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Subject: Poems: 220817 - August 22nd, 2017
From: Robert Morpheal <morpheal@yahoo.com>
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220817A
-----------
To be, or what to be ?
That becomes the question.
What is something
rather than nothing ?
Nowadays they want Being,
rather than anyone Becoming.
You have to BE something,
someone, somewhere, somehow.
Get some help for it,
as to what to BE,
and they have no idea what
you should be,
or what society wants
you to be,
that you could possibly be.
They do not like you asking.
Being becomes a problem,
and you will not convince anyone
that you are becoming enough.
Becoming is a problem.
Being and Becoming
starts to reveal itself
as an existential threat,
with no recourse, or mitigation.
You seek legal counsel,
but they say nothing they can do,
to help you BE or become.
That case is closed,
and maybe the jury was hung
and the hearing cancelled.
Someone murdered your Being,
then assaulted your Becoming.
You remain matchless,
and that is another strike against
Being and Becoming.
It can make you unbecoming
in so many different ways.
It undermines your Being
in so many other ways,
that it will not let you BE.
Maybe that makes you free,
but only for the taking,
and no suitable takers available.
Anybody wants more Being,
and you have nothing to offer;
apparently failed at Becoming.
History always repeats
as to Being and Becoming.
You want to make something,
then they say become something,
as to your not Being anything.
Knowing making something
affords a semblance of Becoming,
that sometimes leads to Being,
something, somewhere, somehow.
Do not ask as to what, where or how.
--------------------------------------------
220817B
-----------
It feels like being in a sort of jail,
not ever being able to make parole,
and no one to bail you out.
You do not have to be guilty
of anything other than the usual,
that everyone is guilty of.
The ground zero of your life,
still haunts you,
as a ghost on the pavement
where everything ended,
and all of life fell through
but nothing you can do about it.
It all comes back on you,
as to not choosing wisely.
Whatever that really means,
to whomever it means anything.
Blame it on guidance,
and various false claims.
Maybe you failed to find
the right people to drink with.
Maybe you wandered in
to the wrong place at the wrong time.
Maybe no one told you
what you really needed to know.
A million maybes to consider,
and you could have better luck
trying to guess a musician's next move
in a seedy uptown jazz club,
if you had any sort of wad to gamble
on ladies who like jazzers.
It has been a very long time since
you fell for California dreaming.
It turned out to be ghost town
that you would never actually haunt.
East coast, West coast, and mechanisms
still plaintively waiting for the means.
You wanted to be going places
long before this time of your life.
Life emptied out your calendar,
and cancelled your occupations.
Something else not chosen wisely,
as if you knew of any choices.
Get yourself a fidget spinner,
and pretend at happy and enlightened.
Count the revolutions
that at all failed at liberation.
All your plans put in abeyance
and no way to move up or forward.
Some of the people in books
had the sort of lives you want to have,
and you wonder how they got them.
The where, with whom, and how
is so extremely evasive a subject,
that studying the occult would be easier.
Burn your candle at all ends,
and all you get is a mess of molten wax.
Science would have warned you of that,
but you wishfully chose to disregard it.
Even junkies who preach the needle
appear to be doing better at it all.
What happened to the friends you imagined ?
Guess they were not that good after all.
It was nothing like a cocktail parties
where you might have got paired up.
Pot luck, and a bad aftertaste
of having spent another night in solitary.
Thrown in the hole has that effect,
and then forever looking over your shoulder
as to who is next at stabbing you in the back.
The only space you know it private,
and you cannot do anything about that,
with your futile jarring of spare change.
------------------------------------------------
220817C
-----------
American Nobodaddy said:
Jesus is not optional.
I believe that Son of Man existed,
but not in any Nobodaddy way.
Same as I would never deny
Marx, Lenin, Stalin, or Mao.
Karl Marx is not optional,
but not to be taken too literally.
Fundamentalist Marxism
is only another Fundamentalist faith.
Reverend Marx tore off his cloth,
finding no way to reason with Protestantism.
Lenin loved art and culture,
more than Nobodaddy loves anything.
Stalin nearly destroyed Russia,
doing America's dirty work for free.
Mao's Little Red Book
was about not becoming American.
------------------------------------------
220817D
------------
We do tend to measure our success,
singularly and commonly,
in terms of what actually rewards us.
No point becoming a face on a poster
that is only wanted dead or alive,
solely to reward someone else.
America is a nation of bank robbers,
with a long tradition of robbing banks.
History indicates we are almost due
for another huge heist to happen.
That sort of occurrence takes place
in a somewhat predictable manner.
If you happen to get cheated out,
they say fifty men on a dead man's chest.
That genome came from the English,
but the North proved better at it,
worried about where to get gun cotton.
That was a big thing back then.
They tend to take whatever they want,
and then destroy the Rest. [Capitalized.]
Studies of microeconomics can verify
macroeconomic facts.
Do not ever talk Romance languages
to anyone who is American.
Jeff Koons knows what art really is,
in terms of an American Dismaland.
A big silver cartoon character
and a lot of permanent party balloons,
that fail to violate any standards
of American political correctness.
America invented everything it stole,
including Cultural Marxism.
Gross irony of know how and ingenuity.
You remove all the other labels
and then claim sole patent rights
calling out everyone else as a copyist.
Scum usually rises to the surface
because it is destined to do so.
That leaves even less for others
who are destined to remain bottom feeders
no matter how hard they try to evolve
among those who deny evolution.
The whole truth and nothing but the truth
is absolutely forbidden by secrecy laws.
The documents being destroyed
or locked away for many generations,
to keep them from prying eyes of historians,
until it no longer really matters.
Glasnost was a Russian ruse
that failed to gain any real popularity
in Vatican or Washington practices.
The legacies of Egypt and Rome,
bracketing out Greek wisdom
because Greece went Socialist.
The root cause of every significant war
since the Industrial Revolution
can be narrowed down to Socialism
coming under an American gun.
Raise the red flag to the American bull,
and no one is ever really left alive.
------------------------------------------
220817E
-----------
Always feels so accelerated
as to being made into nothing,
other than running out of time.
All those dreamy yesterdays
compressed down so tight
and packaged up,
to no way to free the future
from conditions of threat,
including statistical prevalence
of chronic and fatal conditions.
The list of possible fatalities
including the fine print,
visible or invisible ink,
that forms part of any contracts,
explicit or implied
as to anything that ever exceeds
your own sole discretion,
means and ways.
The endless penalty clauses
applied to Communist tendencies.
That in fact turns the screws
ever more unpleasantly tighter,
on trying to find the right words
to carve into stone,
if stone is really all there is.
Something more monumental
as to leaving something behind
that someone might remember
with more kindness,
than chanced to happen in life.
Long having realized
there are no rewards in Heaven.
Being left out, feeling unrewarded,
becomes an eternal condition.
Another thin layer in the matrix
of a crystalline universe
intent on intelligence gathering.
There is no retirement plan
worth any mention,
and confined to virtual experience
is to become virtually dead.
One good trick leads to another,
and another, and another,
even when you realize you were had
by the world's oldest profession.
The enemy you failed to recognize
will never give you aid or comfort,
no matter what you do.
The biggest joke of them all
is that you [still] do not know
who your friends are.
If you had found your true friends,
you would be living the life
that you can now only dream of.
You might have been freed to yourself.
You intone the names of the saints,
Man Ray, Ansel Adams, Alfred Stieglitz,
Minor White, Edward Weston,
Bill Brandt, Helmut Newton,...
examining the lives of, and relics,
dedicated to their remembrance.
---------------------------------------
220817F
-----------
Everything gets let down,
in the worst sorts of ways.
You are forced to shop Walmart
for what you cannot find there.
You do not get invited
because you are not properly labelled.
Something always being wrong
with your particular brand.
You failed to buy into
the sort of neighbourhood
that attracts the right people
to visiting.
The vehicle you drive
fails to make an impression.
It is good as a starter,
maybe for a younger person.
You shop for used goods
that turn you into history.
The sorts of infections
that know no actual cures.
You have not locked up your money
so that bankers can chomp on it.
Simply not ever having enough
to enable your making them happy.
You try to do it yourself,
three times and ass backwards,
before you chance to get it right,
enough not to prove hazardous.
It is not any sort of pretty sight,
as to being able to pay to renovate
the mess that you have to endure
staring at you from your mirror.
Patch and mend
until patching patches
and mending mends.
Unable to pull it together.
People tell you what they got,
and you try to avoid the conversation,
preferring to seem stuck up,
rather than exposing yourself rudely.
--------------------------------------------
220817G
------------
What are life's questions ?
What are life's answers ?
We end up life sentenced
to questions and answers
that we know nothing at all about,
as if we ought to know it all,
about what and when to ask,
and how to answer.
This is the information age,
when information detonates
a kind of mass destruction,
that makes it harder and harder
to find any answers to anything
by searching for them.
That becomes a life's question
along with other similar quandaries.
Pamphlets in the mailbox,
refer to “life's questions”,
inviting the lonely to meetings
promising everything
will be completely explained.
Hook, line and sinker, to swallow,
meant to hook wallets,
by baiting with desperation.
If that fails to hook them,
then confuse them,
as to sex drives, hunger and thirst,
all leading to life's questions,
needing different answers,
than those being taught
in the nation's schools
and as studied by scientists.
The big trouble is
most governments fully sanction
that type of fishing for fry.
They encourage it.
They are themselves the very best
at perplexing people,
with life's questions,
and not giving them real answers.
The USSR tried to end that,
by instituting Commissars,
who could clarify the questions,
purportedly providing correct answers,
but that did not work very well.
That too served an elite few
completely sacrificing the many
to other types of irrational ideas.
I figure that the more life's questions,
needing life's answers, making for occurrence,
the more corrupt a society has become,
and similarly any regime that runs it.
That ought to be a foundation principle,
guiding fraud detectives and bunco squads
to clearing up all that confusion
as to all that emphasis on life's questions.
--------------------------------------------------
220817H
------------
They can make a mess of you,
but you cannot do anything about it.
It is all by arrangement,
that everything becomes so disarranged.
Those races always end up as false starts,
until you are too worn out to even try.
It seems always kept out of bounds,
never even got to play the field.
No one else was given so many bad breaks
to prove that they never stop correctly.
Jerked around starts, sudden stops,
so nothing is ever left for going smooth.
Ground down into gritty little crumbs
that even the birds do not want to peck at.
A clay pigeon waiting for a pump,
is all that it ever had as destiny.
Some things are made only to be broken,
others are made to be blown away.
That tiniest distance that goes between
being a tool and becoming an empty shell.
A proposition no one voted for,
that was never meant to be on a ballot.
It was only to make realities unpopular,
to assure all would end up out of touch.
That list grows smaller every day,
in fact doubtful there is anyone left on it.
The fact of not having learned the right lies,
or perhaps never permitted to tell them.
There is no hope of wonderful tonight,
everything taken in poisons something.
No telling which pain might kill you dead,
as they shove you toward that out door.
You find you cannot really advertise
something knocked down to no commercial value.
No one ever answers any of those ads,
believing it is all about damaged goods.
The more something gets trashed,
the more the pretense at its salvation.
Would rather have a girl with gun under her pillow
than kisses and hugs every day and every night.
---------------------------------------------------------
220817I
----------
Nothing to find anymore
between suggestions of sugar overdose,
and offerings of raw meat.
Never developed any tolerance
for those vegetables for Jesus
that offer to be someone's everything.
A jungle of extremes,
where ends never really meet,
except to become frayed.
Past the end of my tether,
and always hanging by a thread;
never found interesting drugs.
The real trick is to find a way out
that does not prove fatal,
before the time on the clock expires.
That and other skill testing questions,
that no one ever really helps you with,
can be written into dance tunes.
The fact that needs might never be met,
no matter which way you go,
as to never really getting there.
A smile is the cheapest way to say so what,
if nothing else ever really happens,
shrug the pretty moments off to a bad dream.
The world has changed and so have I,
though none of it seems to make a difference;
same shit happens, different day.
---------------------------------------
220817J
-----------
I do not care how pretty you are,
nothing you can do to change me,
but those others are all so afraid
I might happen to change you.
So leave me to drink my drink alone,
and avoid upsetting the universe.
Don't ruffle your friends' feathers,
or upset their apple carts.
I am the strange thing that never fits
in any of your ordinary plans.
I am what everyone is being taught
to never want any of.
Nothing is ever really settled,
because I am never really satisfied.
My hungers are endless,
and you are not buying me any time.
I am the one you will never understand,
nor would you really want to,
because no one would ever dare
to come that close to their extinction.
---------------------------------------------
220817K
-----------
A crush is an empty can,
and you kick it away.
The memory is always better
than the actual taste.
Everything is too always;
too sweet.
For some it is a high,
that doesn't take me anywhere.
I am over that line,
and want to go much further,
but no high stakes player
seems brave enough to play.
Don't ask an accountant
as to what the cost is.
Everyone seems invested
in more of the wrong ideas.
If you are not poking at constraints
to see if anything gives way,
then we were never meant,
and I could never write you in.
I am a formula for disaster
to any mainstream state of mind.
I will note your do not disturb,
and I will always turn away.
----------------------------------
220817L
-----------
It is not the way I want,
so stop saying how nice it is.
Too easy for working at what matters
to never even chance to turn a dime.
Why there are kings, queens, and prettier things,
to persuade us to do nothing at all.
The sleep walkers are always nearer
to satisfying their basest animal instincts.
Addicts are mostly happier people,
giving almost no care about anything at all.
It took ten thousand years or more
to design that well planned society.
Perhaps you are only another raw egg
that I might accidentally chance to fry.
I might laugh at your sunny side up ways,
while I pan you to darken beneath.
------------------------------------------
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