Archive for July, 2017

Everything is spinning,

my stomach is lurching,

but it is not enough.

Outer…

Space…

I envy the dead:

they have run their race.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

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If you think about it…

in a sense,

innocence

doesn’t live here any more.

The child has come of age and realizes the futility of it all. He/she withdraws. Taut. Ready to explode.

Quiet and deep-thinking, like a Finn, and all that entails.

(Bread basket travesty…)

… Molotov Cocktail.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

Mutually Assured Destruction.

Perversely, it’s a beautiful thing.

Sorting the elemental from the superfluous.

And I am glad I made a stand,

rejecting the temporal,

even though it meant pillory,

exclusion

and prison.

After all…

what good is your big house,

your refrigerator, your 200cm TV,

your child, or life insurance policy,

when an ICBM hits your city?

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

OK, I guess I’d stopped thinking about them,

for the sake of sanity,

but now I am reminded,

and I revisit the details,

deep into the silo,

and… it’s mind-blowing.

Such might, power, prowess and hubris.

Yet, our buildings are crumbling

and our people are lacking.

… Truly, we are motivated by destruction.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

The month flew by

like an Intercontinental Ballistic Missile,

thrust into Space,

an affront to God,

burned up on re-entry.

Time, gone.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

In my descent into madness

(as many would see it),

I’m becoming more and more detached,

from what society tells me I should be.

Yes…

I’m finding sanity,

a certain clarity.

Cleansing and wholeness…

Gladness envelopes my soul.

(*Fuck you and your ladder!*)

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

The TV preacher talks money

and stewardship

and faith.

Like, how you need to trust God’s promptings,

the money is His,

after all,

so,

deal appropriately.

… Then they slickly slip in an infomercial:

Send your “love gift” today for the full “message”.

Ha, ha…

… Do I trust the “prompting”?

No!

Capitalist exploitation pretending to be Holy.

Shit! That’s low…

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

So, I watched Touched By An Angel

(It’s funny the things they let/make you watch on the communal TV in this prison…)

And I’m touched with how, apparently,

God sends His Angels to people who don’t believe in Him.

Actually, that kinda sucks, I think

(Like, where’s my Angel, I believe and I totally need…),

Indeed, as I say my prayers,

I think it all very unfair…

And, I consider, that if you don’t believe in God,

then He shouldn’t believe in you.

I try and convey that as best I can to one of the guards,

he laughs, mocks, pushes me down.

Why, I reflect, would I even try?

*SHUT UP!*

I give up.

I acquiesce.

Solitary confinement, I exhale.

And… nothing.

… Nothing.

Ahh…

Silence is bliss.

Perhaps that is my Angel,

after all, maybe I have one:

her name is

peace.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

New York is enraptured

as Jimmy Connors is more of an asshole than ever,

and

the USSR is crumbling apart.

Momentous.

Cavernous pit,

all utter shit…

Captivating,

compulsive

trainwreck in motion,

where will it end?

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

Woe is me,

Woe is you,

Woe is us…

Screeching fuss.

The human condition.

Heal me physician!

(As if!)

You seek help.

Placebo today,

Butcher tomorrow.

Vanity of vanities,

Perpetual insanity.

… Humanist?

What hope?

Together, all alone, we die.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat