To the Businessman

O businessman
your need
to be loved
stinks from
a mile away,

like the
of underwear
worn by a
your greed
is stained

and matted

Your desire
to cripple
and takeover
spills across
the pavement
and leans
the planter
with folded
arms and

O businessman, when will
We see you for what you are

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.

A Digital Nature

Billowing pink ephemera

mushrooms into bloated intestines

stuck within a generation

draped within the darkness of

ignorance i’m sticking to


I was walking down the street the other day, looking into people’s houses, it was amazing they all, no matter how scummy, all had 58” or better flat screen TVs posted on the wall. As I passed stuck on the screen was the end of a political ad;

president trump was a saint

whose feet hung in midair,

his two finger pistols pointed, one at a brown immigrant lady

begging for the opportunity, so that

one day maybe her grandkids could be the next generation of spoiled american brat.

The other finger pointed at a bald eagle

the book of christ at his feet

heavenly clouds shine rays of celestial omniscience.

he had a special look of not really caring at all on his face, and i thought that’s where it’s at. i want to live like the white trash.

Did you know that at some point in your life

technological advances will surpass your intellectual capacity,

at which point your fucked.


i want to get back to the land.

i want to work the soil,

sweat and toil,

i want to be intertwined with natures spoil,

the land i work will grow old with me,

and if i take care of her

she’ll be there for my kids.

Did you know, At some point in your life your mode of thinking will be obsolete,

at which point your fucked.

all rock and roll is pornography,

stuck in your ways,

stuck to a generation.

The Indians say our mind and body are a form of Technology,

even this form of technology seems to pass us by,

Draped in ignorance

we fade

into the rolled eyes of the youthful as society continues its gradual march.

but the land doesn’t really change,

our relationship with nature never really goes anywhere.

So that’s where I’ll stake my claim

i’ll tie my mind to nature instead

of technology, or generational concepts

of gender and race.

that way i’ll fade back from where i came.

*The line “all rock and roll is pornography” come from the song Hellfudge by Lard. The link is to enjoy said song, not to pornography! Although it might be just as offensive to some…



How are we supposed to feel secure, when we continue to make sure that we’re separate from the whole.

I did not jump up with my fist in the air and yell, Yeah! Like any good American would. Actually I snapped the picture, I thought it’d look cool for the blog, and during the rattling of tracks I felt this complete disconnect. The tracks, the train, the overpass, the buildings behind me and asphalt under my feet, I felt like the only natural thing around. Of course I wasn’t but so suddenly it occurred to me that i am the product of past generations fight against nature.

On the rails of commerce

Oil travels like detainees

On my knees, beggin

please, please, please.

What’s it all for

We’re always on the hunt for more

border wars;

trade wars;


People of this Earth

We are the people of this earth

secure in ourselves and building walls,

everyone is just building walls

to barricade ourselves

secure in our nameless, shameless faces

building walls; building walls; we keep on building walls

to keep ourselves safe

(thinking; this is my ground, maybe this is my ground,

baby this is my ground)

but what is solid keeps us stuck in our places

building walls i’ve seen so many shattered, empty faces.


We are the people of this earth,

secure in ourselves, searching for a ground,

to promenade ourselves

we think that

by separating ourselves,

and building walls,

we won’t be amongst the starving, nameless faces.


We are the people of this earth,

so long as we keep convincing ourselves

that it’s all about the ground

we won’t see any other future,

that doesn’t keep us stuck to the ground.


history is our ground, maybe this is my ground

identity is our ground, maybe this is my ground

feeling is our ground, baby this is my ground

language is our ground, maybe this is my ground

thought is our ground, maybe this is my ground

maybe we’re all just one ground into tiny little pieces.




We are the people of this earth / secure on our ground / I see so many shattered faces / Thinking, maybe this is my ground; this is my ground; this is my ground; this is my ground; this is my ground; this is my ground; this is my world.