a generation of brain rot meme lords

we say that we can play guitar

but, we only know four chords

we’ve popularized school shooters

idolized and glorified weak and worthless 

   leaders

we're toxic antagonists surfing fragile buried 

   wires

our brains washed by computers

clout chasing criminals streaming to the viewers

six months in prison but, we’ve copped another 

   sponsor

we're desensitized to the insanity we put upon 

   each other

tv and tablet screens designed to keep us 

   tethered

and we all believe that we have been 

   responsible consumers

but, look around at everything you own that 

   needs a charger

you'll see how weak we really are when they 

   turn off the power

-MILLENNIALS I-

-MILKYWAY DNA-

Bending cosmic leaping rays of

   bunny rabbit bouncing waves of

   buzzing bruising outer space love.

Plasma, pulsar, pulsing polestars.

Milkyway DNA,

   in a candy melting microwave.

John Titor is coming from another place.

Kilgore Trout-ing through the waves of time

   and the vast abyss of outer space.

-EVERYTHING 94-

It's odd to think of the things we just accept.

Or the things we don't acknowledge at all.

Everything we manufacture has a price.

Look at the landfills,

   full of every outdated device.

Everything electric, plastic, or glass,

   decades of rot rests in the trash.

     Everything is ninety-four.

Our earth, our stars, our sky,

   our roofs, our floors, our windowed-doors.

Our computers, our consoles, our monitors   

   and mice.

     Everything is ninety-four.

Our kitchen sinks, our pre-mixed drinks,

   our fabric clothes, our morning toast. 

Our food, our bodies, and our minds.

     Ninety-four natural elements.

               Koyaanisqatsi.

NOTE-  Koyaanisqatsi- (Hopi) "Life out of balance" or "A state of life that calls for another way of living."

*94 words* 

-REPEAT OFFENDERS-

When we see history "repeating itself", 

   it isn't an anomaly or coincidence.

It may just be the governing bodies of this   

   world pulling from their play-books of     

   war, genocide, disease, religious guilt and 

   oppression.

-WE ARE THE VIRUS-

Capitalism, power, and false prophets have 

   destroyed this world.

We are stardust, we are mammals.

The thing that separates the billionaire

   from the slave is god.

The billionaires use god to keep the slaves in 

   their factories.

Slavery isn’t a “color of your skin” topic.

We are the 99 percent enslaved,

   it’s about the money they want

   to keep from our pockets.

We are made of the few precious natural  

   elements in this massive universe.

Consuming every natural resource at an 

   unprecedented rate.

We are not the higher life-form.

We are the virus that jeopardizes the life of  

   every plant and animal you see.

-AU SABLE RIVER-

The Au Sable river runs
a rustic river through my blood
tarmac baked by setting sun
two bridges running through the wood.

Wooden dock below the dam
stretch of river that I'd roam
my fire pit and river camp
stone's throw from grandpa's home.

Home that I once called my home
where I rested in my teens
boat launch where I'd skip my stones
in between the weeds and reeds.

This land is still a home to me
I still smell my grandma's kitchen
remember every stone and tree
and the spots where I'd go fishing.

Jumping from the pontoon boat
at that secluded dock
still sell my smokes up the slope
in the little live bait shop.

Couple miles from that store
off the only major highway
path that runs from stream to shore
down a winding wooden stairway.

The water is so fresh and clean
see clear down to the rocks
I'd often fill my steel canteen
and sit on that Au Sable dock.

-SERENITY & RAGE

It is the man that finds nirvana while meditating atop a jagged rock in a raging sea.

The heart of the artist, deliberate and wise until corrupted by the chaos of the many overlapping thoughts that pollute their mind at night.

A lullaby from the sunset that casts majestic gold over the Earth in the dawn of the evening.

The sun that burns violently, penetrating through the vast darkness of space.

It is the Ayahuasca that conjures visions of naked seraphim, gleefully dancing, drunk on wine. 

And it’s the Ayahuasca that brings visions of homicidal clowns dual-wielding knives. 

It is the calm of the breeze on the lake during a yearly fishing trip at your favorite fishing spot.

It’s the struggle of the fish trying to escape the line and avoid the heat of the frying pan.

It is the many tribe-less creatures of the forests and the oceans that survive solely on instinct.

It’s the tribe-less human infant that dies without a hand to feed it.

-GAMES OF THE WEALTHY-

how do we go from rejected to accepted
while they're pushing hateful rhetoric.
they lie about minorities because that's their favorite scapegoat
they draw lines on maps to rearrange the power of the vote.
they label queers and immigrants as harmful, undesirables
but the crimes of the wealthy man are becoming undeniable.
politicians and billionaires work us to the bone
they pit us up against ourselves to make us feel alone.
they're the only ones that profit as we make and sell their phones
we pay to live inside their world because they bought up all the homes.

I sprayed the insecticide along the baseboard, where the wall met the floor and the ants moseyed on in a row.
  These ants have been marching along my wall, from my front door to my kitchen bin for the last two weeks.
  The nerve of them.
  My Google search warns me that an infestation of ants may result in damage to my expensive electronics.
  This bothered me.
  I sprayed more insecticide along the baseboard, where the wall met the floor and the ants staggered on in a row.
  It was a new and improved formula, guaranteed to last thirteen weeks and it smelled of "fresh linen"
  Stepping back from the wall, as I finished my second spraying, I took a deep breath and allowed my olfactory bulbs the unrestricted access to the toxic fumes masked as the pleasant scent of clean laundry.
  The ants staggered and died almost immediately as the waded through the poison pools.
  I noticed a few ants were avoiding the poison.
  This annoyed me.
  I sprayed even more insecticide along the baseboard, where the wall met the floor and the ants were now dying in droves.
  I got down on my one good knee, bent my ear to the floor and I began to blow.
  I blew the few straggler ants that were frantically avoiding the poison into the corner of the room where the poison was at its deepest.
  My job was done as I watched the last of the filthy little fuckers drown in the soup.
  My mind concocted an alliteration, I thought:
  'Six-legged savages swimming to suffocation, frantically fighting the fatality of the foreign fumes.'
  I vacuumed up the corpses and settled in bed for a cozy night with a book.

  The next day, around 9am, four men in black suits kicked down my door.
  They identified themselves as agents of the International Criminal Court (ICC).
  They produced a warrant and told me to come quietly, but I had no intention of doing so.
  I hollered at the men, "what is this all about?!"
  One of the men hollered back, "you're under arrest for war crimes committed last night on this very property."
  The men in suits photographed the baseboard, where the wall met the floor and the ants no longer paced in a row.
  One of the men explained to me that, "under the Roman Statute of the ICC, employing asphyxiating, poisonous or other gasses on a population is an explicit war crime."
  I watched as they confiscated my vacuum cleaner.
  They read me my rights.
  They handcuffed me.
  Then i was walked to the street and shoved in a plain white S.U.V. 
  Everything happened so fast but I remember thinking, 'I'd better keep my cool until I see my lawyer.'
  
  I met with my lawyer the very next day from my jail cell.
  Luckily, there were no ants in my cell so, I slept soundly the night before.
  Although I was well-rested, I was still quite worried of the severity of these trumped up charges.
  My lawyer, on the other hand, was confident we could beat the allegations.
  We immediately began a three step counter-offensive. 
  Step one: classify the ants as a terrorist regime.
  Step two: we claim we were acting in self-defense.
  Step three: we stand our ground under the guise of, "making my living room great again."

  Within two weeks, it was over and I was a free man.
  I thought I'd return home to peace and serenity.
  Imagine my surprise as I walked through the busted down door to my house to find the walls were painted black.
  I flicked on the light.
  The walls began to move.
  The walls were not painted with pigment.
  The walls were painted with insects.
  Millions of angry, hissing insects had occupied my home during my absence.
  They attempted to swarm upon me and I believe they intended to take my life.
  I was too fast for them, though.
  I managed to escape to a nearby hotel and the front desk clerk cleaned me up and gave me a room.
  I've been living in this hotel for two weeks now.
  I have no intention of trying to reclaim my house.
  It belongs to the insects now.

-HOSPITAL SOCKS-

we pace this place like one and all

we all pace eventually,

we’ll all walk these halls

our nights have turned elastic

our socks shuffle through

hospital halls

both fresh and frightening

and funnily familiar

fluorescent fixtures flicker

off flat-white paint and tile

reflecting all of the flickering

ALL of the flickering

the constant fucking flickering

and the nights stretch onward

pacing this corridor 

more and more

gathering the static from the floor.

I wish we could run the world

on all of this positive energy

it's in these halls, 

it's all around me.

people pushing their politics

savory and unsavory but,

pacifist patients all preaching peacefully 

for simple civil rights and justice

we remain calm by meditating, 

Journaling for poetic justice.

yesterday was the worst day of our lives

but tomorrow we'll wake up 

put on our hospital socks

and we’ll walk these hospital halls.

-INSECTICIDE-