(slip schemata)

My brain is a baja smile, lost on the plastic grin of an idiot nation more than ready to drown itself in long-torn waves of likeability. style over substance. manners of a proletariate no one really believes in anymore (at least, not in any fashion that can be readily discerned as faith. no. there is faith aplenty in this nation but it's been so fucking misdirected as to have lost ever ounce of pride and accountability. it's all gone into vengeful gods and clay fucking puppets marred and dancing for the cold end of a million some apostates. not a final solution really. life's gone a far shade of genocide when it comes to reaching out and touching someone with an iron fucking fist of kindness and commerce except for those poor bastards down there in the sudan. someone seems to have finally acknowledged their plight which is nice nice nice but it doesn't really do a whole fucking hell of a lot to keep a nation from dying now does it? does it even start to compensate the world for ignoring the cries of a hatchet job down the bad side of a mother's skull? not really. not by a long shot. but it's all we've really got. words. words. words. semantics and apologies and buzz about mistakes and earnest attempts to be better than we once were. better than the evil that swims around the global populus. and it is evil, you can be shit sure of the fact that he did get that one right. but at least it's honest [or so i have been lead to believe. a dictator doesn't do all that much to assimilate benevolence when there's opposition to be crushed like an inconsiderate gnit]. at least there's really no question of a man's intention when he makes murder a decree. and isn't that worth a little veneration, really?). and i don't know that i'm all that proud to say, today, that i'm a much a part of it as anyone.

Because if this is my voice, then i've already given up the better part of america's ghost and i don't know when i'll have the chance to hold it close to me again.


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