Solace in Escape Velocity.

Heart, mind chasing
an ever-receding
point of light.

Try as you
might, soon you learn
there is no hope of catching
up, turning around:

just in standing
your ground in your values,
watering roots, learning all you can
and finding your own way
to deal with this.

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For the Heart of Antonyms.

The right wants flags
and walled borders
and a stronger military
to defend
their safe space.

The left wants trigger
warnings and PC-
policed control of language
to defend
their safe space.

Everybody
wants to live

in their own
fucking bubble,
their own fucking
safe space,

where they are protected
from aggressions
both micro and macro,

where everyone speaks
the same language,
has skin
the same color,
pledges allegiance
to the same religion.

Where foreigners
are safely
placed behind
a great fucking wall.

And the opposite
of diversity

is extinction.

Two Cents of a Progressive Ape.

Planet is dying.
We’re killing her.
World is divided

and conquered
by a minority
of shortsighted,
small-minded nitwits.

Balding,
self-domesticated
apes still rallying
in layers, emotional
stratification ’round

an authoritarian
alpha to promote
popularity while adhering
to tradition.

Twin thorns
in my side,
pushed deeper
than ever now…

Pull them out.
Get, go away,
I’ll do it myself.

Well: fuck
our mammalian circuits,
our social nature,

just throw them
through,
right on into
the processes

of conditioning
via enculturation
and socialization,

then right
on through the gates

of the closest
approximation
to that fictitious
fucking place

they designate
their hell.
All they know so well…

and do not
follow them.

Just let go.

Stranger Danger.

So there I was, sweeping the dining room when I see these two kids huddled close together at a table, so close they seemed to share the same skin, jointly watching some video on their cell phone. I see a reward-looking thing — a medal with a ribbon connected to it — on the floor at their feet, pointed to it and asked them if it belonged to them.

Their first instinct was not to look at where I was pointing, but at me, at my eyes. Just sitting there, motionless, fixed on me like two bug-eyed deer immobilized by my ocular headlights.

Perhaps they were trying to gauge my nature and intent. I don’t consider myself intimidating, either, so this caught me off guard. I honestly wondered if perhaps they didn’t speak my language. They seemed that fucking frantic and attentive. So I pointed to it again. They still didn’t move. My finger remained. Finally the boy manages to break free from his terror-trance, look below him and reach down to pick it up. Immediately I walked away, in some sense satisfied but nonetheless confused, feeling as if that whole interaction was unreasonably awkward. I resumed sweeping elsewhere as this Skinny fellow, presumably the father, came walking towards them from the drink fountain.

“Do you know him?” He asks the two children, who I did not hear respond. “You don’t ever talk to other kids you don’t know. You never talk to adults you don’t know.”

You try to be kind and end up feeling like a creepy asshole. Amazing.

It reminded me a lot of the incident with that jumpy thug-wannabe the other day. I was about to knock on the women’s restroom to see if it was unoccupied so I was clear to clean it when this moderately-attractive, tatted-up girl exits. I then go inside, quickly clean it, open the door, and go into the men’s room and give it a quick clean as well.

Upon walking out I immediately meet the wild, enraged eyes of the aforementioned aspiring thug. He quickly walks up to me with his skeletal chest puffed out, fists ready to rain down on my face, when he suddenly notices something.

My work shirt, perhaps? The roll of paper towels and spray bottle of glass cleaner in my hands, maybe?

In any case, gears within him shifted and he immediately apologized, saying he didn’t know I worked here. He said he thought his girlfriend was in there; I told him I had just been in the women’s room awhile ago and it had been empty. It became clear to me that he still thought I was emerging out of the women’s restroom despite the fact that I was actually coming out of the men’s room.

Paranoid parents. Paranoid boyfriends.

We have been divided and conquered by all the relentless fear-mongering. Thank you, media. Talk radio. Trump.

Everyone’s out to get you. To steal from, rape and kill you and your loved ones. In bathrooms, on the streets, and in fast food dining rooms in Shittowne, Ohio.

I Want What Is Mine. 

From beneath
the bed I watch them.
Inhuman creatures,

running around, picking
up, putting
down, examining
everything.

Long fingers.
Three toes.
Wrinkles.
Invasive eyes.

Paralyzed. Entranced
by those alien,

ocular silos.
Flood my truth
with your lies,

make it so hard
to understand this, to see
me. So I fight, relentless,

determined,
til I’m free. 

Til I’m me again.

PC Police State.

So I look
to the left,
look to the right

and feel the retreat
of my mind. Political
correctness

police state. Sensitivity
fucking run amok,
out of control,
so extreme

it has become its polar
opposite.

Safe spaces
and micro-aggressions.
Flags and Happy Holidays.

No callous
to dull the pain.

FU, FCC. Nothing
remains to toughen
the thin-skinned
like me,

too many places
to hide. Too much armor
available.

In adversity
we grow:

when the opposition
is defined
by the soul.

With a 50% Chance of Eclipse.

Are you purposely misleading
or are you blissfully unaware?
In this a facade, distraction,
to lead those off the trail

who suspect
you know damn well   
the full scope
of your powers?

Not that I’m casting
a vote here, understand?
I, for one, plead for thine 
blessed ignorance 

in my greatest hopes
that  you are as blind
to it as you overtly convey.

I would honestly prefer
in this particular instance,
given the nature of the alternatives,

to be absolutely

bloody
fucking
insane.