Saturday, November 24, 2018

Our Mutual Deception

The distance between us is a crutch
a convenient excuse
something we can blame
for our vacuous inner life
for our ominous silences
for our unrewarding reunions
necessarily brief

Ever we remain apart
aware in our secret depths
that true oneness is impossible
even without the outwardly resented
constantly decried
(though jealously cherished)
long distance between us
Our only link

Thursday, November 22, 2018

Distance

Supersonic my thoughts fly to you
Paying no heed to the vast expanse
That presumes to part us

Defiant our hearts seal the breach
inflicted by solitude's affront
Beseiged by brutal loneliness

Inelastic however my arms remain
Which fain would match the feats
mastered by flights of fancy

Oh for arms as long as the law!

Wednesday, September 26, 2018

All the Pimps

A pimp merchandizes the bodies of whores. Beatings and insults maintain the necessary inferiority complex that keeps her beholden to him. Lies and mindgames keep her in awe of him, and even more fearful of leaving him, because how will she survive these streets without him? Never mind that she actually feeds them both, the fact that he takes all her money and gives her a fraction of it leaves her thinking she needs him. The occasional drug fix instils dependency through a soul-destroying addiction which only the pimp can supply. At the end of her beauty and usefulness, when she is worn down by daily rough usage at the hands of the tricks whose money she takes and hands over to the pimp, and when the drugs have reduced her brains to porridge, she is discarded by the pimp if she is lucky enough not to have already died on the job or at his hands.

Capitalism pimps out the minds of people. We work to sustain an economic system which exists to exploit us. The best part of our labor and mental capacity is funnelled into narrow and repetitive  routines which maximize investor profits. For all this sacrifice of our time, our productive lives, hemmed in by austere corporate policies the whole while, we earn salaries in exchange with which we may Go Out And Consume, sustaining the system, hoping against hope to eventually earn that deserved promotion that will perch us high in the stratosphere above the worries of the non-selfactualized masses who will stare wistfully up at us as they hang on our every word, giving us a heady rush of power. But most of us won't get quite that high up the pyramid. So we die on the job, or our productivity declines and we retire; meanwhile the machine on the intake end sucks in another fresh-faced starry-eyed aspirant of the verdant heights.

The pope pimps out souls. Making claim to the souls of men he boasts a monopoly of the keys to heaven and hell, thus all should be found in his good books or else eternal fiery tortures greedily await. Many unhappy with their lot in this life comply with his edicts and enrich his coffers for a stake in eternal felicitude insured by the old white man. Inevitably the pope's customers die, earning their chance to verify his claims to mastery over the spirit world, and to test just how far his dearly purchased Get Out Of Jail Free Card will go in those realms. Just too bad if no route be found by which to return to the land of the living and claim a refund from the self-appointed pimp of the underworld.

Tuesday, September 11, 2018

Spectre

It was hard to accept that Daddy was dead.

Mum was devastated.

Oh man, we prayed fervently, little brother and I, for GOD to bring him back to life. We were serious.

And then we waited expectantly for him to walk in through the door as usual, with his exuberant booming bass reverberating throughout the house as the carried us aloft in his strong arms and hands that tickled. But no such miracle occurred.

And then one day his car came trundling towards the house. We ran out to meet it, little brother and I, our hearts in our mouths, palms skyward in jubilation, thinking GOD had answered our desperate prayers.

But from within the car emerged one of his former colleagues, newly assigned his company car.

We instantly hated that stranger for not being Daddy, though he came to offer condolences for his loss.

Even little sister, at the time a blissfully ignorant, inarticulate toddler, eventually caught on to the extended absence of a strong, familiar presence. She then cried for days.

The years passed and reality sank inescapably,  the hard reality of his continued absence, the oppressive expectation that we would never see him again. The best we could hope for was to eventually come to terms with that Daddy-shaped gap that would never be filled.

To this day his ghost in my dreams is cause for rejoicing. I eagerly pursue it with urgent questions demanding answers, half glad to be reunited at last, though it evades me studiously. Usually people run from ghosts, but this is one ghost I have never forgiven for having the guts to die on me.

Of course I should know better. It was not his fault.

Goodbye Daddy.

Thursday, August 9, 2018

friends

Many people, everywhere,
on the prowl for hugs and handshakes.
Small-talk conveyor belts
compelled to supply you.
Some vague restriction
prevents a mutual reckoning
honest and terminal.
A weighty obligation
to sustain cordiality
animates synthetic smiles all around.
Everywhere.
Everywhere.

Thursday, July 26, 2018

Essentially Beautiful

You add to good looks a clean heart.
It shines through, you can't help it.
You are beautiful inside.

Your mind is a verdant pasture
Fruitful and calm
Your spirit refreshes like water
Pleasant company
You are positive and radiant
Uplifting conversation
The things you say
speech in due season
The way you say things
An absolute delight

Cross the Abyss

In the course of life you suddenly meet
A yawning chasm,
from which no light escapes,
But all things swirl in a turbulent vortex -
a downward spiral to perdition.

None dare whisper a word of warning.
The deafening scream of quiet despair,
a hateful choking stench,
in saying it all, struggles to muffle
the frenetic psychosis accompanying
such irreversible plunges.
Chirpy jingles wanly sound,
morale-boosting work songs proliferate,
sudden outbursts distract the wary,
striped in panic and uncertainty.
Foul decay whitewashed with lies
smiles that do not reach the eyes.

Anyway in the belly of the beast
lamentations are ignored -
Why think about it too hard?
Strive to pass without incident.
Let the headlines trumpet the winners.
Hold steady now, keep your head.

The multitude's grasping ambition rallies
Human nature supplies momentum.
We dive headlong into its black heart,
Anxious to make it or die en route.

A cold indifferent roar greets us
an icy blast of contempt and hate
belched from our downward destination
concealed by indiscernible darkness.

Yet we unfazed in pursuit of Happiness
will know her when we find her,
for whom with zeal we lend our arms to the oar
and our backs to the whip...

Stop.
Look above, think beyond,
Make your ardous journey
to that land of answers
across, not inside, the abyss.

Monday, July 9, 2018

Football Madness

The World Cup is with us again. I am underwhelmed as usual. This was supposed to be fun, in the particularly narrow sense of having lots of football to watch. That part isn't so bad. The rest of it... where to start?

The thing which gives me the most grief is the poor ratio of hype to significance in the venture. The hype was and still is disproportionate. After the hangover has lifted, the smoke has cleared and the streets are swept, all that will have happened is a series of football games. Good for a fling, and just as brief. But the flock of marketers jumping on the World Cup gravy train rather detracts from the football.

Probably if my country was in it I could have pride to justify zeal, but most of the egos out here are headbutting for teams they have no inkling of connection to. Just because someone decided to support a fancied foreign team, they find enough grounds therein to sink their emotional lot in its fortunes at a remote tournament. He will even argue with friends and fight strangers for this team. Likely even bet a princely stake, a ruinous amount.

Inevitably someone's favorite team gets eliminated - we were never all gonna get to the final, see. (I always get triggered when the host country gets eliminated a good while before the final. Awkward for the survivors' visiting fans huh.) It's like gambling: everybody cries so that one person can smile very broadly. It's probably a good thing we didn't qualify and spend all that time and money only to go and get humiliated on a global stage. And then assemble at the airport to aim rotten eggs at the team bus. Or, more typically, throw a major tantrum on radio and TV talk shows.

By all means buy and wear the foreign country's jersey, who cares really what you brand yourself with, or where you come from, or what sense it makes. Sport is supposed to be fun anyway. It gets more thrilling when there are stakes involved, something to be won or lost. I play football, I should know.

There comes a time however when a line is crossed and the stakes are just too high for this life and the only real winner is the corporate sponsor orchestrating the scam to peddle merchandise. And, of course, that one winning country.

Sunday, June 17, 2018

Curmudgeon

I admit that the tone of this blog has been negative. My sincerest apologies.

I have been burning negative emotions online. It is a bit like burning tyres in a crowded street.

Some will see the smoke from afar. Some will walk unawares into an acrid cloud of black smoke.

I thought garbage is better off burnt outside than kept inside.

Thursday, May 24, 2018

Dream Girl

My eyes made out your form
the adorning garments
the face that crowned it all
the projected artifice
But I never once saw you

My mind processing the sight
filled the shell with fantasy
loaded meaning on your words
Assigned you my co-star
In a rom-com chick-flick
painted you in its own image

But I never really saw you