Enough Is Enough: The Gates

This is a call to arms.

There are dubious activities taking place right beneath our noses. Now is critical; this time and place in history is imperative. The globalized world, with technology that allows for nearly infinite knowledge (a digitized Library of Alexandria), is somehow no less ignorant. Humanity as a whole is richer than ever before, and yet the majority still starve and the minority revel in ever more lavish absurdity. All hail to the almighty dollar!

We can’t go green because there’s not enough green to go around. The democracy of American was founded on the belief that wealth is a deserved possession of all, and yet we live amidst a world where some hoard while others scrounge. The middle class is shrinking as the people with the money get power, manipulating us - even the information we are exposed to - into a false sense of control. Freedom isn’t free. 

Politics offer no solace. The common man is too busy bearing the weight of others’ revelry to organize. A unique population of people need to be the ones to change the world: Artists. Musicians, philosophers, painters, logicians, poets, bards, writers, actors, and even scientists need to band together and take back morality, take back the bastardized ethics of the modern world. Why artists? Because we transcend the hustle and bustle, the ho-humness of modernity. The desire to create is one of good, of love, of aesthetic beauty, and our craft is more important than the fickleness of wealth and the bribery of monotony. We have to be the ones to fix this. 



This is a call to arms for artists and the infinite strength of their creations: FIGHT!!!

The Gates

Bight my finger and chew on my soul

Determined to toss my bones in the hole

Better save your money up

Because there’s gonna be Hell to pay

When I spit fire

And rise from my grave  

Maggots in my eyes and dirt under my nails

With dusty black lungs, quick to inhale

You can push the barrel deep into my temple

Blow my mind out the other side

It means so much to be nothing at all

Because I broke the mold when I dropped the ball

I was the first to scream “FUCK YOU" in the face of dismay

I was the last to breath life into all the decay 

The Smell of Money: Skullduggery

Cha-ching!

Have you ever rationalized through the use of money? Have you ever tried to trace back its original usage to discern how it developed into the way we use it today? I recognize the practicality with which it was employed, but in its present incarnation - everyone trying to maximize acquisition while minimizing loss, catching things while they're on sale, buying things with nonexistent money, and then accruing more money for not returning the money you didn't have in the first place - it seems to be no more than a farce. Morality is tossed by the wayside as the precession of the financial parade rolls by. A man is measured by the quality of his work, not the quality of his heart. In a corporate world, there are no allies.

There are some who have bowed at the feet of the Almighty Dollar, evoking its compassion and reaping of its supposed benefits. Though, it seems rather incongruent that our dreams and aspirations should come with a steep price tag. Is it non-negotiable? Sorry, but I'm on a budget. Why should we be limited by an economic reality? I see no Wall Street in nature. Does my soul carry a credit score? It seems ironic that currency is almost entirely made of cotton, while it rarely keeps us warm. I have met far more wealthy men with a poor character than I have met penniless men without a rich one.   
   

In whom does God's money trust?

Skullduggery

Walk alone

On a jagged road

No place to go

No home

To call my own

Want the best of this world with an empty pocket

Seal it up tight in a box or locket

Collect all the reveries and memories

And make a heart shaped balloon to take me far away from here

Thank God for imagination

My one way trip

My final destination

Wrapped me in the wounds of expectation

And sow me up tight

Don’t want any representation

No paperback dream

No voice to scream

No hands to bleed

And no eyes to free 

A faceless meaning in a blank dictionary

An insignificant dot in the obituaries

No synonyms

No acronyms

Wasted soul set to sail on a boat full of holes

Doomed to sink into this deep sea of wishes

That had to come true

Windowpane of longing

See, but don’t touch

No, can’t touch!

Need to prove to everyone something that can’t be seen

But you can lie to everyone, as long as you’ve got the “green”

Walleted world we live in

Everything is fraudulent

Set to mock and shun us

Make fun of us

The door to beauty stained

Tainted with the fingerprints of the deranged

Czar

President

King

Emperor

Ruler of the world

A filthy world

Lovely and once beautiful

She’s all that we’ve got

So you rape her

Deprave her

Try to escape her

Live in her womb while you try to claim her

Feeding off her insides

Glutton!

Tarring out her eyes

While you see nothing!

Bruise and break her

But she’s still prettier than you

So goodbye!

I won’t accept this play anymore

Theater of puppet strings

You pull while we push

Scars and calamity

Always dying in vain

Because we know

All those fingers

Are jammed back in your face