Archive for the ‘Inside & Outside Society’ Category

You pray,

you believe,

you hope.

Life goes on,

people suck you dry.

You get disenchanted,

disappointed

and exhausted.

You pray,

you try to believe,

you want to remember

what hope felt like.

One day you give up.

Soon, you will die.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

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One day they gave me a cellmate (Shit!),

a real piece of filth,

a man, to boot…

(Have we sunk to such levels of equality?)

Silence and tension

gave way to boredom and reflection…

I asked the guy what he’d done

(fuck!)

and why.

His reply,

heartfelt diatribe:

“All these TV adverts, for tampons, pantyliners, pads, vaginal dryness relief, and shit, maybe you cunts think they’re empowering, but they’re not, they just make men view you with more contempt…”

His voice trailed off a little as he pulled down his pants.

Contempt, indeed,

I smiled thinly.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

Despite our proximity,

we inhabit different realities.

My neighbors and I…

same building,

same street,

different planet.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

At school

your children are learning about our way of life,

as somebody sees it.

(Way of life?

I scoff!

You think we have a *way* of “life”?)

Like brutal Buddhists, perhaps,

who can sentence you to hell on earth

or put you to death

because it is not really the end

(conscience clear),

you will be reborn as a grasshopper.

Way of life and death,

endless cycle of impossible,

beyond apprehension,

outside human comprehension.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

Human existence…

Limited resistence.

Every now and then you run into a wall,

jaded, wise and cynical,

you realize the futility of it all.

Thousands of years of evolution,

one way or another,

for this?

(Poxy pinnacle!)

Why do we go on?

(Deluding ourselves with stupid songs…)

As a species,

when our primal urges are thwarted,

frustrated,

our lofty ambitions of improvement fail,

banality and futility reign,

and there is no hope,

what,

what is there left to live for?

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

It’s World Fair Trade Week,

whatever that means.

“Like, fair trade prostitution?” I ask.

… Unexploited, with no pimps.

An honest and fair exchange.

Is it possible?

… In this age where sex is no longer sacred,

well, maybe.

But, then, *everything* is a commodity,

and *everyone* wants the best deal.

… And money is tighter than your ass.

So…

Likely, no.

 

©SvetkaSamizdat

 

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

 

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

 

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