I am the BassBastard
When they were learning about namaste,
Others were shipping out to ‘Nam to stay
Free love and free time to play
Sold souls and gave it all away
Mentally crippled came home to zero care
Found compassion empty and no love to share
Safe home shutdown almost everywhere
propped up on corners for all to stare
God forbid is the mantra
Class war vets living high on fixed bets
Glittering synth pop pill pets
Paved streets with denied trauma treatment
Fuck you, I’ve got mine care impediment
Creating outrage is the most efficient path to monetization.
Remember this when your bias is confirmed by someone not on your “team” doing something you have been convinced is evil.
You are being used. Your outrage is a tool used to adjust you. Those who collect and use the information to manipulate your feelings do not care about your values. They care that your presences and anger have marketing value. Nothing more, nothing less. On social media, you are the product. The more they shape you through emotional manipulation, the more they can squeeze advertising and sales dollars out of you.
You have been bought and sold so many times that you will never know what value you have as a product.
Welcome to the machine. Once you pick a team, your bias shall be confirmed. You will be sectioned off. Your gods used against you. Your outrage sold to the highest bidder. Your anger was tweaked to just the right demographic. Your interests used to sell to you. Your negative reactions were used to confirm the bias of those on the other “team”.
You are all meat in the slaughterhouse who have not realized they have already been chopped up, parcelled out, and consumed.
The gingerbread man lost his arm in nom
Now he’s on line fucking everybody’s mom
You can’t spell Boomer without “Me”
And environmental catastrophe
Squeezed out a generation too numbed to feel
And see destroyed all they were taught was real
The next is stuck in an eternal trauma
Too broke to join in the drama
Spawn a crowd of riled-up world creators
Who suffers punishment for procrastinators
Neck deep in ashes, trying to turn them green
Choked on what’s left from the boom right lean
The world suffocates on plastic confetti
Wondering if the locusts will die already
Power is an illusion that the weak accept for themselves to avoid the agony of change.
Weakness is an illusion the powerful concoct to give the weak an excuse not to act.
Agony is the crucible of the mind and the body that comes with the exercise of change
Power is the core of every free soul who would accept the agony as an everyday fact
Responsibility is both solo and societal to build foundations upon which to thrive
Until the weakest are brought up by the strength of us all then none of us are really alive
Blinded by piles of pursued acquisitions
Running headlong into coming attrition
A maze to amaze from the things on which we graze
No depth, just breadth, high enough to block vision
Effort is energy, but not always progress
Movement is agitating, and often, we regress
Vibrations that phase in the ways the game plays
It is never obligated to bring about redress
Silence is golden, but not if we’re deaf
Listening is impossible if no tools are left
All the lies for which we prise the tympanic caul
Ripping out until the noise stops and we’re bereft
Anhedonia is not a form of peace
Falling to our death is not a release
A rictus they inflict us is not benedictus
We are naked and alone, but now without fleece
Hung by the Achilles, we’re shaved and then drained
For our lives and time, we are deceived and detained
Give up all you have is how we are trained
To support the parasitic idea they’ve ingrained
Silence is not consent
But it will not protect
When the dragons are hungry
And the pigs are erect
The parasite will never be satisfied
So it must be destroyed
Fire and steel and minds be deployed
Against the idea that meaning is to be employed.
