AND ALL WE SEE...

Good morning

Mister I'm Gonna Blow Up The World

And how are you today

praying to your God Of Territorial Disputes

getting ready to go out with a bang

probably never considering that

once you've enjoyed each of those 72 virgins

happily waiting for you

it may not seem like heaven any more

knowing the way your mind runs

but we never seem to think of the obvious

yes

it's important to fight for what you believe in

but I draw the line at my humanity

and no

God DOESN'T want you to do that

any more than he wants you to pop a fart and whistle Dixie at the library

and I don't know why you look at Him

and see petty

and vengeful

and finite

when I see infinite

like the classroom teacher who knows

you don't take sides in playground disputes

the main thing is for the little buggers to learn something

so you can pass them on to a higher grade

but we ain't there yet

so it's always us and them

and all we see is

an infidel

a nonbeliever

a heathen

an apostate

an unholy

unrighteous

wicked

blasphemer

Jesus

give me a break

what are the chances there's only one path to follow

and each of them shouting OVER HERE

even I can see

that's a mathematical impossibility

if we are all God's children

wouldn't it make more sense to think that

every

belief

system

may have at least a piece of the truth

and if we'd just put our heads together

and compare notes

the bigger picture might come

into sharper focus

but no

you're going to kill

in the name of your God Of The Partial View

in a crowded market

with a bomb strapped to your waist

you are no better

or worse

than the guy

who sends the misguided missile screaming through the sky

the aftermath is going to be just as messy

and oh

a bunch of women and children bit the big one that time

unintentionally of course

collateral damage

back to the drawing board

with a shrug

we're still the good guys

and none of our strutting Suits

have any regrets

I heard them say it

must be nice to sleep at night with NONE

of that on your conscience

you

poor

sad

crazy

numb

deluded

power junkies

too blind to sense

that you're going to be

on the wrong side of history

to a man

it's all a game to you

where the end always justifies the means

well hell

I know it's a game

but still I'd like to play

with as much integrity as I can muster

and be able to shake hands with my opponent afterwards

don't know if you can do that

when he's carrying his dead child in his arms

but you never have to view that close up

never once considering that it's all tainted

from beginning to end

and that nothing good can come from that

which proceeds from a starting point of evil

and that it will hound you

through this lifetime

and how many more

I can't say

your only salvation

your only hope

of escaping karma's

massive kick in the ass

is that maybe...

just maybe...

It's all a dream

PERSONHOOD

it's so strange to be a 


PERSON...


to suddenly zzzzzzip back 
from the nightly sojourn 
to awaken and 
allow it to dawn 
that you're back to feeding this drama
the trauma
of CHOOSE at every turn
no way to win with those kinds of odds
so go ahead and make 
mistake number three
cuz you're really just here to
accumulate karma
now what kind of dharma is that?


Goin' apeshit  batshit  ratshit  


at the prospect of writing the next line
knowing it signifies nothing
but still gives you something 
to read 
as you sip your Corona 
on the beach at Pomona


that tenuous hold
on all of your gold 
to stand there and stare
pretending to care
playing the game
just for shits and grins
knowing nobody wins


banking on Nietzsche being full of it
with his eternal recurrence
(like all philosophers, he was in his head way too much)
yet considering the possibility
ruminating  
if all of the highs
(of which there were many)
would be worth all the lows
(of which there were plenty)
to come back, Jack
and do it again
making your grand re-entrance 
with a HEY BEETCHES...WHASSUP?
but if you really gonna heed that guy
then you know ya gotta try 
to make every day
the best it can be, though


kinda hard when you're walking through the woods
in the dead of winter
and having to whiz 
and discovering that you've put
your long johns on backwards
with an opening in the front
but none in the rear
which is now reversed...


OH DEAR!


It's so strange to be a person
fresh from the slide
off a magic carpet ride
feeling trapped here inside 
once again


now you've been zipped
your wings have been clipped
you soul has been stripped

to fit inside this box


so strange to be a person
this creature
this thing
fiddling with your ding-a-ling
hoping it will bring
some solace from it all


and it's so strange to be a 
person
when you've seen beyond the pale
when you've poked through the crack
in the cosmic egg
grasping at last
that it's no longer a matter of 
when will you leave
but of how much longer 
will you keep coming back