You dig?

Snow my friends is as pure as a monkey’s ass, it’s a cheap coat for which no mayor pays but uses to dress up the city for the night. Of course, sometimes he gets a fright because the soft white coat could be too long for the small’s town streets. What he does with his wife, none of my business but I do care when I get my Cat’s all messed up with snow and mud and trip on daily routes filled with avoidance. Open talks shared between empty glasses it’s what I need and don’t get. You dig? Understand the misery of a broken man, of that guy that hates the guts of his fellow humans just because they exist and sometimes they score higher. It’s in our nature to hate. Although, one can argue that “hate” is a strong word. Is it now? Or it’s just a mental image that you associate with the negative aspects of your miserable life. Your drunken dad that beat the shit out you as a child, developed your need to hate “hate” but deep inside you still keep it alive. There are moments in your everyday life when you brag about how you spread love and “hate” is dead and gone from your emphatic soul. That’s a load of crap gently outlined by your free spirit. Your free spirit developed by so much experience. Flash news hate exists ‘because love exists. Therefore you have it in you. How long can you keep it there, locked in a basement along with some other oppressed feelings, waiting to emerge in delicate moments. ‘Cause this is social suicide. Even though your opinion is build in a different way. All of what you’ve created will vanish when your love will be defeated by your demons. They’ll come around in organized groups and hit you in your smiling face. This will be the moment when you collapse under a greater empire than love. All of what was hidden will float like crap on water. Then you can’t swim in safe waters anymore. You crazy motherfucker! While not realizing you just committed social suicide, denial is a tool used by your kind.

What I’m saying is that snow covers your town and in your smallness you jump and shout on unsteady beats. Let your anger out, hit busses with snowballs, eat some ice, cool yourself bathing in fjord or just admit that sometimes you hate. At least I do! Snow in small towns is filling the streets with clowns. Makes me sick! You dig?

Hexavalent chromium keeps you on the boat

A flesh covered by plastic skin, burnt hair, dead cells offered to the bin.

She tries and she dies in minutes of abjection, a truth lies in lies;

Misery defined by the rich, beauty standardized in kitsch

And she struggles to attain a desired form, in her ignorance

eyes melt under chemicals, her vanity with technical influences

kills the natural, fake rides, empty heart, doors shut, knowledge abolished by masses.

Brainwashed crawlers rip their flesh for a new model

Glass shards pierce their bulging eyes spraying blood on her fancy shoes,

A satisfying imagery for the fools, a grotesque beauty for an exigent jury;

But who’s to blame when words embark on deaf journeys? hitting hard

a rocky ear, a pointless spear which misses a hidden target camouflaged by

cream and a hot steam of ignorance; obsessed minds tired of thinking resume

to a continues face  clicking, to satisfy their sexual needs, now transformed in bytes and mega

this is their saga without any gods or demons, it’s just about the human females and blinded followers;

estranged human race, they have to face a meltdown of feelings

because this is the plastic world embraced by all.

meters

He counts days, he counts hours, he pays to stay; he pays to obey a mouth, that controls the answers to this artificial happiness

created to guide the bewildered masses

into a self destruction; a filtered mankind

of impurities associated with poverty;

a sickness enforced by the leaders.

He counts days, he counts hours for he has to pay for the winners.

fuzzy pixels

People miss you more when you’re away

when you leave the pack to stray and exit-stage right through the curtains.

They really do! Useful machines help people today, to see

familiar distorted faces, a bunch of friendly pixels that they know.

You people are nuts! You talk to machines! I shout at them from my garden of dreams.

A filed sprinkled with haystacks, far from the scams of nowadays.

But a strong wind blew my hay and ruined my garden so I had to pay the man;

to buy a machine, to buy my friendly familiar pixels.

People miss you more when the wind blows you away

When you’re faded image is cleared with double clicks

Ghostly appearances, blue faces glow in the dark

Fade out, fade in, fade out, fade in until

You get the skill to handle the machine.

But what’s the point of all of this when you can’t hug the screen

And thus you start to miss them more and more when

You shut the window down and goggle in the dark;

At dancing flash spots forming familiar leprechaun mobs

Calling you back in case you missed the call!

People miss you more, digitally wrapped.