Wednesday, April 10, 2013

The Lion, The Witch, & The Anal Probe

Peace and the pursuit of such is a relative term. The tranquility that is often implied is inherently ambiguous because individuality is never connected in such an idealistic manifestation as generally assumed. In the pursuit of peace, society, humanity, civilization, whatever they may mean to you have become more pussified  for all the wrong reasons. For example, feminism is a term of defeated women too ignorant and unaware of the natural order of the planet. This label provides the agriculturist takers' schism further strength. In this same regard, the shaman is not mysticism. Sensationalists are welcome to intentionally misinterpret me as desired. Let a silent boot print be my official  response to criticism. The subjectivity brings us back to the individual. Rebel, cling to the issues of self-gratification. Confused and lacking direction, hear me out, or listen to the shallow impersonation of masters. Cracked is the mirror you have no business glorifying. You're fucking lazy. Lazy, a term not to be confused with an esteemed disposition. The 1% rhetoric is lazy. Playing fragile and frail for attention causes me to speak with an ax. Taking and taking and giving little and taking and taking. You color me to bring me down. Too scared of self-reflection, you rally the town. I tried to be nice. Empathetic even. To be generous. To offer my humility. To remain vulnerable. I've given my time. Shown my support. Provided my signature. Raised the money. Donated to the cause. Voiced my opinion. Done the work. Done so many fucking favors. Yet, I'm slapped in the face by the memories of all those that cannot remember. This is a journal. A retelling of events. An account of the situation. I am tired of apologizing. Tired of feeling the need to offer a disclaimer to every goddamn word out of this crotchety old mouth. Why provide an explanation to those too fucking stupid or weak to comprehend basic vernacular and decency? Keep spewing your bullshit. Only to eventually fall on your own sword of deceit and pity. The frail and pathetic sadness believed only by the frail and pathetic often forgets that there is a paper trail, documentation, facts, evidence, and truth. You wag your unsure fist for peace. While I kick and scream to burn down and piss on your beliefs, I find that peace. You speak of cruelty while your farms and cars are causing species to go extinct. While I think we should kill all of our own meat, you kick and scream without peace. The stomach can only endure so much bullshit before Cinderella dresses for the ball, and I abandon it all. You'd be a better man if you were a better man. Your philosophy a failed plan. A melodrama at best. If I were you I'd watch which shit pile I stand. In reality you are not shy. You like to see you cry. And I, could spend a lifetime attempting to decipher the schizophrenic sociopaths. I've given too much and been taken for granted. I'm not looking for a solution. What I need is a conclusion, and this is the end of the rope. The noose's joke. On you. Getting off easy, as the breath gasps from your voice. Ruthless and unforgiving because the bumper sticker slogans have grown old. It's a little too late to play this game, eventually you will remember my name. Peace motherfucker peace.

(probably just a draft or extended version rather)

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