Monday, January 18, 2010

“People don’t always get answers, and real life doesn’t always have meaning”

Ok for one second snap yourself out of the pop-culture bubble you live in. Stop your daily intake of gossip, rumors, top ten lists, blogs, reviews and interviews. Take a deep breath of everyday life. Fuck that burns, it burns with the stench of unfulfilled dreams, to do lists, unfilled internet surveys, dirty laundry, half eaten sandwiches, simmering lust, and burning desperation. Let me back inside the bubble before I expire. Every time I try to embrace my awkward humanity I find it too much to bear. Its too real for me to touch. I'm afraid. I'm scared that as much as I want it I wouldn't be able to coincide with it. Let me sit passenger side and watch life pass me by from the side view mirror. Its much more relaxing this way. Its so much easier to pass judgment and advice when its too late to do anything with it and I'm already on my way out of town. I like my movies to be realistic and my life to be idealistic. Let film portray the gritty boring everyday truths and let life be grand and moving. I think I got it backwards. I'm living in Pleasantville while on Tv I'm watching a documentary on the morning routine of the average American adult male, fascinating. Will I ever be ok with being normal, with being just like my parents, just like my neighbors, just like you. When will I relish my role as the consumer and realize I am not the creator. I am just a dumb American. Will these feelings that I am bigger than my environment ever go away. Are they just illusions of grandiosity to protect me from the harsh reality of my own existence or do they hold truth. At this point I could give a fuck less I think I would be fine with either one. Just someone pick one for me tell me what to do and I'll move one. There are no answers only questions. Life isn't a book. I cant wrap it up with a clever ending that ties all the loose ends together and makes me seem like a literary genius. No it doesn't work that way. Life is a joke with no punchline, a story with no revelatory moral, a painting thats just colors on canvas. Life is not Art. I'm sorry I ever thought it was.

Saturday, January 9, 2010

Only in Africa

Only in Africa can you hear the word "rapeable"
and feel your lips not pull back to form a gasp
in fact its a laugh
at the absurdity of the situation you've found yourself in
Words, Ideas, and Concepts are fleshed out in the dark hues
of Broken, Beautiful, Proud, Beaten, Filthy Humanity
and I'm left asking
Where Is My Humanity?
it is overridden by the reality of my selfish prejudice
yet I didn't ask to placed on this step
I didn't ask to wear this mantle
I was born as the rich savior of the Third World masses
Mass around me say my name. I'll never feel more important,
more loved, more respected, more used than I do right now
Fuck protocol, heres a dollar for you
Use it wisely, I never seem to
Faced with the same situation I'd be the same
begging beggar you are
Manufacturing sob stories, like a top tier Hollywood screen writer,
You aim right in between the chinks
in my White American Capitalistic Kevlar
this Dollar burns in my pocket with the weight of a winning Powerball ticket
I've never felt so cheaply empowered
You value it and myself in ways I will never understand
and yet as much as I want to give this to you
out of the goodness of my heart.
I end up giving it to you to shut you the fuck up
like Third World Blackmail I pay you off to be quiet
and now you went from sob story to rob story
Plus your dirty in ways I can never imagine
I try to act like it doesn't bother me
But my own ignorance is more caked on than the mud on your feet
And I'm left to think ......