Rambling

In the air, petrichor
an ancient scent I’ve smelled before
brings in memories
of downpours past
quenching the desert that drinks deep for the fire it will endure.

Facebook is getting cuntier with it’s community guidelines and selective Fucking, so I’ll be posting here more!

There comes a time when you will calculate your ability to afford the life you will have to pay to save.

The answer to that equation will render an answer of either death or debt.

Death or Debt is the double D of modern existence.
It is not life
Modern life is scaling back
knowing that you’ve been sold
that if you cannot save yourself, you are at the mercy of a god neither benevolent nor divine.
Once your worth is spent, you are left to curl up and die from the cost of living.

and that is the cost of living. Death. Not the wages of sin as the mind-controlling eunuchs would have us believe. No. The wages of existing are death. Living costs more. There is a formula somewhere in which the value of your continued breathing is outweighed by the cost of letting you expire. And there are entire public political parties dedicated to making sure there is no support for you.

Enjoy your math homework.

Your sins of omission speak louder than the things that you say
The blood of the fallen washes over the fields that you play

Vacuous cultists repeat nonsensical points
Ignoring fountains of shit that flows from the face and annoints

Rattle toy sabres like the cowards I know you to be
You’d shit your depends at the first drop off blood that you see

Let the games begin
Let the coherence leave and sparkle grin
Let the games be played
while life is lost and help is forever delayed

You got yours so fuck everybody living
You’ll be dead soon so there is no point in giving

The suffering of those who come after
can be comforted by the echos of your laughter

The ends never had to be mean
but in a clenched fist there is no room for between

Let the games begin
Let the twilight of your convenience win
Your math was flawed
The clock runs out while your quarter is drawed

In your weakest state
You’ll depend on the used who decide your fate

Decubitus future is creeping
There’s no one to wipe you while your wounds are weeping

surfed on the waves of the great
the tide is withdrawn to expose you for the dead weight

are you game?
You will be game

Lost to the maelstrom
stoned; numb to the pain that could allow growth
joining in the ecstasy
branded with the tribal oath

Chosen ones self proclaim
after giving up the option of choice
melt into the pool
losing your own voice

How many fallen
who could have helped this plane
banked virtue in the invisible
to avoid an imagined pain

strength in numbers with no strength
turning and turning fighting progress
the world just burns away

duties abdicated for profit
surely the fertile view at the source
should make you turn away