The World We Get Lost In

Beneath the wealth is a fallen society,

where money has out-priced family…

…been force-fed religion and group therapy…

“no, counselor, you don't understand me...”

I really think the gleam of wealth is blinding,

not really what it seems…

higher livin’ aint peaches and cream,

not coupled with high self-esteem.

Members of the human race:

I stand and challenge to unite,

not divide and fight, but combine to guard our rights...

We give up more than we take away,

and to this day, not much good has came...

but I digress... all consumption a function of stress,

each person doing more with less, working to be the best...

…shit, an uphill climb, here I come again…  where should I begin?

It's a race to the finish that I've started all too much,

running from the problems on a broken crutch,

chasing the gain - fighting mental strain...

sure, I could abstain, but with all the disdain,

disruption, and just plain destruction

can I not aid the pain??? 

I came to you to explain that this is no game…

…the effects are known, but the momentum carries on.

Not sure where I’m goin’ but I know I’m not there.

You know where I’m coming from?

The lot of you can make the same claim…

I don’t doubt you’ve had your share of change,

but only so much can I bear…

One minute you’ve got someone and not the next year….

Can we settle into a groove? It’s not something I have to prove…

That it feels more natural to fall into a behavioral pattern…

Let me say, there’s one thing I’ve got…. a perpetual groove... no more turns... 

Solitary Confinement

A deep, dark moment in the corner of a room.

A shadowy presence sparks a dismal gloom.

You can control your own mood… don’t let it loom.

We need to massage, and we need to groom,

If we want someone else in the room.

Tragic affairs bring oneself to mourn…

…have lived a life ensconced with scorn….

This born from want to piece together what’s torn.

A lot is forlorn, but more is forgone.

Always wanting what we lost all along.

To build a lonesome resolve, we can risk the rest….

…asking not for another’s respect….

…stealing hope from the lives we dissect.

A tempered manic or a simple disgrace.

Humanity knocks, do you answer with grace…

...or step out of the race...?

The bags are packed for a trip to nowhere.

The mind creates stories. A real one is rare.

The sickness creeps on, locked up in despair.

A moment had passed that felt like a year.

I wind back the clock and run the gamut on fear. 

Anti-Social Networks

Let’s talk about social networks.  Do they entice people to socialize or are they simply tools that allow people to pseudo-interact with one another? The space between our interactions as real people, as opposed to virtual people, must not always be filled with online check-ins, proof of existence, self-accolades, or veiled criticisms. The virtual space that we occupy needs more substance; elsewise, we are living like vapid fools amidst infinite information.

Should a friend not virtually check-in, they might be assumed dead or otherwise living a life of tear-jerking boredom. In this way, social networks can be very much enslaving. They can be a slow amalgamation into oppression, where introversion proliferates each successive generation by the same rate at which technology has propagated our society’s youth. This is all very much sacrilegious to the true act of living life, which has become but a sheer reenactment of life. We sit in a place with set parameters. A pre-defined portal.

Should one actually bring to light a topic of real discussion, one of great controversy, one with actual merit, they must carefully phrase themselves to an audience of lurkers ready to pounce on anything outside of the realm of widely accepted.

Should one remain personal and open enough to speak on their conviction, they will run the risk of complete disregard, chastisement, or the online equivalent to being “shanked”... bare buttocks and all. This is what it feels like to have one’s persona rejected by what digi-merica says are the only friends that really matter. These friends, these online reaffirmations, dare I say those who are apostles for idolatry, are sometimes mirages of drought-like proportions, under which we are actually sucked away from the people who transcend it all.

We “like” things rather than actually live. We share rather than create. There is no punctuation because there is no sentence structure.  The real meaning of anything becomes suspect.  We sink with perfect posture and a rising tolerance for mediocrity.

And so I ask: At what point did we all succumb to the temptress who drew us in…. the thief who taught us to live vicariously through others? Others… among which is a large faction of people who are mirroring all the others, along with which is an even greater set that is actually begging for credit from peers, through transparent and pathetic acts, in what is the furthest thing from a meritocracy that an environment could actually depict? 

A Blip in Time

When history is written, it is sometimes simply documented. Other times, it is wildly embellished.   We know that the stories themselves, not the act of recording, can sometimes be the only history that really matters. History, as it occurs, must be soaked in and cherished as each moment arrives. While reflection will always take place, we still have to channel things into our subconscious. In Tom Wolfe’s The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, the leader of a group of intellectuals has an astute moment. The Chief, as he was affectionately referred, impresses himself upon this band of free-spirited existentialists.  These newborn souls were travelling both physically and psychologically - questioning all things and living without oppression.  In a mode of self-proclamation and prophesy, he says “I’d rather be a lightning rod than a seismograph".

Reading this quote, in its simplistic depth, we know that we have to wring the cloth hard to get the real meaning out of it. Here, The Chief alludes to having no interest in simply recording waves verbatim.  There is no latitude, no creativity – no electricity, no release. The Chief's quote says more, though. A lightning rod takes in an electrical current. It attracts and conducts this current to protect its attached structure from damage. To serve this purpose, a lightning rod must have a connection to Earth.  It is grounded. It takes in that current and translates it into something that is not destructive.  A lightning rod translates – it does not record. Because it distracts lightning from the structure it is protecting, it is a catalyst for positive change. Unlike a seismograph, it does not wait for history to happen, but it helps to internalize the course of history…. it implies a helpful and worthwhile experience, becoming intrinsically motivated, electrified, desensitized, and better capable. 

It reminds me of that moment at an outdoor concert, with streams of sky on a cloudy night, where the band strikes the first chord of their most well known ballad. This is the tune where the sweethearts hold hands and look into each other’s eyes, as its familiarity brings back memories of time already spent, igniting passion for history in the making. The sweet melodies, and the acoustical sway, serve as reminders of missed chances and strong emotions stashed away... never to be acted upon. This song creates the atmospheric mood, where the flint of the lighter sparks and a trail of flames cascades the crowd line. Only now, in our modern and digital times, you see something different. The flames have been traded with another light source: a sea of cell phones.  An uninspiring electronic leech, it takes the moment away from you, and instead of channeling history, it records blips in time…. just like a seismograph.

This breeds within me a steep desire to become more in touch with my analog self, to become more grounded, connected to earth, craving high doses of energy and change, however strong the mix may be….

…getting shocked into coherence by breaching the doors of a closed-off society.

……..and "furthur" - being much more than a blip in time.