New Years Eve

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it’s the end of the year and the rats are here
to feast on the carcasses left behind. what
a devastating year, they groan, you can
see it — seething in the eyes, the fear,
the monotony of ravaged lives jampacked
in shopping centers, defeated, trying to consume
their way out of their self-imposed bondage.

and the easily amused sit on couches
with sugary smiles
as they binge-watch their
own destruction.

the voices of dead poets’ float around
unheard, and the books of Dostoyevsky
collect dust while the prophecies of
Orwell and Huxley unravel as Nietzsche’s
Last Man sits comfortably numb among us
weak and tainted like the idle
blood in his elastic veins.

the frail, riddled with disease,
have found glory in their sickness.

frightened by life and fueled
by resentment
they prey upon the strong
and paint their own feebleness
as virtuous.

it’s New Years Eve, and a hollow
gaiety floods the streets
along with a heavy blast
of fireworks
to welcome in the
resurrection
of a new age.

i pack a few essentials in my backpack —
2 books
a flask
and a knife
and walk out into it.

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Along the Western Front

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Christmas Eve, 103 years ago tonight,
the world burns burns burns like
the furnace it is, but a hard freeze
sets in after an agonizing week
of wind & rain 
along the Western Front.

Tired and ragged soldiers on both sides
of a senseless, brutal war
emerge, with hands up,
from the trenches
harmonizing Silent Night
in unison
as the snow begins to fall.

For just a few hours, these war-torn
adversaries come together
as allies, as friends, as brothers.

They defy the rules of war,
ignore commands from generals
and politicians, and chisel out
their own peace. A peace not granted
by their masters. Two enemies, together,
under a bleak sky in fields of blood and bones,
laugh and sip whiskey and smoke cigars,
while sharing gifts as the grey dawn
gives way to the bloodshed again.

But for one night, just one night, these
young soldiers escaped the cage of honor,
the hell of their undoing, and lowered
their guns, and their goddamn flags
and found brotherhood through truce.

Let every night be Christmas Eve night,
1914, along the Western Front.

 

The Poet

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neglected of youth, high-heeled
whores strut their asses through
the crowded maze of the
barroom haze. cobwebs
of agony hang in the air
as the jukebox serenades
the lonesome. a fistfight detonates
between two drunks at the end
of the bar. everybody is sitting
around waiting to die as
intoxicated laughter
throws a guise over the
end of the world.

and there he is, death dripping
from eyelids, he takes a last-call
pull from the bottle, throws his coat on,
lights a half-smoked cigar & stumbles
out into the doveless night. the warm glow
from a lamppost throws shadows of serpents
against battered cobblestones. vagrants sip
whiskey under boxed shelters as they hold out
calloused hands for the gamble. the
moonlight careens up the seedy path
as the poet ambles towards the
dark den of his solitude. Continue reading

Tragedy of Man

The most dangerous thing
to any society is a man
brimming with emptiness.
And it’s rampant, man,
you see it everywhere.
Empty men, too comfortable,
too stagnant, drive gone.
Unable to create, unable to
grow, these men lose the guts
to command their own lives.

They become resentful
and fall deeply into a
vicious type of despair.

I think we’ve all been there
a time or two but this particular
man gets stuck in it. He gives up
wanting and feeling, thinks it’s
all futile. His boredom eventually
yields to a fetish to destroy all
life around him, including his own.

Mass shootings, murder-suicides,
and snuggling up to warped ideologies
divulge
the sad finale
to all these men’s
sick stories.

Sainthood & Outlaws

 

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Socrates was sentenced to drink the hemlock
for corrupting the youth. Jesus was crucified
for rebelling against the Roman Empire. Joan of
Arc was burned at the stake for heresy. It’s pretty
clear to see that sainthood is often born of rebellion.
It’s usually the outlaws of a society, those most hated
while alive, who live forever in the hearts of mankind.

you’re not gonna change it, darlin’

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the world is in disarray, darlin’,
and that’s the way it always has been
and always will be. this is its normal state,
it’s tragic and fascinating at the same time.

the vast fields of gold & honey
are encircled by raging rivers
of blood and tears.

you’re not going to change it, darlin’.

I know your college professors have
plagued your mind with subversive ideas
of change; change at a cost of yielding
your essence to the false idol of “equality”,
but’s it’s a lie, darlin’, I promise you…
the unintended consequences will be far worse
than the evils you’re trying to eradicate.

you have animosity & rage
building up within you,
you’re becoming corrupted by your beliefs,
this sometimes happens
when a belief system is in doubt,
can’t you see it, darlin’?

can’t you see what you’re becoming?

instead of listening and pondering the rationale
of opposing voices, you want them silenced.
you routinely inject a dose of ad hominem
as a scapegoat to divert attention away
from the debate, you erect a strawman, lumping
your opponents into detestable groups
to muddy up their character instead of
dealing face to face with the argument.

this is what you’ve become.

they’ve molded you into an instrument
in someone else’s symphony. a pawn in
someone else’s game. refuse, darlin’
don’t lose yourself to some odious ideology
that breeds resentment towards the
hierarchical structure you find yourself in,
it’s a no-win situation.

I promise you, darlin’
you’re not going to smash the system
you’re not going to alter it
you’re not going to level it out.
your time & energy are too precious
to waste on such a futile endeavor.

because in truth, we’re all just thrown
into this chaotic catastrophe as lost
transients who take on a few
decades of its infinite expansion.

endless suffering, prejudices,
and inequity are part of the game
darlin’, they’re inescapable
in a world of duplicitous hearts,
where that fine line rifts between
good and evil.

so go ahead, clamor for more laws,
shun your neighbors and cling tighter
to your predictable politics, give up
a little more in exchange for the illusion
of security, write your congressman,
join the trendy campaign, hashtag
your way straight to utopia, darlin’

sermonize to us all on social media
like you do so well

keep it up

tell us the way of the world,
tell us what the philosophers
neglected to inform us
tell us our proper role
on this unforgiving planet
tell us your bland ideas
tell us your irrational fears
tell us your cunning pleas

however, darlin’, you’re not going
to change it, your groupthink,
herd-minded viewpoints are voiced
loud and clear, but it means nothing.

your resentment of the flourishing
makes you a victim of a deep-seated
nihilistic despair, and instead of trying
to rise through the muck, you yearn to bring
everyone down to your pathetic level.

you were taught this to be virtuous, noble,
you’ve come to despise the individual,
you’ve come to hate him, which is
why you mimic the masses and castoff
responsibility for your own miserable life.

you’ve been caught up in the cobwebs
of your culture, darlin’. you’re too weak
to push through. they’ve got you.

this is why you’re bitter and saturated
with an anti-realist belief system.
the way you perceive outer reality
is just a reflection of your inner world.

the only REAL thing you can do
is change who you are.

behave in little ways
to make yourself a
healthier, wiser
more creative
person.

you have to go at it alone, though.
the majority, the crowd, is never right.

think bigger, reflect deeper, speak truthfully,
take on a bigger load, put some skin
in the game. find out who you are,
fix your unlived, broken self
first, before you attempt
in some vain way
to save the
world.

it’s the only way.

Among the Daffodils

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My face is beginning to show
the battle scars of time. My heart
seems to care less for things
I once held as relevant. As the years
unravel, things make less sense.

The hangovers last a few days now
instead of a few hours. Beautiful
dreams once lucid are now blurred.
The idea of God weakens with every
atrocious deed I see in the world.

Politics is a hopeless endeavor
just like our obscene habit
of obedience. The debt bubble
we’ve swallowed as “prosperity”
is on the verge. The wars have
grown tiresome, nobody cares
about them anymore.

Everybody is trying to sell
a lifestyle; they want you live
like them; they want you to buy
their life-changing product
or get behind their great cause;
they have the secret, they say,
just follow them.

The church wants confessions but I think
we’re all out. The witless hipsters ride
vintage bikes on Brooklyn sidewalks
to coffee shops that were once
brothels and asylums.

Overmedicated & indebted men
find it difficult to have conversations
beyond their jobs or college football.
Women do yoga on weekends and gossip
on long walks about husbands
who’ve lost that intestinal fortitude.

The 88-year-old man, with his retirement
and dignity wasted away by inflation, bags
groceries at the corner supermarket
to pay for his myriad of medications.

The dogs have grown bored of their masters.
The cats gave up on us long ago. The sparrows
flutter higher in the sky than they used to.

The books of Whitman, Emerson
and Thoreau sit dusty on bookshelves
as the television scorches and burns.

Where’s the promise of victory?

We’re being led somewhere
by the outside far away
from the treasure inside.

As the tribes’ march in lockstep
to their ordered destination,
I lie in the meadow
just beyond the bloody streams
surrounded by golden daffodils,
as the rain rinses me of oblivion
I’m lifted from the hollow abyss
into the universal radiance
where the five senses
become one.