"Don't be here in ten years." – The Factory Line

Posts tagged “poem

Doomed Love Southern California (a Poem)

I have known real love

True love

Doomed love

Love met in the haze of

Youth

Anger

Fire

Love met in the hail of

Poverty

Fistfights

And the still cold rain

Of early spring

 

I have known real love

Absolute love

In black and white

And the purest drive of passion

Love

Made for music,

Made for movies

And the greater pages of literature

 

A love of guts

And heart

And pain

Like The Ring of Fire

Chunking Express

And

Love is a Dog from Hell

 

I have met love for the ages

I really did

The stuff of legends

I swear to god

Love that drives you to madness

Insanity,

Murder

Or worse,

Love that drives you

To a life of pure

And honest labour.

 

Some men would rather die in the hell of battle

As other will lose their soul on a line.

I was the latter and still don’t know if I regret it.

 

I have met true love

Absolute love,

Yes,

But

Bitter love.

It’s true

Love stuck in the endless fights

Of ego, pride

And the trappings of ambition.

 

There really is nothing worse than ambition.

 

But I stuck with it

Sickness

Health

Hell

Or high water

I stuck with it.

 

And the best

Or perhaps

The worst

It has to be the worst

Is I still can’t say why.


It’s Been Days and I Still Can’t Name This One (poem)

It’s Been Days and I still Can’t Name This One (poem).

 

In the eve

Of crashing economies

That never seem to collapse

And dissolving political landscapes

That never seem to change

We feel like rats.

 

We truly do.

 

Rats in a maze

Or ants in the sand

We are contained

Constrained

Played with

And prayed upon,

Fed, yet controlled

By men,

Rich men

Who never seem to fall ill

Once the rations go sour

And we are eating our crumbs.

 

Keep calm and carry on

God Save the Queen,

Compound interests

And manageable inflation.

 

If anything at all,

Four hundred years of “corporation”

Have thought us

Wealth always only goes one way

 

So we retract

We retreat

And retire

 

We take shelter into small homes

That seem to be getting smaller every year.

We give in to simple pleasures of the flesh

Drink ‘til we’re numb

And fuck the pain away.

 

We indulge in the faceless idols of the world

The ever changing faces

Forced fed

Spoon fed, sure

But force fed, still

 

Through screen and paper

We receive their impossible iterations

And accept our feeble limits.

 

We feel irrelevant

We become irrelevant

Disconnected

Debaucherous

Destined to fail

With no end in sight.

We find ourselves stuck.

Trapped somewhere in the middle

Down inside the limbo

Of desensitized aggression

And sexualized despair.

 

We seek revenge on people who have done us no wrong

We wish harm on those would could do us good

Women,

“Others”

Foreigners

We take it all for fact

And to hell with the consequences.

 

We hate for the simple fact that it is easy

And natural to us

Hatred can be as natural to man

And any man,

There are no exceptions to this.

 

Hatred can be as natural to man as love can be

So why does it feel so simple

Why does it feel so seamless?

Why does it seem so fulfilling?

Maybe hunger has something to do with it.

There has to be a reason.

 

Debt and taxes and all the wars of the world?

 

The victims always sound the same.

Over 2000 years since Thucydides

And we have yet to learn a thing.

Same questions hoping for new answers?

Not a god damned thing, I tell you.


A Decade of One’s Born Days

I simply wished for a simple life

A truly simple kind of life.

Because

What could be more important than family,

Or a home at night?

Popcorn and pop

And a movie sometimes

Then the struggle with the baths

And the teeth and the pajamas

With a good night kiss and a hug

That’s just a second longer than usual

As the day fades away, solemn in the night

The safety of it all

Can hide the poverty

And the struggles and the pain

It makes you forget the warehouse job

And the endless flow of brown boxes.

It really does

It can hide the troubles and the bills

And the never-ending need for food.

And the pinch of daily grievances

A father and a husband,

Us against the world

Through a decade of one’s born days.

For a few moments

When the lights are out but the kids are peaceful,

Asleep in the nicest bed you could afford

And it seems to be enough

So you turn off the lights

And think maybe,

Just maybe,

You finally starting to win.


894784 or The Number of the Future

Unaware that we already were living in Farenheit 451.

We had suddenly stepped into the world of 1984.

And so it appeared,

894784,

The number of the future.


Nothing Means Anything

X

 

We live from glorious moment to glorious moment.

From one achievement to the next.

No matter how small, how trivial.

We live by it, abide by it.

We break down at the sight of other people’s success,

We gloat at our own miniscule creations

and then we fade

with their fading glory.

 

We relentlessly fight our way back into the dimmest of spotlight

Like weeds in the shade of tall oaks.

We are desperate for sun.

We are biting our own tails.

Run in circles,

Climb up Jacob’s ladder.
So easy would our memory be erased.

So easily because we don’t build to last anymore.

We forgot how to.

 

We forgot the touch of the

wood

And the clay

And the steel.

 

Those who didn’t are feeling the diminishing return with greater pain.

 

We no longer know how to build a house, cook or grow food.

We are scared of trying anything ourselves,

Repairing anything ourselves.

We have been accustomed to this by waves and waves of

“Anti-materialistic values”of

“Anti-consumerism” of

“Staying free and not settling down.”

 

So we hire,

We rent,

Ready-made

And pre-package our entire lives.

 

We no longer settle to build,

We want to feel

And act

And go away at a moment’s notice.
In the middle of it all,

Our entire generation’s production

Will be dilapidated into

Wine and bandwidth.

 

Simple as that.

 

We will be left with nothing to show for

But the thousands of pictures of menial,

Meaningless acts of petty creativity,

Poor life-choices

And sub-par achievements

Erected as virtual monuments

 

But only for a handful of seconds

As the screen resets itself

And algorithms fail to kick in

Before the tides and tires

Of virtually meaningless achievements

Overcome our own.

 

I myself am not above such contradictions.

But if nothing means anything…

Then perhaps there is meaning in that as well.