2 Minutes. Go!

I'm tired to writing the same old things, but the world won't change. Maybe I'm just tired. Maybe I'm just like kids down at the beach - loud, confused, hyper-focused. I don't know, man. Maybe I'm trying to put rules into a game that wasn't designed for them. Maybe I'm hoping the dog will learn how to talk, but the dog keeps shooting people in the back. Fuck if I know, little old me. Full of punk rock indignation, staring at my contemporaries who look at me like I'm a simpleton. Like, dude, you never stopped being an asshole and being an asshole doesn't pay. 

I'm like, check your definition of asshole, asshole.

I don't want to play this adult game of moral compromise. I can't. It's not in me, and I don't want it to be. I don't care how many jobs I lose, how many friends back away, how many doors close before I get my hand on the knob. I don't want to be part of the club. I've seen inside it a few times, for real, and it's fucking disgusting. Plastic-surgery freaks geeking on money and power and fetishistic-power-shit. Paper skin over poking skulls, wet, yellow eyes, tongues darting. 

Fuck that scene, man. 

I'd much rather hang out with a bunch of tired folks. Sore backs from working. Grease under their fingernails. The kind of folks who find someone to love and hold onto them, because that's what really matters and it's free. They sleep like puppies, and they smile in the morning, and those are my fucking people. Black, brown, white, tan, what the fuck ever. Singing songs and telling stories. In languages I understand and languages that make me sit back and go: God, that's beautiful. Maybe I could write in that language. Read the stories. Maybe I could learn. 

That's where I want to be. I'll be there if you want to join me. 

2 Minutes. Go!

The Blue Jays are tripping the fuck out, man. They don't like the smoke, and they're not shy about letting everyone know. They're like, man, what the fuck are you guys doing inside? You should be getting the hell out of here; y'all don't have wings. You're slow, landlocked. We can jet when we need to. 

The dumb-asses are planning trips to the beach. If their house isn't currently on fire or in the direct line, they want to get away from the smoke. Tahoe? It's gonna be rough for all those folks fleeing their burning homes. Hope traffic ain't too bad. 

The unhinged are giddy. They are thrilled to watch the world burn. Some of them make the fires worse, start new fires. They are powerful in the chaos. They feel bigger than the flames. 

A lot of folks are shit-scared. We've got a virus and fire and we're waiting on the swarms of locust. They're probably coming soon. We know the President is laughing, and it's hard to swallow. Go ahead and let it burn, that land of fruits and nuts. Liberals roast up real nice. 

I guess I'll pack a bag today. Hug my girls as often as I can. Make sure all the windows are still taped up. Check the fire reports. Hope we don't hear the siren from our phones that means get the fuck out. I wonder if we'll move this year, leave this once-a-year-fire-festival.

Just like everyday, we'll smile and pretend the world ain't going up in flames. 

2 Minutes. Go!

It's a glitch. It's a malfunction... That's bullshit, it's truth peaking out behind the sly magician's instruction. It's the way it was designed, only you can see all the working parts if you squint. See the malice behind the intent? That's collective consciousness, and that's shit is for rent.

They come right out and say it if you're patient long enough. Senility brings changes, exhumes all the ugly stuff. The racist mumbo-jumbo and the crimes that need confessing. Soon you find that all those smiles were simply window dressing.

The game was always rigged, it's a facet of design. You'll never know when you cross it, if you can't see the line. They're arbitrary, changeable, hateful little things. Why don't they ever listen when the caged bird sings?

America is drowning in a bed of its own making. This is simply fallout from all the selfish taking. There are just too many cowboys and too much fenced-off land. There now comes a time every day where you have to make a stand. 

We can't sit by and watch while it all goes down the shitter. America is a lot of things, but we've never been a quitter.

2 Minutes. Go!

Chippers are better than junkies, but they're weak; they can't commit. They are slackers, and it's best you stay away from them. You need someone who can go all in. You need the kind of man who drinks before you go to the bar. The kind of man who squeezes your hand a little too hard when he's mad in public. A lot too hard. You need a man who is willing to lie to you. 

You need a woman who has lots of secrets. It's charming. Women are complex, see? Find you a woman who is having three emotional affairs, but won't have sex with you. Cougars are the best; try to find you a woman who treats sex like a game. 

You need kids who are locked into their phones, seeking validation from creepy weirdos pretending to be rock stars on the internet. If you play your cards right, you have a promising future shilling for massive corporations by forcing your body through filters and altering your mindset to one of pleasant cardboard.

America can be everything we want it to be. It can be rich for the white folks, horror for the people of color. It can be opportunity for the few and oppression for the masses. It can be rich politicians smiling through sex-trafficking parties. 

All you have to do is lower your expectations, cash in your morals, and keep looking out for number one. 

Vote? Shit, that's optional.