Death to Debt to Death

Debts don’t die with the dealer.
There’s a book,
In which a record is kept,
Passed down to every superseeder,
To supplant your need exceeder,
See that your feverish nature
Continues to be satiated,
Never cured.
Making sure
The bills pile higher,
Milking you drier
And drier.
Til the chafe is so dire
That you cant possibly pay piper,
And you choose to
Or just plain expire.
Either way,
Unable for anymore.
Unstable as conditions are.

Flopping At Flipping

The thing I find
Most unsettling
Is the rate
At which hatred,
Can burrow
Into a mind
Of how much
One tries to
Put up a fight.

Makes one wonder
About prerequisite,
How saturated
Society is
In divisions.

May be
It comes down
To basic, primal,
A xenophobic imprint,
Stemming from a
Need to
Protect our kin,
Preserve our lineage.
But, surely,
We’re past this.
And all that shit.

Or is
The whole thing
A lie?
Self assembled
A set up,
An act,
To hide
From ourselves
The facts?

Outsiders are different,
New things are weird
And that’s just that…

It’s not racist
To want stay safe,
Away from new diseases,
I just wouldn’t want
What it is to be me,
Having mixed with
The wrong type.

I say this
Goes quiet.
But we all know
The truth.
No one
Wants to
Talk about it.

One day,
We might
Be able
To annex free,
Notions of preservation
Of one’s civilization
From foreign investation,
Association with hatred,
Admit we all
Would like
To maintain our
Way of life.
Am I right guys?

Am I right?…

All For One

Sometimes I don’t
Remember the names
Of real people I know,
Fictional characters more so.
I should though.
If not to be polite,
Then to hold
Individuals accountable
For their theories,
There relations,
Their subsequent actions,
To make sure no one
Gets away with anything.

It’s not about punishment.
Just labelling shit as such,
Remembering to keep distant.
Someone else can
Play judge when
The time comes,
Girl, I just wanna have fun!
I’m not looking for a purge,
I’m no vigilante.
This is simply a reminder
To listen to my gut
And give no more
The benefit of doubt
Or a second chance
To any old clown.

Others Fudgings

Imagining Scenarios,
Stealing feelings,
From other mediums,
Picking out memories
Banked by separate subjects,
Selecting recollections
On which to base
A new cognition -
Taking it to make it.
To formulate experience
From detectable perceptions
Forged from others impressions
Of the world around them,
For to be learned from.
Gives one an upperhand,
Helps to comprehend
The trials of man,
Provides a new viewpoint
On which to stand
To take heed
Of the lay of the land
Before proceeding
In whichever be
The most appealing direction.
And all without ever
Having to suffer
Their consequences,
Conserving your energies
For your own follies
Born of your own choices,
Inevitable as they be.

Music Makers

Groove pressed.
Effect on.
What really is the consequence
Of these buttons?
These magical, pushworthy,
Unrelenting music makers,
Beat saviours.
Though I utilize their
Beauty daily -
They came with the radio -
I’ve no clue what they
Actually do,
How they take a good tune
And make it seem new
On the millionth listen,
As if I’d never, really,
Heard this piece of music.

At least I know what DBFB is for,
That it’s best high,
Felt through the floor
And if I could, for sure,
I’d turn it up more.