Archive for the ‘Twisted World Projections’ Category

People,

organizations,

money,

power,

fame,

emotions,

pissing competitions…

The things you think of as life.

I’m tired of being your pawn,

your cannon fodder,

your expendable, nameless tool.

I’m tired of the life you have planned for me,

your manipulated fool.

 

©ddr7hd

 

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The light plays tricks on your eyes.

It was the first time I’d looked out of a window for a while.

I smiled as I gazed upon the majesty of a mighty eagle perched nearby.

Wow… Inspiration. A sign from God?

There is hope.

I blinked, my eyes a little sore, unaccustomed to the light.

Then I saw reality,

it was a fat pigeon,

and then, after a second or two,

even that was gone.

 

©ddr7hd

 

The machine works,

ruthlessly,

the cogs grind me yet further,

marginalized

and screwed over

on a whole nother level.

Bureaucracy discriminates

illogically,

pedantically,

and with extreme fucking prejudice.

Bit by bit they are taking things away,

pieces of myself

being trashed.

Perhaps tomorrow I will simply disappear,

it seems to be what the system wants.

… My obliteration.

He sees his neighbours “getting on” with ease and wonders. He despairs at his lot.

What next for the man-child?

Suicide?

That’s what they want, indeed:

another fucked-up statistic to fuel the machine,

money,

corruption,

news cycle,

policy.

The dead soldier, hero slain, life laid down,

is said to be forever young.

(Like that’s sufficient consolation!) …

Platitude,

vicissitude,

an attitude

plainly bullshit wrong.

Empty sentiment,

intention misdirected,

sacrifice not truly respected.

Soldier:

murdered, taken, gone,

forever dead,

a fading memory instead.

 

It’s all over.

And I feel empty, deflated, tired and wasted.

Used, abused and confused,

wondering about the point of it all.

Farcical and contentious,

it gives me the shits…

like Caster oil.

Corruption, poverty, moral decadence,

depravity, no one around to bear witness,

to see.

To ask:

Is this the Olympics?

 

Life Partner,

like a dance,

you choose whatever’s vaguely suitable,

to hand,

perchance,

to piss on your foot.

 

Yesterday she talked,

like I was a friend.

Today she turned her head,

ignorantly walked.

 

Sex, lies and videotape,

it’s an advert for…

ice-cream!?

 

I hear my voice speaking

and realize it’s not my own,

neither the words nor the tone,

try as I might,

I have no control,

much like the tension in my face

and the wrinkles creasing,

ever increasing.

Sick and tired of being compromised.

Manipulated.

Stultified.

Desecrated.

Violated.

Implicated, extradited and extricated

by external forces.

Taken away from myself.

Compromised.

Shaped into a me that I don’t want to be.

 

Greenland isn’t as big as your map suggests,

your problem and/or triumph likewise.

Australia *is* bigger than your atlas lies,

more brutal and beautiful.

Indeed.

Down Under is on top and Vladivostok rocks.

Screw twisted world projections!