Issues With Authority.

As I’m down visiting my parents for my 39th birthday, in between the awesome Mexican food (my favorite) and the Dairy Queen ice cream cake, my mother asks me if I remember when she sent us to summer camp that one year — and why she never did it again.

I had absolutely no memory of this.

Evidently I got up and left the classroom I was in, sought out my sister, Eve, and took her out of the classroom she was in, and then sat us both down beneath the trees outside, refusing to go back inside — or to let my sister in there, either. We remained beneath those trees until mom came to pick us up.

Though I had no recollection of the incident, I knew why I had done it. I remembered having done things like this before. Running, hiding or stubbornly rebelling against what I perceived to be oppressive authority — never in a violent way, though. This continued with my mother and about every job I’ve had: the omnipresent power-struggles.

I told my mother that I probably did it because adults in power, they tend to be dicks.

“They still are,” Eve, beside me at the table, chimed in.

I couldn’t argue. “This is true.”

The next day, Elizabeth and her boyfriend come visit me at my apartment. Elizabeth had baked me a pot birthday cake that kept me high about every night of the following week, as I ate from it slowly. We also smoked a bowl or two while they were there, during which time Elizabeth, a manager where I work, informs me that Connie has been promoted to assistant supervisor of the franchise.

My stomach turned. My teeth clenched. Hatred rose from within me and proceeded to consume me.

For the majority of the nearly fourteen years my unambitious ass has been working and rotting away in this fast food joint, Connie had been the store manager and my most immediate boss.

Though she calmed down near the time she was transferred to another store — mostly due to medication and becoming a grandmother, it seemed — she nonetheless remained an unempathic, narcissistic, deceptive, authoritarian asshole who could not be pleased, no matter how much you busted your ass to do a good job. After years of suffering under her reign, I was absolutely ecstatic to have someone else as a boss. Word had it that since the new guy bought the franchise they were trying to push her out — and now I learn they instead promoted her.

It isn’t, as Connie used to claim, that I don’t like women in power. I’ve liked the last two store managers we’ve had and they both had vaginas. I’d give my left nut to have Hillary at the throne instead of Trump despite the fact that I’m not the biggest fan of her. It’s a style of leadership that gets to me, that I find utterly intolerable, and this style seems nauseatingly commonplace.

I don’t know where my issues with such authority began, but they surely continue.

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Truth.

Test me for faith.

If found, by all means, eliminate.
I need no blind, constipating
platitudes, nor ignorant embrace
and subsequent evangelism.

Truth is fixed
as the target
here. Make no mistakes,
my dear.

Honesty, reality:
this is what I strive for.

Blind,
in silence,
show me, let

me listen to what I’ve been,
so I know

what to veer
from as I
aim for…

Of Grays and Chad.

Itching for a hideaway,
a costume,
a mask.

A place to rest your weary feet,
relieve your calloused soles
and call home,

a face to attract souls burdened
with a shared sense
of estrangement,

though they may lack the experiential
spectrum of betrayal you endure.

Empathy.
Endurance.

This is so wrong…

So fucking
determined.

So you found a way that refuses to deny
the whole truth, but rather fixes
on a mere aspect, yet denying the world
the whole story, the unabridged
manuscript, still

I know you’ve seen them,
that you’re another one.
Confessions may be denied,
but it seems we smell our own.

I can feel it your scream,
hear it in your words.

It burns in my guts.
I’m not alone.

Neither are you.

I was lucky enough to be born
into circumstances
in which I never had to endure
all that you’ve been through
on this so-called sacred earth,

though you speak
of other things
which remain
so hauntingly familiar…

It’s real.
You can’t just forget
to remember.

Please come ‘round,
use the power of your soul, heart,
thought and sound,

speak to your sisters and brothers
left gazing across the edge
of this dying world,

leave your mark,
offer your words.

Oroborus Ostrich.

When a particular person is a self-serving, hypocritical, deceitful authoritarian devoid of empathy and a large group of people — not just the typical core of sycophants — seem to not only be entirely blind to the fact but get all moist in the loins over the prospect of that narcissistic douche-bag gaining more power, yes, I tend to get enraged and yes, vile words erupt out if my filthy mouth and, yes, whatever meager amount of faith I’ve managed to salvage in my species suffers a fatal blow, so don’t exacerbate the fucking maelstrom of rage pushing at the boundaries of my skin by asking me, “I don’t see what your problem with her is.”

Stop playing oroborus ostrich and pull your head out of your ass. That might help.

In the meantime, shut up, spare me, and just walk the fuck away.

Low Res, No Exit (5 Days Away).

How can it be
that it has been this long
and I’ve only gotten
this far?

Halfway
through this shell’s journey,
still lost, disempowered and alone,
with no aim that stretches
very far

or means too much save
for the childishly
ambiguous

reservoir full of potential
with low-resolution 
void of a narrow exit,

omnipresent
and ever-raging, volatile,
sensitive and pathologically
untrusting, 

and I suppose that alone
says something.

Love, Hate and Necessary Space.

Always fighting impatience
as it built up beneath your skin,
denying what you felt:

that the hand you held
would only serve to hold you back
and provide weight to drag you down
to its own surreal hells. 

Forever at war with empathy
as it sucked the life right out of me,
unwilling, then unable 

to resist this need in me
to flee constant overstimulation
and yield to my isolationist tendencies,
leave us both to ourselves,

striving to quell my fear
of always riding coattails, 
to bear the pangs of guilt
involved in baring self.

We always blamed
me for walking away,
you for holding it in

until you inevitably
cast words to banish
me once I created
the necessary space…

two cowards
though in different ways
bearing the marks
of each other’s love and hate.

Last Call for Confessions.

If you listen closely,
you can hear
the world breaking,
falling apart.

Watch closely,
you can see as this gulf
continues to widen 

between us all,
emitting what surely constitutes
one jarring death rattle.

Cranial-rectal inversion.
Not so much as a peek
beyond the cheeks:

willing, dyslexic
ouroboros-style
asphyxiation…

Call me pessimistic.
So what? Fuck you.
We’re all doomed. 

I have always been prone
to give respect
to those willing to go
out on a limb,
flow free with passion  

for their cause
yet forever remain wed
to reason

so that they can freely admit
in the face of contrary evidence
when, where and why
they stand as wrong

and adjust,
recalibrate,
adapt.

Can you not open your eyes?
End this before it begins?

All it takes is a little honesty.
Shock us all with some sincerity.

Last call for confessions
to save us all
from this horrid calamity

brewing, sure to burn us all
when the cauldron
boils over…

Under the Skin.

Lacerate, tear it all away.
Beneath insatiable attraction,
revulsion to the core. A monster
gift-wrapped in seduction.

Behold the instincts
and their enticing illusions.

Satisfied now
that you have stumbled foolishly
along your journey

into the belly of the whale,
incubated in this womb
you enter when taking shelter
under the skin

the prerequisite
for greater enlightenment,

or must
you suffer
further,
bear the return
of this circle?

Impeaching the Symptom.

So hopelessly full
of himself that there’s no room
left within for empathy.

All confidence
and no self-awareness,
made all the more dangerous
given naked displays
of his previously-inconcievable
extremes of stupidity.

Truth holds
no value for him and his herd:
so many contradictory lies
randomly woven
into a single sentence…

Lunatics
have always run
the asylum,
true, but we’ve now
given the throne
to a nut
of a higher order.

How on earth did we get here?

I’m all in
when it comes to the fight against
him, but you do realize,
don’t you, that we’re really only
striving to impeach
a symptom?