A Call to the Artist Archetypes

When we gonna listen,
And realize we got nothing to say,
When we gonna break up,
‘Cause we got nothing new to
Say.
We’re all just on some mission,
some cheap and self glorifying
mission,
When’re we gonna listen,

(Electronic music interlude…

Still going….

Breaking it down now,

still…………breaking down…………… )

OK. Here we go…

i’ve got another question for ya. Mr. Campbell. Mr. Camp-bell? Where are we to go once They shut it all down?They shut down all the Men’s cl-ubs!

You know, I’d really like to really like to really like to know. You know we live in a time when Pinterest is the new National Archive.

it’s sad you know it’s sad you know it’s sad you know it’s true.

Soon we’re gonna wake up. Soon we’re gonna find, They drew a line between, the information you can afford, and the stuff they save for the East-coast E-lite.

Now it’s time to live time to live it’s time to live

up to the archetypes.

We are the Starving Artist’s, starving though our bellies are full. It’s not the guns They wanna take, no, it’s your mind.

So

When we gonna wake up,

When we gonna listen,
realize we got nothing left to say,
When we gonna break up,
Cause we got nothing new to
say.
We’re all just on some mission,
some cheap and self glorifying
mission,
When’re we gonna listen.


(To the Bloggers)
We are the Artist Archetypes: Liberators of Minds come to free you from the market economy and Peddler’s of pedagogy. Destroyers of the dichotomy, that’s blasphemy, we live forever in our memory, in every cell in our body, that’ll be the death of me.

Because it’s up to us, the artists, the seers, to drive humanity forward with our questions. Our science imitates art, just look at how most science fiction has become science reality in the last decade. Scientists aren’t the most creative bunch, and so it’s up to us to ask the questions that will drive us in the directionless direction, the unnamed, uncategorized, nonbinary. Otherwise we’ll have to settle for this simulated reality.

A Call to the Artist Archetypes

 

When we gonna listen,
And realize we got nothing to say,
When we gonna break up,
‘Cause we got nothing new to
Say.
We’re all just on some mission,
some cheap and self glorifying
mission,
When’re we gonna listen,

(Electronic music interlude…


Still going….


Breaking it down now,


still…………breaking down…………… )

OK. Here we go…

i’ve got another question for ya.    Mr. Campbell. Mr. Camp-bell? Where are we to go once They shut it all down?They shut down all the Men’s cl-ubs!

You know, I’d really like to really like to really like to know. You know we live in a time when Pinterest is the new National Archive. 


it’s sad you know it’s sad you know it’s sad you know it’s true.


Soon we’re gonna wake up. Soon we’re gonna find, They drew a line between, the information you can afford, and the stuff they save for the East-coast E-lite. 


Now it’s time to live time to live it’s time to live

up to the archetypes.


We are the Starving Artist’s, starving though our bellies are full. It’s not the guns They wanna take, no, it’s your mind. 


So

When we gonna wake up,

When we gonna listen,
realize we got nothing left to say,
When we gonna break up,
Cause we got nothing new to
say.
We’re all just on some mission,
some cheap and self glorifying
mission,
When’re we gonna listen.


(To the Bloggers)
We are the Artist Archetypes: Liberators of Minds come to free you from the market economy and Peddler’s of pedagogy. Destroyers of the dichotomy, that’s blasphemy, we live forever in our memory, in every cell in our body, that’ll be the death of me.

Because it’s up to us, the artists, the seers, to drive humanity forward with our questions. Our science imitates art, just look at how most science fiction has become science reality in the last decade. Scientists aren’t the most creative bunch, and so it’s up to us to ask the questions that will drive us in the directionless direction, the unnamed, uncategorized, nonbinary. Otherwise we’ll have to settle for this simulated reality.

Words Can’t Save Our Soul

Well we know it’s not the same now,

As it was before.

It’s been chewed up and spit out.

Left out on the floor.

Left out on the floor.

All we have is words now,

To save our barren souls.

.

When will we

Wake up

to the reality

that’s staring us

straight in the eyes

no we can’t

we can’t stand to be

surprised.

.

Well we’re not really sure how,

But we’d like to think we know.

Like to think we know,

The meaning’s not the same now,

Its changed throughout the years,

To save our barren souls.

.

Wake up

to reality,

Can’t stand

to be surprised.

.

Well we know it’s not the same now,

As it was before.

Everything has changed now,

Gone through the door

All we have is words now,

all we have is words now,

To save our barren souls.

Save our barren souls.

Discrimination (A poem)

Discrimination is in every act of perception, so we’ve been told, it’s something we’re scared of, because that’s what we’ve been sold. How can we see the uniqueness in anything without this discriminating quality?

Why do we run, why do we run, we give them the power, like a gun. We preach individuality. Lost in artificial reality, but we cannot see.

Manifesting, infesting our thoughts, on the daily.

Radical, erratic-uh, there’s no resting-no, if you let them, they’ll eat your soul. What is it they’ve got you so afraid of?

Using the scientific mind, the eye, we classify, divide, into groups with like mind, we forget, and deny the unique individual qualities of the environment, which we create.

I want more than anything to influence everything, I have the presence, like a web, I’m globular, entirely in your head.

Discrimination has become manipulation. We’ve made our bed. Manifesting in this reality is the commonality we failed to deal with for centuries.

Now it’s on the tips of our brains, repeating like a refrain, don’t let it slip down the drain. Because we finally have a chance to deal with this discriminating quality,

to look it in the eye, decide not to run and hide it’s the fear that they design, we have the chance to see a real unique individual, born from learning to trust and reside in compassion. Compassion for your fellow man. It’s something they just can’t understand.

Thug Raid at 4 a.m.

The raid happened swiftly. Under the cover of night where the moans and groans would be a little softer and the insolence suppressed by the tremor of wakefulness. RV’s lined the street sandwiched between an industrial park and rail yard. The police ushered all the campers out of their RV’s, took their names, or whatever form of identification they could get, and politely told the squatters they’d need to find somewhere else to go. A young loner gets escorted while he wails about his plight. The cops turn up some opioids from his den. If they couldn’t move their vehicles the city would have them impounded. By then the grumblings and the protestations of the campers were drowned out by the big rigs hauling in the bollards, tow trucks arriving, and the crew setting up floodlights.

By early morning city sponsored trash bags filled with things, which were already once discarded, then picked up with a hope for some future purpose, fill the empty space behind the concrete bollards. A tent had popped up sometime in the hours between and a social worker would be onsite by mid afternoon. Amidst the emptiness in the air is the sense that perhaps all of this amounts to only the amassing of things. Regardless of social status, the only thing we can all be said to be doing is collecting for some greater future.