Can you feel the squeeze, that clenching fist wrapping around your
throat?
Do you gasp for air,
when reaching into you pocket to slap out that plastic dope?
Tribute for the machine,
salvation for the hunger,
processor of waste.
They inflate the myth with hype,
shallow legends of brand name luxury.
The tornados of wealth suck life dry,
as cracks in the empire reveal the internal damage,
hidden and festering, yet quietly accepted at a distance.
Progressively it creeps past the public relations cover up,
spin doctors draw moustaches on posters,
while making deals on the side.
What use is a war that can’t be profitable?
When attention equals money, and distraction equals more money,
it is easy to see the sick comedy playing through society.
The so-called greatest nation on Earth can’t establish a system to feed
and shelter its own people.
Proud Americans seeking positive empowerment, discover isolation,
looking into the bleakness of souls and cities,
disenfranchised from the corporate codes but not the consumer products.
Money drains the freedom of others,
but freedom isn’t free, when the game taxes your soul.
Exploitation and marketing, racing out of control with a narrow minded
goal.
Children killing children, children having children, clueless castaways
making pocket change,
dancing along the edge of time.
It’s all music – tripping and flipping past youth,
victims of impulses beyond their control.
Where is the guidance in the Land Of The Free And The Home Of The Brave?
In between the schools, the churches and the bars?
Underneath the stadiums, along the streets and in the stores?
In the penthouses, the high rise offices and the lobby backrooms?
Or does sensibility blast through the radio and television or on the
internet?
A collective consciousness driven to consume, and fill the
rooms……can’t last too long.
The rest of the world feeds the gluttony through poverty,
while the system screeches with notices of payment due.
Now the fallacies of ideology pass through the looking glass prism of
greed,
with money reflected and often pocketed behind the scenes.
Yet somehow it always ends up in the accounts of the already rich.
Of course the collective carnivores thrill to feast on others,
The rich are primed with credit and managed debt,
tenderized like choice meat.
The poor are drained by the drops, employment and stocks,
grease the machine with sweat, grit and blood.
The empire paves with demagogue political correctness,
trying to overshadow the zillions of mouths singing with one voice.
The song is a dissonant ramble of disjuncted ideas –
beliefs, dogmas, laws, rules, codes, contracts, attitudes, opinions,
notions, rumors, lies
an ever-changing set of impulses challenging a balanced understanding.
Do you read the fine print?
Does it matter?
There is no face behind the words – maybe a 1-800 number for customer
service though.
All grievances will be taken through a bureaucratic barrage.
Worker bees and middle men milling through the masses,
slip and flip, back and forth in the market frenzy,
make it and spend it, the future is owed.
Lives weep for the diamond smiles and glittering gold.
Artificial inflation building hollow giants,
haunted by the ghosts of perception and value,
a credit and debt shell game hidden underneath the ink.
Headline: Conspiracy! – Someone Shocked! – others not.
The partial spotlight fades when attention lulls with details,
surfing the lines of communication to define guilt and responsibility.
The same characters keep popping up in the big story of small minds.
Stay tuned to see what happens next week, on another episode of – It’s
Life, Deal With It!
Graciously presented by our sponsors……
Hey, it’s the same group of faceless financial friends, who seem to own
a piece of everything,
the so-called free market game is rigged.
You will be assimilated and your numbers will be processed in 4 to 6
weeks.
Spin around the Monopoly board one more time, one more time, one more
time, one more time…
Did you collect your $200 or end up in jail
or are just paying rent as you move from place to place?
The game only ends who one person owns everything and bankrupts the
other players.
Guess what – we have a rumble on the corporate board!
Papers are rustling with notions of truth and proof.
Subversion traced through history, the moments are small, but the
patterns are long,
footnotes of slogans, aligned with a polished smile in brief sound
bytes.
The sordid stories of the shadow people pulling strings, glossed by
omission.
What to do?
It starts with you to see where you are – are you free or just being
rented?
The fluid future flourishes with minds challenged, eyes sparkle,
engaged beyond the moment, visions project through fractal expansion.
Those zillions of voices still sing their song individual,
harmonically clashing on the lyrical trips, but the essence conveys.
Many voices are never heard, but they are all in chorus, quietly singing
in their own way…..
“I am here.”
Written by: C.D Flash
Stay informed by joining the movement and get your AFRIKIN SWAG here.