She Wore White To The Hanging

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She wore white to the hanging
Fingers smudged from setting the patriarchy to burn
She wore a guilty smile
For they would never ever seem to learn

By her beauty, they were always distracted
But her brains they never could comprehend
Once the fire went viral
They wished they could call her a friend

They picked such an angelic foe
Yet kept her bound by tradition & canon & law
But you can never chain ideas down
Imprudence by the state was the final straw

Continual pandering as a cultural trait
Overwrought force; their idea as the solution
The spark still smoldering in her eyes
Never again the victim, she’s the whole damn revolution

*This is a reaction to rewatching the movie Cat Ballou with modern eyes.

Returning To Simplicity

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Returning to simplicity
Tossing out these fledgling fates
Stunted growth increasing these days
Hindered by our technological rates
I don’t want to watch my soul wilt
I want to break free & soak up the sunshine
I’m through with this culture of victims
You’ll hear the dial tone & know its mine

Junky Little Notes

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Junky little notes
Throwaway lines on the postmodern stage
Cultural fragmentation in empty streets
Truth whittled away on an evaporating page
The disillusionment of an appropriated life
While the world’s on fire; downright ablaze
The American Dream sold off to the lowest bidder
Feeling dissociative in these recent raucous days
Our dishonest & unaccountable government
Are trying to sell you their uninspired vision
Trying to sway your vote by gripping your throat
But their cockamamy pleas will be met with only derision

Unplugging From The Mainframe

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Unplugging from the mainframe
Remaining forever off the grid
Don’t need their connections
Don’t know if we ever truly did

The final tragic hero of a modern culture
The soul survivor of a discarded revolution
Histories & experience outside the norm
Dreams of freedom with divine attribution

Dealing with the conceits of perfection
The concepts of loneliness & betrayal
This world isn’t what we were promised
Token hints lost behind a fractured veil

The answers are hidden beyond this life
It may look bleak, but don’t you fret
We have the Source of Light
& they’re still riding that ol’ dialup internet

The Beat Making My Diesels Sweat

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The beat making my Diesels sweat
This is beyond my usual scene
Usually I can’t dance without regret
Needing a lot more alcohol & caffeine
Glow sticks & the whole lot to lampoon
I can’t live life with digitized crap
Moving my body like an analog buffoon
I need to find a pretty lady to sit upon my lap
I spy one in my dizzied & frazzled state
I could definitely make her my new habit
She’s smiling at my attempt to communicate
My God, I see curves like Jessica Rabbit
I shake my head allowing reality to seep
Good fortune has shined down in this nightlife culture
I straighten my clothes; thinking ‘don’t be a creep’
& I flash the Cheshire grin of a hungry vulture

Collecting Fragments Of Free Thought

Collecting fragments of free thought

The missing pieces of a discarded word

Unknown & forgotten loves in innerspace

Unfortunately time reduces us by a third

Intellectuals hunkered down – protecting wisdom

Throwing bones, sharpening knives & wit

Critical theories to counteract 

The cultural elite reminding me I ain’t shit

But I continue down my solitary path

Creating worlds out of the persistently intangible

I return- baring all for artistic intent

But alas this vessel’s no Michelangelo