"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.