My First Day at Work

Entering upon these warmer days, the air of discontent and wrongdoing has reached the point of thickness once thought unreachable.  We have seen our peace and past systematically taken apart piece by piece only to be rebuilt into a concrete jungle gym of lies, evil pursuit, and corporate crimes against nature.  Our aggressors have names to which we can hold responsible.  But when can this climate of aggression be turned against those who are the aggressor?  Not until the small have the power and strength of the weak masses.  We must think of them in two ways, as our allies and as our enemies.  Ignorance is ignorance, whether by false personal betrayal to the self or by way of simple misunderstanding of our surrounding environment.  Both are unacceptable and should be the focus first of our attack before we can hope to consume the fires by which the aggressors feed.

The dark lady walks across my hand and fills my eyes with the discontent of a moon still oceanscape.  I’ll breathe her into me; infuse her hair with my lungs.  Entangled, we travel through braided wind and walk about the soft earth, the lives of a thousand trees lifelessly scattered about as we tread upon her.  Far off we hear the cries of the past creeping alongside the torn groves of our dissent, and their screams claw new tracks for which our blood may flow.

But again, the sunsets and our time as one must end.  She departs as smoke and through the last remaining rays I can see her, like a filter catching dust, she disperses into emptiness and leaves her void in the wake.  Lumbering about, with dusk in hand I continue to toil into the midnight’s breast where I sleep in his spotted bosom.  Dawn flirts with fire and sets the stage for the players to once again take position. On cue, the music starts and life act 1 begins.

These words like others cannot mask our failure to turn the tide of corporate power.  The free speech they invoke tramples upon our heads and forces us to see with blinders on.  To break from the path and see a new spectrum of light must take an awakening, a struggle of epic proportions. 

So we remain faithful to these lies of webbed deceit and we all believe, yes we all believe, that our words can strike a different beat and snare the lines they pull and tug we push and grunt for firmer grip. Oh, oh how the rain transforms our dirty view into a sea of bloody faces swept aside by the river mud—a flash, a flash—are they drowning or are we sinking while they swim ahead?

Ahead, our neon idols strip and dance erotica which we cannot look away from.  They are our muses, our new art culture and squeeze into the tiniest crevices.  Our glass world reflects the soft buzz of life and shines their loving warmth across all lands.  But in the mind like an umbrella we can shield ourselves from the storm and past the hypnotizing sexuality of our new gods, into an unbranded desert primed for the first coat of life.