My Ire Raised Like Hackles On The Brain


everywhere, a ghetto. suburbs, skyscrapers, apartments, schools, hospitals,
prisons. everywhere a boxed glossed around the outside containing an
addictive core leading to emptiness. cars, tvs, computers, radios. the
small dry twigs of impoverished children everywhere. the deadened hollows
of working parents. where can you go to escape the fire? it is waiting to
happen. we all know that it is waiting to happen. you think you’re safe in
your office? you think you’re safe in your classroom? you think you’re
safe in your car? hell no you don’t. you’re scared, just like all the rest
of us, waiting for the bomb to drop, waiting for the spark to catch, waiting
for the world to explode. who has hope? who can have hope when it doesn’t
matter whether you’re inside or outside, you’re still gonna burn? who can
have hope when we’re all waiting, waiting breathlessly to die an unknown
death?
we’re all so attached to each other, so wound bound intertwined. we’re all
so interconnected, interpenetrated, hyphenated. and yet we are all so
alone, we are all so lonely, we are all so scared, we are all so alienated
from ourselves and each other and our families and our enemies. we are all
living in hell together and each trying to create a bubbled dream for
ourselves at the expense of another. we drink together and try to lose
ourselves in a vision of unity that ends with the barfight or the puke or
the depression the next day. we take pills together and try to lose
ourselves in a vision of unity that ends when the drug wears off or the
music ends or sunlight unveils the reality beyond the pulsating lights. we
gather together in churches, in assembly halls, trying to lose ourselves in
a vision of unity that ends when we begin pointing fingers of blame from out
of the blindness of righteousness. we gather together around tvs and movie
screens and try to lose ourselves in a vision of unity that ends, that is
always to be continued.
i’m angry. i’m scared. i’m covering my ears and my eyes and my heart. i’m
trying to reach out beyond my understanding. i’m hiding a .22 in my closet.
i’m loving my baby tonight. i’m watching the news of the latest local,
national, and international tragedies. i’m reading the autobiography of
malcolm x. i’m drinking pepsi. i’m eating organic foods. i’m suffocating.
i’m on fire. i’m on fire. i’m on fucking fire.

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Author: manderson

I live in NYC.

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