Capitalism is not a form of government!

Sing it out as a mantra of the modern man
because all too often that singular truth is forgotten.

It has taken over,
do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars

The singular vote does not matter anymore
so I hold tight to my dollar

Not out of reverence do I embrace it
but out of reluctant need

My dollar is the only voice I have
in this fairy-tale society you all have created

af

(written with pen in little pad)

you should have texted me on my cell phone
why would you call me
i just cannot understand
what would bring you to do that
nothing about it makes any sense
you have the fingers
you have the time
why would you call and not just
text me
text me
drop me a quick note
don’t you know how busy i am
don’t you understand I have priorities in my life
that i must accomplish
there are things i need
there are things i need in order for me to be
the person i want to be
the person i am
the person my destined energy needs to reconnect with
the giving philanthropist
so i must stay focused
i cannot have these distractions
these phone calls
and i cannot put my phone on silence
why would i do that
what if i get an important call
i must stay available
i am really peaking right now
i am really about to bring in the serious money
then i could give
then i could do good things
the things i always wanted to do
not now
too much to do
so
please
text me
just…text…me

af

(written on computer, recalling the all-too-common rant I heard in the city of angels)

Jack Kerouac was correct,
understanding the gray sadness of America
the beautifully perfect cloud of living

It is the energy of the
individual and collective
that is a shroud over this land

It is all a result of a nation’s creation
a haunted inheritance
this weight, this ache, this sorrow

Karma or consequence
every one of us three hundred million
share the burdens of our historic gluttony

The pressure, the anxiety – we all feel it
the actual reality often held in contempt and disbelief
but he was correct…

all that sadness, all that time, all that America

af

(written with pen on paper)

Isn’t life wonderful?

It is ok..
humanity is allowed
now and then
to scream it out
all so big and brilliant
and to believe
and believe with confidence

This, one day, will be
what life was
how good it was back then
this moment, right now
is
no different than
what we believe, right now
to be the golden good times

Yearn now for now, then
permission is granted to you

Look up, breathe, smile
then move that beautiful body;
The time for god-fearing repentance is over
evolution is nearing completion

You are perfect
and life is wonderful

af

(written with pen on paper listening to a good song)

There is a penny on the floor.
It is in front of me, across the aisle,
tails up, shinny and new.

No one else notices
but it’s just sitting there, undisturbed
real, brand-new money.

MONEY…
just lying on the immaculate train car floor.
» Read the rest of this entry «

Does anyone deserve the turmoil they live with?
Are tragedies consequences or random acts of happenstance?
If what happens to us is a result of karma,
then for how long are our actions
susceptible to its malice and reward?

A good wife, an even better mother,
young, still idyllic about love,
loses her true one to a sudden death;
Is that repayment for his or her actions?

If he were disreputable, why must she suffer?

But if she, all along, was the one closeting unsavory skeletons,
must their sacred bond force him
to discover his demise as a result?

But what if
these unconscious consequences
we consider to be negative, positive
occurred only by the proverbial coin flip?
Would the perception of the objectionable results
then be interpreted as a challenge rather than a sufferance?

Perhaps it is just that people have a flair for the dramatics,
so enjoy being afflicted through tragedies
so as to prove to themselves
worth
and strength
in the face of the label of horror
rather than evenly accept that, in life,
shit happens and joy happens
and there most often is no reason to either,
no grand plan for us or against us;
it is simply life
occurring in its series of events
moving forward always as life does
with no regard for our opinions…

Perhaps not everything is all about us…

af

(written with pen on paper)

the music is what i miss the most
nights out in what will always be a strange land for me
people who will always remain bizarre strangers
but the music is what pushed me -
the phonograph on the sand
the sunrise, sunsets entertaining ladies
capitalizing off of capitalism
with the music
always the music
in the background
as i fucked her on the cold black tile floor of a best friend’s bathroom

i do not know how i could ever forgive myself
if I ever moved back there
where angels fly through the clouds strumming harps
to sooth the soul of humanity below -
there is a reason the misfit music makers
migrate to that namesake city

and that music they create is epic
it’s everywhere, regardless of quality…
and i miss it

af

(written on pen and paper listening to my records)