Blog Post 011

Listen closely, I can't speak clearly for long. Discipline is an act of faith. Be careful what you put yours into. Run.

"testing, testing. one, two." Stand straight, lest the cane crack down. Good. Provided the bed has been made, we may begin now." *Lecture. Lecture, Lecture. Lecture.* "Do you understand?"

Athletic feats, musical sheiks and people that really love us. A good song and dance, with eyes that can trance but facial hair that doesn't connect yet. Remarkable feet, for carrying wheat, some might even call us cornfed Tall as a tree, and equally stout— but maybe a bit more stubborn. Butting our heads, another weekend at Dad's but it's always in good fun. These are the things that run in the fam.. but maybe there are some others. Weakness to dread, and flourishing steads all built on brittle foundation. When it collapse, it collapses good and the people love to see it. Not in bad fun, but to marvel at our artwork.

Little Johnny, he knows it all. He paid attention in school, he saw how docile it makes you. He paid attention to his father, even realized he was a hypocrite. He listened to his momma, but he still had to move out early. Little Johnny, he knew he was a slave to the thing, before he really was. But Little Johnny learned to manifest. He had him some boys, and he made them special, in ways he always wanted to be. Little Johnny never learned, he was not immune to jealousy. But Little Johnny, learned plenty of other lessons, to make up for that one. Then one day, when his boys were brave, enough to Be, at least. He cried "What do you do for me?" Poor little Johnny, He learned that "I owe you nothing," goes both ways.

The Houses aren't Haunted, the People are. A man spits venom through a silver tongue but the crowd can only chuckle. A woman shows ass even shakes it too and the crowd just throws her money. A crowd thinks they're right, to defend what they fight but the children see it plain. A child is bored and so is his daddy so they each go and smoke on their bud. Is it man who distracts or the ghosts of the past? maybe the ones future, do too. It is hard to tell with no sulphur to smell.. which corpses sit here, rotten. But it's harder still to lie dormant, and chill when the horses beat their hooves down. So the man in the chair watching his news has to trust that his brain was taught right. Because should he be seen by the specters and fiends they'd have them some fun at the expense of him, and his flesh.

It's easy to call a bully "a bully!" but who hurt the bully to begin with? Somebody does not attack those they feel lack, unless it was to hide from their own. Subconsciously, no memory can make it all turn conscious. But consciously we can remedy the things that haunt us, subconscious. "They should be dead!" The victim cried instead, and who would be brave enough to argue? To fight for villains, could prevent the super from ever becoming before they can even start it. So how do you do the daggone thing, to be a hero for a villain.. without it becoming the fill-in for the placeholder that we demonize next?

I'm not unemployed, I'm.. well, we read the title. It isn't that I don’t have a job, it's that one cannot keep me. It's not that I am bad at my job, it's that my job is bad at itself, maybe. I try, and try to do some good yet the piss always gets taken from it. Even my wins, fewer between than farther within, but present nonetheless. It isn't my boss, or the boss of my boss, but the system that sustains us. It takes, and takes, then takes some more because it is always begging. It's kind enough, to provide for most all— but the machine forgot its conductor. A snake with no head, or chicken for fed.. both flail and writhe with dread. Not the headless ole dead, the living instead, for what they did to the.. dead.. I'm all out of rhymes, a victim of chance.. or maybe I'm trapped in a stupor of sorts. or maybe that just why I'm.. well, we read the title.

To college I went, from college I came. I lived long enough, the villain became. It's better than dying, to live on in shame. To take ownership or then maybe reclaim But I dare not pry, no prodding or pokes. I know forsaken— a teller of jokes. The rhythm and chant and we can all dance then share with us all the secrets It'll take all our youth to chase after truth so we might as well go play then? I dare not lie through the gap in my tooth to claim there's a root to find. But if it is through the very sky blue.. Who am I to say what is true.