200208A
-----------
I cannot find
whatever I am looking for,
among the Internet phishers,
spammers,
pharmaceutical junkies,
in amongst the spoof mail,
the con trick solicitations,
and the flames
of endless alphabetical wars.
Blogged down,
I can hardly find
any real bread and circuses,
and the penalty for trolling
is usually social death,
another stiff dose of ideology,
the bland repetitive messaging
is as empty as a religion,
finding no real connection,
an electronic wasteland,
chimeras
of might have been beauty,
promises of heaven,
intermingled into text and graphics,
where nothing ever touches
unless in an afterlife,
after the conclusion of consciousness
when the connection closes
and the screen goes dead.
-------------------------------
200208B
-----------
The real injuries
are never visible.
Those dying of them
cannot really complain,
having no lacerations,
no defining deformities,
no visible symptoms.
It is an affliction
that wastes away
the better parts,
regardless of variations
in the interpretation
of what that really signifies.
No one can determine the cause,
with any certainty,
there is no known cure,
and a desperately poor prognosis.
This too is categorized similarly
as being a paranoid delusion,
of a conspiracy,
being committed by a god
or any other person,
person or persons unknown.
Anyone other than
the holy ghost,
can be blamed.
The ghost
is kept in high regard
by those who believe in it,
as being forever blameless
making it a prime suspect.
Similarly the pharmacists,
working in dispensaries
are forever blameless,
making them into suspects.
Government officials,
seem benign enough,
and meticulously curteous.
It makes them suspect.
Society too is forever blameless,
making it vaguely suspect,
in ambiguous formulas
of expert scientific contempt.
Anyone can take the easy way out,
choosing a pill,
or choosing to scapegoat
a religion.
Pick one at random
spinning the barrel,
pulling the trigger.
You either live or you die,
at various rates,
according to the fine print
at the bottom of the contract.
Don't ever blame
your fellow man
for any of that.
You chose it all yourself,
and in the end
you find you are the werewolf,
you are the gun in your hand,
and you are the silver bullet.
It is always your choice.
-----------------------------------
|
