macbook Pro
and locked computer screen
with threatening implication
security of mine private domain
awash with byte size bits
of valuable information
at risk of being tampered
with or obliterated.

Analogous to eminent domain of yore
mine digital terrain
manifest destiny meant war
virtual flesh and blood
regarding these lovely bones
yours truly gussied up
as chargé d'affaires
sent on risky (business) dutiful tour
to inflict comeuppance on him
who rendered me poor
as a Unitarian Church mouse,

plus I recruited
offspring of one of countless
related German Shepherd dogs
featured in fictional stories
on film, radio and television,
who starred as Rin Tin Tin
belonging to elite K9 Korp
receiving unexpected support
courtesy end of gum
(cryptic message for ye
to chew on) sympathizers
voluntarily boosted success
at recouping major financial setback
my morale viz extempore.
when held spellbound courtesy grifter

Flim-flam man left lasting emotional whiplash
his derelict perfected artifice
to hijack every last cent
smarted me with indelible smash;
living daylight delivered I kidney you not
envious affliction affecting
last named member and founder of the Byrds
with crosby, stills, young and nash
entire corporeal being turned to hash
condemned state yours truly relegated,
cuz cremation unaffordable, though pulverized
and transformed into powdery ash;

Impossible mission to conceptualize
transmutation into cremains, the brain
lodged within me noggin
ill equipped to envision mine gray matter
even after asking mister Google to explain
that cremation takes place
in a specially designed furnace,
referred to as a cremation chamber or retort,
and exposed to extreme temperatures –
up to 1,800 degrees Fahrenheit–
leaving behind only ashes.

Following the procedure,
a cooling period required
before the remains can be handled.

Yours truly can best attest,
when succumbing as victim to virtual heist
I most likely flip flopped
into one percent atavistic Neanderthal state;
a surprising revelation
23andme genotyping results
yielded said presence of proto human
after analyzing DNA
courtesy saliva sample from eldest sister.

No other logical satisfactory explanation doth chime
lapsed consciousness, hence reasonable rhyme
whereat one twenty first century mortal man
virtually travelled in time
cast into nasty, shortish brute
obliging deft inducement
outsourcing valuable dough.

Though aforementioned far-fetched notion
smacks of high skepticism,
yet no more ridiculous than
hominids over bajillion years springing forth
from flotsam and jetsam in the ocean
I may as well broach another theory of creation
(just came to my mind),
that divine omnipotent wizard
sprinkled magic potion
across primordial sea
after watching an advertisement promotion
claiming said product
contained the seeds of life and white lily.

Convinced that snake oil salesman
wrought deleterious influence
triggering a debacle that rocked
the financial market,
(albeit constituting one singular naked ape),
an attorney general based in Philadelphia
believes I presented a convincing case,
which hopefully witnesses
recouping all or most of my funds.
Antony Glaser Oct 2021
Southern boys speak loftily
in the winter they keep you warm
in their log cabins
In Spring they don't mind the climes
They are reborn,
showing photographs of the farmstead

A wooing softness becomes them
Southern boys
have plenty of feelings
their aim is good                  
Recouping the truth
Butter melts in their mouth
Antony Glaser Oct 2021
Southern Men speak husky,
in the winter they keep you warm,
in their log cabins.
In Spring they don't mind the climes
They are reborn,
showing photographs of the farmstead

A wooing softness becomes them
Southern Men
have plenty of feelings
their aim is good
Butter wouldnt melt in their mouths
Recouping the erstwhile truth
from noble kisses.
consumed later at night than usual
finds me bright eyed and bushy tailed
amply lively to learn
about an American radio
and television personality and pioneer
Wee ***** Weber,
who prominently and popularly reigned
across air waves and small screen
kept in the living/family room
then an obscure square box

frequently exhibiting local entertainers
second half of twentieth century
I chanced to Google and revisit
his popularity night time hours
of temperate March first
two thousand twenty four,
reckoning, jump/kick starting,
and forcing me to confront
a deluge of issues ricocheting
within sixty plus shades of gray matter

(such as association with females -
such as you my dear
despite being a young looking
sixty five year old beatle browed,
fool on the hill, paperback
writer wannabe day tripper),
whose prized (at least by me) encephalon
approximating roughly the size
of two clenched fists,
and weighing about 1.5 kilograms,

rattles and hums abuzz
with the sound of silence,
yet fires off thoughts about
how the webbed wide world
circa MMXXIV based upon
the Gregorian Calendar,
a scary place indeed,
which helter skelter violence
finds me fantasizing escaping
into an enchanted edenic
Octopus garden in the shade,

where camaraderie prevails
among variegated creeds,
gender orientation, nationalities,
religions, et cetera
and conflict resolution
predicated upon a win/win
paradigm allowing, enabling,
and promoting community
among habitats for humanity,
hence collective bargaining.

Vox Populi

which translation means
literally means "voice of the people."

The leaders of tomorrow
bravely take to the dais
justified their precious life,
liberty and pursuit of happiness -
stolen under their figurative nose
asper an unparalleled heist
recouping quintessential
basic human rights,
and will NOT yield an inch
(or any other minuscule amount),

if for no other reason
(and many more valid claims prevail)
such inalienable American birthrights
(codified decrees endowing freedoms -
tattered to shreds via frenzy of bullets)
guaranteeing harm inviolable
unjustly out priced
sacrificed by lax
second amendment spiced
within epidemic of wanton

murderous sprees wherein assassin
literally calls the shots supplanting
assigned storied halls with din
of firearms acquired
from pennies on the dollar,
or bartered for a bottle of gin
within the underbelly
(viz black market)
of society, where
pistol packing trigger happy jinn nee

as slaughterhouse blood soaked,
sans killing fields mount
with resignation vis a vis
discovering masterly carded misfit
to collective shrugging shoulders prithee
giving Atlas a run for his money
and upend safe havens
i.e. storied academic re
deuce sing self preservation (UNFAIRLY)
to activist minded students

treat each day as a survivalist course,
thus WE as coined on legal tender
(E Pluribus Unum)
MUST unite against
love affair with pistols, no matter
one or more mere mortals
think Matthew Scott cray ZEE
up in arms spouting
poetic license against
proliferation of firearms.
gamesome, chucklesome, bothersome,
and awesome modest fellow)...
does not deliberately court immortalization,
and wonders what criteria confer elevation,
exaltation, glorification, hero worship,
idolization, veneration, or worship.

I go about a daily humdrum routine
me, a twenty first century baby boomer,
who considers himself passé
and senses with sensibility
he would have been more at home
during the early nineteen hundreds.

At threescore and six years
under my out of this world Kuiper belt,
this wannabe joker here makes the most
of figurative cards I got dealt
despite most every day of my life felt
accursed with mental health issues,
stunted physical growth,
and a split uvula - submucous cleft palate
on very rare occasions, I
(once a slip of a lad
and light as a feather)
got lifted off the ground

and tossed in air by classmates
momentarily suspended as a Great Dane helt
in high regard remembering those happy days
analogous to Reelin’ In the Years
being like a little fish in a big pond
poignant adventures
going out with weathered mariners
actually Norwegian bachelor farmers
tricked out ****** thru and thru
prematurely ******* with joie de vivre
while whipping the rod
hoping hook, line and sinker snags jacksmelt.

Nothing about my person screams
shine the kleiglights (an intense carbon arc lamp,
especially used in filmmaking) on me,
one foo fighting fool on the hill nowhere man,
who hopes to be reincarnated into the ideal of
acuity, bankability, creativity, divinity, ethicality,
fidelity, generosity, humility, integrity, jocundity,
knowledgeability, likability, magnanimity, nobility,
originality, perspicacity, luck quiddity, respectability,
sagacity, tranquility, unconventionality,
versatility, and winnability.

Now just let me get these grubby hands
on well preserved brains of freshly deceased,
and tinker ala Victor Frankenstein.

Yes quite a tall order,
but methinks I can master
genetic engineering (with both eyes closed -
and both hands tied behind my back),
and thwart (once and for all)
the nasty demise of mortality
and promise fail safe solution
to vanquish what people used to consider
the quaint inevitable and unavoidable
courtesy visit by the grim reaper -

depicted as wearing a dark hooded cloak
and wielding a scythe
also known as Hel, Thanatos -
formerly known as Azrael,
and better known as the Grim Reaper
the personification, embodiment,
and spirit of Death
(known throughout the cosmos
for appearing soon after someone died
to deliver their soul to the afterlife),

Psychopomp, or Shinigami
 "la Parca" ("The Robe"), -
a common term for the personification
of death across Latin America
forcing humanity to rethink and reboot
the concept of dying and meeting the maker
essentially making process of death obsolete
unleashing in this lifetime of mine
the solution to upend
the demise of corporeal entity

plus doing away with attendant
emotional and financial toll
final expense insurance policies generate -
whereby unabated longevity
no longer a worry of the past,
but another padding to "nest egg"
recouping set aside monies
to cover the costs incurred
by the death of a loved one,
whether that person

gets buried in a cemetery or cremated
to be become forever vanquished
courtesy creating a untapped market for
twenty blank nth century when speciality
to become a B certified and verified by B Lab
of social and environmental
performance, transparency, and accountability,
which demand to churn out
one after another doctors
named Victor Frankenstein

bringing to life "creature", "fiend",
"spectre", "dæmon", "wretch",
"devil", "thing", "being", and "ogre,"
which high paying specialists
must meet high standards,
whereby the newly hatched mad scientist
receives an bone a fide education
of corpse, whose appreciation acknowledged
by the grateful dead souls
their learning involves combining,

involving artificial intelligence,
reproductive biology and robotics
discovering solutions to synthesize
the best western qualities
and as a dissertation
presenting the most poignant
tragicomic live unrehearsed drama
showcasing the denouement of humanity
trumpeting **** sapiens
bumbling, fumbling, and tabling

after teasing out the box of Pandora
mysteries of development
building neural network describing
linkedin thinking computer systems
deoxyribonucleic acid, and branches
of engineering and computer science
that involve the conception, design,
manufacture and operation of robots
unwittingly as a cautionary tale
whereat smart machines outwit

and then control their creators
with decency, humanity, leniency....
no, not spelling the gloom and doom
of man/womankind,
but rather capitalists freed from labor boon
yet silver lining allows, enables, and provides
old fashioned option to party hardy,
or read all the books in the world
which upside being that human beings
can alway choose exit - stage door left

videre licet euthanasia (voluntary
and pain free suicide),
returning to the closed feedback loop
molecules and atoms
constituting and declaring
each unique personhood
ready and willing to give up the ghost
and buzzfeeding, jump/kick starting
and replenishing the biosphere.

— The End —