Wednesday, December 18, 2013

Only to those who are likewise

I am a stranger to myself
And therefore a stranger to others
Friend only to those who are also strangers to themselves
Who accept the pain of change
In whose eyes the contortions of metamorphosis bend

I am alone with myself,
And therefore alone around others
Brother only to those who are also alone
The face in the crowd facing the crowd
Peering out from within, out and about then home again
Gone but not forgotten from themselves

I am sad with myself
And therefore sad with others,
Happy only with those who likewise touch bottom
Mad laughter interrupts their contemplations
Slap-sticks punctuate their darkness like bottle rockets,
Dazzling the wearied minds of the mindful

I am angry at myself
And therefore angry with others
At peace only with those who are likewise pissed at the droppings of herd animals.
The field disappoints with migration patterns of happy campers moo-ing toward oblivion
Released from guilt only by democracy

I stare into the mirror
And therefore see only myself
But also those who likewise embrace reflections
Gathering storms obscure the eye and sharpen the mind
Doubts burn the gut as knotted brows condense truth like tears
And this I see when they appear

Shitty low-wage end game

When you're 18 years old and you have a shitty low-wage job with no benefits, you figure it's your responsibility to get a better one. When you're 28 years old and you have a shitty low-wage job with no benefits, it's time to start a revolution... because there no way that's your fault. When you're 38 with a shitty low-wage job with no benefits, you're too ashamed to even talk about it, but you will gladly vote for whatever welfare-state-ism promises some relief. And when you retire from that shitty low-wage job with no benefits, the government will go belly up and leave you sitting on a bench in Florida with all your possessions in a shopping cart. 

So by all means, let's waste whatever time we have left focusing on an the rhetoric dribbling from the lips of politicians. At the end of the day, that mad troupe of acrobats and circus clowns won't be around to help any of us. They never did and they never could. Utopian dreams exist in the eternal present to distract us from what lies ahead. Politicians and smart-money cash in daily, while we imagine a future paradise underwritten by the absent father figure who passes us on his way to the bank, with our futures in his pockets. Dream on.