America (The New Vision)
You sit in the beaches of ethereal paradises.
Thinking you have run away from it all, the glittering and gritting of industrialized civilization.
However, the nightmares of the cold steel turning warm on your own child still find some way to eat inside
your brain, while you achieve your daily living.
The suits multiply, like the virus they can be, achieving no real solution while the entertainment continues
to be what it is.
Nobility and morality is mixed with favoritism and ratings.
You never realize that the torch you carried in the marathon could change the state of the foundations.
Who ever knew that the color black could mean the end of civilization instead of preserving it.
The friars still migrate in the open meadows, with stormy clouds and the towering gun posts hovering and
lurking about.
We have given ourselves a new name, and shouldn’t dare speak it.
The flames still linger about while the television pours sedation.
We are so secure with the stealth bombers and the management of airspace.
The goods can still seep its way through your serenity, finding the open wounds of human nature.
“Gott ist tot,” cried the observer. Everyone still celebrates Christmas without the tasteless wine wafers.
The game still continues while the jet streaks still linger in the sky.
Everyone is too drunk to notice their own demise, and you do little to help since you’re in high spirits
yourself, screaming and cursing at the greens below.
However, the lone man stands alone in the fields of battle, watching the world as it is and will never be
again.
Zero and one doesn’t equal right or wrong.
The sins of the world still affect the gateways of encoded information.
You can still find yourself locked in a state of perverted daydream while you gaze romantically and
erotically at her silky lace, covering her like a beautiful paint stroke.
Medulla oblongata… your response seems more abnormal than usual.
Does the graphical chip emit the realistic images of an imagination gone wrong?
Oh, well… I can always live inside the vacuum with my mind fading away into nothing.
And you still want to direct the way the system works, to your own advantage.
Don’t you wish that Kepler and Copernicus had gazed upon you, elevated you a God and still written
papers that the See shouldn’t see?
Do you wish the sailors would follow their unknown destinies by charting your constellations?
The electrons have become almost a medicine to me. Necessity. Tool of survival.
I love the spiraling flow of unseen worlds and censored visions of greatness and realism.
The black strip seems to look at your soul, eyeing out the hidden agendas of your own immortal being.
The Lord does work in mysterious WAYS doesn’t He?
Of course, I would favor the fundamentalism of philosophy since it will finally make me ride my bicycle
wherever I want to.
But you wanted the riches of the world, selling off the artwork of the Creator to fulfill your petty desires.
This monitor is monitoring your own mind, as the confessions pour out when the spear hits the side.
I have seen and I don’t want to see again your own… you.
Bliss. Trying to repeat that sensation which encased you an arrogant child forever.
Success. Jackson and Franklin were probably never that way, but you made them that way.
The fancy cloths and the childish fantasies are not going to excuse the failure of the snooze button.
You are not special in any way my friend, if my generous heart should find the strength to call you that.
The pulsating booms of quadraphonic systems rage through your blood, as you follow the impulses of a
decapitated ophidian.
The power chords. Oh, the power chord resonate while you carelessly forgot that your child is lying in the
morgue somewhere, duly appointed to be the “martyr of the Year” by some goodwill publication.
Hope you enjoy the dinner they serve.
My fingers have reached a peak of expression.
The dictators make their moves like careless chess players, unaware that the Knight will eventually catch
them.
Is there any hope in the decaying billboards and the burnt out bulbs of the stock tickers?
Yes, I have seen the so-called peak of civilization and it is not pretty.
It is hard to stand still in a place where the ant movements are commonplace.
Where is the coffee when I need it, but I think I can finally express myself in Java.
First off, why do think you can run away from the place you call home?
It doesn’t have your house, your security, your free sex or your expensive taste.
Why do you run from your own self-built Eden? Are you afraid that the columns will collapse on
themselves?
I wonder that sometimes that I look into the wild blue yonder as the cities float and sail away.
The mural has been painted and I am suffering a headache.
So go change your attitude for all I care. See if you become an enlightened being with a shrine named after
your beautiful syllabic identity.
I laugh away at the explosions while enjoying a glass of water, feeling the warm breezes of tropical
paradises and smiling away all of my rage. This is all while you escape from all, when you really haven’t.
‘Cause you see… the vision and the fortuneteller will always come to haunt you…
Date of First Draft: 22 May 1999
Information: This was written while watching TV and being angry at the current culture