Dump the Old for the New

Meaning of despair
Is such a different activity
Then describing happiness
Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah
Television wrecked the scene
Let stupid people be on TV
I don’t fricking care.
Then why are you writing poems about it
When you should shut up about it?
Because it pisses people off
And I ain’t in the people pleasin’ business
Of sabotage.
I feel it’s the age of misery
Or maybe just plain pity
How can I make a transaction
Without multication or subtraction?
Old methods of using memory
Dimmed down by Kindle and iPads
Yet I’m around the fools who think technology is getting rid of paper
Check the bookshelves
Trash is piled up and no one cares
I see broken stereos
CD’s, mp3’s and laptops
I’m sitting on my rooftop
Wonderin’ why plastic was invented
Yet I use it all the time
I’m addicted to it
I can’t break free from it.
And we’re cutting all trees for paper
So am I for deforestation or plastic reefs?
Can I get back to it, can I ignore it?
The problems grows
Our communication style changes
I’m so confused by the by-products and black smoky skies
I can see all endanger species dies
As they say the words
“Sarah Palin for President.”
If that happens, I’ll become a London, Cork or Dublin resident
Maybe even Montreal or South France
Yeah, I’m not sticking around
For fart jokes, fighting for rights I already own like abortion, the education I deserve, free healthcare, for this nation to be satisfied, the dumbing down of American cinema or for the
Teabaggers. We’re so used to being on top
That we can’t recognize the bottom anymore
That’s a tragedy
The documentaries are more frightening
Than these disgusting freak shows in the horror category
Because I’m up all night
worrying. What’s wrong with our country
Can we remember our own history?
Never mind just tell me what happen the day before yesterday.
Are we so screwed up
We think it’s okay to sit back
And not attack the bullies?
To let the oil run in the gulf for months on end?
To not help people build homes?
Maybe you don’t get that I don’t want another apology
I want something to be done
Am I insane, which is a possibility
But I can’t believe in small happy endings
All you see is this fat girl with glass and her book
Scribbling hurriedly and crying
Crying because there’s no improvement
Maybe I don’t care about what you think
Because the runway is filled with skinny bitches
Oops did I say a bad word
So sorry, I’m pissed off
That I’m not being heard
Who cares for the forgotten?
Who shelters the lost and lonely?
Maybe if they made a law instead of being nice, everyone would be able to marry
And I’ve been thinking these things since I was eight, baby
So if I still read a book and not a shiny gloss screen, sue me [not really]
Sue me please, since how much toxic waste and trash has your computer made?
If we always dump the old for the new
How can we claim we’re environmentally friendly
It’s not just me, it’s you too.
At least we recycle paper and plastic
To make notebooks, journals, pens, etc, etc
But it seems we can never do enough
Since all of us try to ignore that big volcano
Of the purple unicorn of despair
Please stop asking me about my day or how I like facebook
Because I’ll tell you all my strife
We can’t ignore the big purple unicorn
Sitting on our heads
Otherwise we might as well
Put shopping carts into trees
And kneel on our knees
As I look over my sunglasses
What am I going to do
I have a unicorn on a bus
And he’s crushing us
But did I ever complain about the blue rhino?

"It's a Culture Thing"

Grey skies
Eagle eyes
Big explosions
Small vacuums
Little kisses
Big hugs
These are the rules to being human?
As I dance, I feel myself
Going into a trance
I can’t help it
Scratch the wall.
What is reason?
What is truth?
Every day we fall
And then we fall,
And then we fall,
Twisting down the stairs
Unable to get a sense of up or down.
We roll out the carpet
For villains instead of heroes
Who we trash instead of love,
And I must feel the shame
Of the forgotten
Because the words are writing themselves on the walls
The lost voice forgets to call
I don’t know where we are
And more and more
We get snatched up from the fog
Too late
It’s too late
To open our doors
To the poor
Since we beat, beat, beat them
Down. The images
I collect in a small jar
Are distant,
Distant memories
And then I pause And I look up
Where have the buildings gone?
What is that? Bombs?
A mother rocking her dead baby in her arms
Weeping never sleeping
Tell-tell-teel me
Is life worth living
If nothing can be done about these evil corportations that replaced the plantations which the slaves worked on to build a better and richer nation for the white folk
And then we lie
About having two or three wars which we had not made news about
Then we look up to the skies
Hoping, oh hoping that God will send us a sign that he loves us,
But how can he when he look through my eyes?
Now it’s tornado after tornado after hurricane
And there’s nothing to do about the pain
Bursting in my heart
As I see you smirk
Saying that no one can be president
Except you
Saying no one can vote
Except you
Saying no one can be free
Except you
And that libraries should be burned
Because of Kindle anyways
Nowhere I can post my message
So you won’t ignore it
How can I make you see
That hating homosexuals
Won’t solve a thing?
And Bush lied to you
Saying he was on your side
When really he robbed you blind
Now the tears well up in your eyes
As you try to tell me that’s not true
You’re wrong
You’re wrong
You’re wrong
And please excuse me for not caring
About Michael Phelps smoking a bong
When there’s plenty hundreds of other things
To worry about
Like climate change or global warming
Hunger in Africa
Cancer and how about AIDS
What about public healthcare
That’s a great idea!
I guess what I’m trying to say is
I rather go with socialism, you know that “other ism”
Instead of fighting for capitalism
to work. It only works for companies—which we’re not.

And I see my parents yell about my mother’s art
Whether or not it’s a hobby or a career
And I can’t slam the pillows over my head fast enough as I yell over the noise
Blasting Lily Allen, Pink, Black Eye Peas, Sick Puppies and Seether
And I’m sorry
I can’t abide the teabaggers-I mean tea partiers
Who should honestly shut up
Because their opinions I care nothing about
But the news do.
I pity those who used to love journalism
Becoming the kings and queens of gossip
And right in the middle I see two dogs fucking
And then we crawl, we crawl,
Until the shit we are covered with starts to lose it’s smell.
Where am I? Am I in Wonderland?
No, you’re in Ireland.
Suddenly everything seems so obsolete
As I stare out at the Beara Peninsula
Or shop in Cow’s Lane, Dublin
I come back and I’m done hiding
So listen up, I’m not gonna be nice
Stick your head outta your ass
And check yourself
We are but dots on a floating rock
“Everything is perfect”
Are we all selfish?
No, but no one who isn’t, ever makes the news.
Sure it’s a disgrace to spend billions at the Oscars
But it has to be better than NASCAR
But if nothing can change then,
THere is no time
This is what I write novels and poems for
This is what I write badly done comics for
To live out this pain
You may call it pessimistic or goth
But we’re all gonna die
And sooner of later we have to accept the fact
That medicine is never gonna be advance enough
To make us live forever,
And who wants that anyway?
Who has the time, tell me who has the time
To worry about everything?
Remember, “worrying is just dreaming in the wrong direction”
But where are we:
Sinning distraction and ignoring A.D.D.
I don’t mean to be a stain
In the middle of your forehead spelling out the word “PEACE”
But there’s nothing worth fighting for except freedom
And when are we going to stop
Budding in, interfering, snooping, meddling
“It’s a culture thing!”
Sure it is.
I shut my eyes to the pain
But the pain never really dies
And the pain never really dies
And the pain never really dies
How can we look at ourselves objectively
If we always think, we’re the best?
Don’t worry world
I’m not done yet.