The Commie Tech Titans

FROM LAST TIME:  Before I continue I’ll post this to see where we at.

So my last post before resuming here was on December 19, 2018.

Time between dates calculation

From and including: Wednesday, December 19, 2018
To and including: Saturday, January 4, 2020

Result: 382 days

It is 382 days from the start date to the end date, end date included.

Or 1 year, 17 days including the end date.

Or 12 months, 17 days including the end date.

 

That’s quite awhile.  

From my last post, made mere minutes ago:

I won’t be shutting this site down, if you can call it a site.  It’s practically a museum.  I wanted to post about how the internet has devolved into The Nothing from The NeverEnding Story.  

The reason I won’t be shutting it down is eventually the Commie Tech Titans will do it for me.  They are The Nothing.  The entire internet is shit now, it’s a TV that spies on you, reporting your entire life to advertisers, governments, government crooks and ordinary crooks, but most people don’t care about that.  We don’t notice so we don’t care. 

What’s “new” since 2016 is Commie Tech Titans shutting everything down.  They’ve gone from providing media platforms to policing content.

The twits at Twitter took it a step further.  If they don’t like something you’ve said or written anywhere, not just on Twitter, they will unperson or (as the kids say) ‘cancel’ you.  

It’s not just speech.  Paypal and crowdfunding sites and even some banks have followed suit, seizing assets and barring people from using their services for having unpopular, politically-incorrect opinions.  They’re like a club bouncer who follows you home.

What started this shitshow, or rather accelerated the digital Purge, was Trump being elected.  Globalist swine pooped their pantaloons as they witnessed the firepower of this fully armed and operational internet.  In some cavern while drinking the blood of infants, they decided to forever curtail the power of people connecting and speaking freely.  It’s a disgrace.

I’m out of the loop and don’t know if Turdpress has banned anyone based solely on content.  If it hasn’t happened already it will.

So that’s where we’re at.

This is the most writing I’ve done in awhile.

I’ve got two more Jeopardy! hotties in the que, one of zero reasons I decided to log in here after 12 months and 17 days, and then I’m done with that feature forever.  Standby.

 

“The Dawn of Zen”

When I was a liberal, nothing changed except for the worse.
When I was an anarchist, nothing changed except for the worse.
When I was a Libertarian, nothing changed except for the worse.
When I was a Conservative, nothing changed except for the worse.
When I was a Trump Voter, nothing changed except for the worse.

No matter who’s in charge, taxes go up.
No matter who’s in charge, prices go up.
No matter who’s in charge, freedom fades.
No matter who’s in charge, the bad guys win.

God is in control.
Satan is in control.
You are not in control.

It’s always been this way
Will always be this way

So relax and get those dishes
done.

“I wish heartbreak was fatal”

I wish heartbreak was fatal
like a gunshot
or puffer fish.

I wish a doctor would enter the room
and say, ‘I’m sorry, you were
too sad for too long. There’s nothing we can do. You’ve got six weeks.”

Shit, Doc, I only need a day.

I wish heartbreak killed you
without warning like a drunk driver or
falling piano.

I don’t want this burden, this grief.

It’s a tragedy when everyone lives.  

“48 numb”

 

48 days numb and rain 3 days,
my car’s small tires slurp through puddled soup.
radios have no news for me.
it’s cold, then not, then cold
as the weather moves furniture.

shaved monkeys ruin every corner of the gym.
weights in my hands lift themselves, counterbalanced by the crush-weight of life.
food tastes like dead fat.
angry shampoo burns my eyes.
my hair keeps getting longer
but not from growth: my brain lowers it dead down the tower of my head
to make its escape.

Richard Brautigan brought a gun to The End.
one day he’ll be dead as long as he was alive.
one day I’ll have lived without you
the exact number of days I knew you.

For 7 days a Band-Aid covers a minor scrape on my right elbow.
I’m afraid to remove it, afraid to find the wound
healed.

“slungshot”

 

tired of torn tickets
sneak previews
waiting for others’ suffering to catch up.

words can’t bridge the gap.

I should be asleep
but sleep means the end of freedom and
sticking out my chin for the
fist of another day.

trying to skip
to the end of suffering
is like trying to commit suicide
with a slingshot.

I just shouldn’t be here no more

grammar

be

damned. 

“Complainers”

 

broken over the knees of phantoms
bleeding resentment
angry at what can’t be changed
angrier at what can,

not giving a fuck or taking one
hearts afloat in bitterness
like sponges at a high school car wash
raising funds for the funeral of hope.

they don’t want to hear it
they already know it
they’re eating themselves
with needless rage,
fine,
except they always
chew so loudly.

“cupcakes in a locked iron chest”

 

“There’s nothing to write,” he said,

sounding like

a teenager scanning the cupboard for snacks.

 

And it’s true,

there’s nothing in here

out there

even over yon where Shakespeare shits quill pens.

 

nothing.

 

No inspiration

No motivation

Not even

 

(wait for it)

 

masturbation.

 

There’s nothing to do, write or say.

 

There are no E-Z snacks

anymore.

 

You’re finished, all that’s left is to

Die,

bitter that someone else

will get paid to

write about it.

“Second effort”

 

Eh, this one’s
O-K,
solid in places
but
I kind of liked
the first one
better.

I wish this was more like the older piece
and things were like before
when the first piece you’d written was
your latest one.

You know?

“ordinary”

 

guts torn one way then the next
heart slinging blood like hot cards in the alley
you are the fly here
in a spider’s web of crosshairs
as time swings on a chain
as bats dip their wings in splashing blood.

hope runs out like cut rope falling
skin refusing to hold this fury,
bursting like a Styrofoam cup of gasoline
creeping toward flames
as guns empty arguments into meat
as glass breaks over skulls across town.

you wonder are your hands killers
fingers chattering keys, pulling cigs from a pack,
ordinary everyday horrors
the frightened manager asking you to
please leave
as the moon falls into the laughing ocean
as the sun throws knives at blind-folded earth
as this
as that
as is
is

is.

“when it goes to shit”

 

when it goes to shit
you will feel the teeth in each drop of rain
you will see steel shine
as bones filled with blood
break against it,
you will see a flower killed in battle, now floating down the gutter
toward the sewers.

you will think of her and put meat in her memory
but your hand will pass right through her.

you will never keep a movie stub again.

you will look in the mirror and wish for something else
you will see rain in the small frosted window above;
pattering paws
on cold glass
and think, ‘that has nothing to do with me.’

you will quietly put the lesson away
as a wrinkle, scar or gray hair.

you will never keep a movie stub again.