Falsified Fog

Giving into the whim of emotion
less and less
And becoming content with what life is
more and more

Once addicted,
used and confused
emotionally abused
Habituated in this life pre-created

Yearning for some thing
that does not exist
Learning to look beyond the drama
and realise what is better

No longer believing
the story that we’re all saturated in
The curse of our culture
is that the faithful die unsatisfied

If only we could get past the lie
through the thick of the falsified fog
And stop pretending that we are OK
with socially interacting this way

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Disconnected Perspective

That time of year where people gather
and create a buzz of busyness,
quiet in the office and so loud in the shops, bars and streets.
A time for seasons greetings,
which means to spend money.
While others make it, depend on it,
to boost the economy.
And perpetuate the idea that business success
is our basic human right.
Based on merit, make more money,
the only legitimate way to survive through the long dark night,
some call it life.
Some call it Christmas, with a capital C,
a time of year for compulsory good cheer,
a celebration of a man, a time in history.
It makes no sense to me.

It is a time of year where I burrow deeper
away from the masses,
and away from friends and family.
The different shades of the blades of grass
growing on the dunes by the sea,
are where I want to spend my time
and are what inspire me.
A quality time I find with plants, bugs and animals,
more comforting and more stimulating
than the trite and contrived time I find
that I am forced to spend with people.
A time where I am reminded of the loathsome qualities
that our modern society cultivate,
in the impressionable human animal.

So disconnected,
I am deeply conflicted with despise and compassion
for the lost and so overcompensatingly loud children.
Who no one has taught tolerance, respect and spacial awareness.
We are all children,
waiting for our parents to tell us what is OK.
Waiting for our mum or dad to set our moral boundaries,
and then challenge them,
and then have a safe haven to return to again.
But there are no parents other than the establishment,
which only teaches us how to be good nation state citizens.
Do what everyone else is doing.
There are no parents to tell us that there are major problems
that need our care and attention to find a resolution.

I am conflicted criticising a culture and system
that I am so entrenched in.
Well aware that I am no better, no different,
certainly not above anyone else just trying to survive.
All I want to do is get everyone asking the questions:
Am I satisfied working nine to five?
Is it OK that my choices mean that someone else is deprived?
And are plastic decorations, barbecued meats and public holidays what it means to be alive?

Eternal Sunshine

Bleeding.
Running nose.
I can’t decide what to eat,
do I have another coffee?

I need protein not caffeine
but good food is hard to come by
when you don’t have much money or time.

Indecision.

It is cold but I am sweating,
and fretting about the day ahead.
It’s Tuesday again and I feel doomed
to do things I really don’t want to do.

Anticipating
a long, dark, damp winter,
eternally yearning to be warm and dry.

It amazes me
over and over again,
the power of music and my man.

Transforming my dark mood.

Music fills every void that I find,
and my man is the eternal sunshine
of a spotless mind.