Reviewing my library of poems written over the past several years it is astonishing how they unequivocally relate to our current times. The irony, I would presume, lies in the knowledge that the poem was written reflecting upon issues of the time; 2009 to be exact, yet readily still apply to conditions unfolding today. Thus giving credence to the conclusion offered at the end of this poem.
What A Mess
Have I finally succumb? After years of exploring, investigating, researching, what ever you want to call it, of all things political, religious, sociological, economic, scientific, metaphysical, paranormal, etc, etc, I have come to a conclusion: WE ARE FUCKED!
Since time began humanity has been on the climatic path to a calamitous end it has long anticipated yet has been cultivated to lack the innate intelligence to fully recognize its presence when it inevitably stares them in the proverbial face.
A proliferation of differing perspectives on everything from the origins of our presence on this planet to the question of whether our reality is, in fact, REAL! And a more pervasive confluence of idea relates to the prospects of our future, continued existence.
A distracting spectrum of opinions as to our future existence has developed incorporating ideas ranging from annihilation due to planetary bodies colliding with Earth in 2012 to global pandemics brought on by drug-resistant strains of bacteria to succumbing to dominance by interstellar beings with mind controlling powers.
Now to complicate the stress all these uncertainties are inflicting upon humanity there is the looming doom, the gloom, and foreboding of a global financial crisis to which a significant part of the industrialized world’s population has no idea of how to survive. The cultivated dependence on a collapsing infrastructure of social safety nets and social support systems will only lead to further chaos and strife.
The advent of the Internet has spawned a myriad of rationalization of truth to causes and effect and the avocation to their solution for survival against the countless sources to the demise of humanity and modern civilization as have developed to date, only adds to the confusion and chaos that is permeating the world
The conditions are ripe for self proclaimed guru’s, prophets and other like-minded personalities to advocate their solution(s) to these real and perceived problems to rise up to take advantage of the thousands of souls that have been coddled in the delusion of being `cared for’ or the belief – faith in divinity that will conquer all man-made hardship.
Frankly, were there to exist a RESTART BUTTON that would absolve this planet of this corrupt humanity that has evolved upon it – NOW would be the time for that BIG FINGER in the sky to just PUSH IT!
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Thoughts De jour
Tags: art, books, commentary, computer, content, fun, Internet, life, relationships
Nights Spent:
Like roaches that feed in the void of light; hiding their machinations from morality’s sight; to garner the lust of debauchery’s delight; filled with feelings contrite; displacing rancor with blithe; to find refuge in other’s fright, so go the hours spent by night.
Field of Dreams:
Blazoned upon open fields of trails; foot passages that hide deviant tales; trodden by exploits where wanton lust prevails; greed for pleasure hard to curtail; a place, ethical prohibitions are destined to fail.
Bathhouse:
Through dim-lite corridors, naked men parade; each lost to their own charade; to orgasm of pleasure, they’ve become the slave; for it, their moral soul to trade; open doors, engorged lust wantonly displayed; stale sweat, spent cum pervade; pheromonal triggers waff and cascade; driven to frenzy, driven to engage.
Creative Block:
Cloistered in a humble room of mindless imagination; spawned from germ of discontent; survived by the fruit of constant failure; striving toward ill-conceived ambitions; thwarted by the causation of reason; hopeless to gains of promise; foments realization to threat of survival.
Book:
Brandishing tool of eloquence; striving to be creative and communicative of mind, thought toward their realization of meaning; embodied in time, the measured vehicle of distributed reason; unencumbered by resistance of ridicule; saved for perpetual salvation of archival history.
Comments Are Much Appreciate: (consider them a author’s reward)
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