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Viewing 1 - 9 out of 9 Blogs.
I write passionately, because I am not allowed to speak passionately.
Freedom to say what you like is now completely erased from our short list of liberties in this country. The freedom to write what you like, as long as its not something you would like published, is still alive. But the act of talking directly to another person about any topic or in any fashion you like is dead and gone.
The sad part of this fact, is that it is not even a direct government law that prohibits the act. It is the self righteous and thin-skinned masses that take offense to adult words and risque topics that has made participating in a real, honest, common sense conversation more dangerous than skydiving these days.
One off colored joke, one criticism, or a single phrase that makes anyone within earshot even slightly uncomfortable can have you ostracized from your community, served with a lawsuit for slander or libel, or land you in jail. This may seem outlandish or paranoid, but I have first hand experience with the backlash of my spoken words that proves this nightmare to be truth.
Political correctness, which I predicted from its inception as an evil thing, has finally twisted and permeated society to the point where people with a different opinion, non-traditional outlook on life, or who use "adult words", are afraid to go out in public and carry on their "normal" conversations.
I am one of these people.
No longer will I approach a stranger in a bar in the hopes of learning something about them and maybe make a new friend. By the third word out of my mouth, its very possible that the stranger will take offense at my words and have me removed from the bar.
And heaven forbid that one is talking to a trusted friend in the mall and a child wanders by. More than once I have had children that strayed too close to my words whisked away by an overprotective parent with a condemning glare and a later visit by the mall cop.
I was not talking to the child, nor even aware of the no-necked monster's presence. And yet it is somehow my responsibility to monitor what I say to a close friend, just in case some lazy parent loses track of their offspring.
So I write. For the time being it is my last safe haven for spreading the truth.
I write passionately, because I am not allowed to speak passionately.
Tags: Freedom Speech Writing
Thoughts Begrudgingly engulfed into society The one becomes the numerous Idealistic customs and theories Are shattered by the relentless Fist of the majority Are you a divine being who has the power of moral judgment at your disposal? not even a tarnished halo appears over the heads of those who think so. Why must the supreme court of life (a motley collection of statesmen, presidents, prime ministers and bishops of an unseen god) dictate all human actions (good or evil) on this lonely stone globe? Why cannot each individual govern their own person? The chaos that will follow would be no more extreme that the constant suffocation of the idiosyncratic Spirit and soul which occurs today. If one would only be concerned with their self and no one else, the world’s problems would be greatly diminished.
Tags: Maubee Writing
The faces from the bar glared back at him. Probing and silently asking for a reason. They haunted his sleep. They would not allow him to rest his mind. The asking for forgiveness, something he could not give, dogged him every moment. He did not mean for them to be angry. In fact he didn’t even know they existed. But yet here they were. Again. He could not deny their being real at this point. Sleep came to him in fits and smoldering embers of memory. The burning of their stares stole the blood from his heart and made his soul a twisted charred remnant of what it once was. Demons of his conscious crept in and attacked him. They came at night, when he was alone, as always. He fought them off, talon and wing beating him down. Each time it was more and more of a challenge to keep them away from him. But he always managed to survive. But the imps took a little piece of him every time they left. He hoped he took a part of them as well.
Tags: Writing
Post bible An obelisk of stone Miles high Heavy winds are thrown Sweeping dust Across the fields Billions are disowned A form of man Atop the rock Immortal and goddamned Raising ghosts Twisting time All alone he stands Blackened plains Vanquished homes Empty are the mains Mutants burn Mutants pillage Survivors live in pain Laughing for eternity Above the wreck and rank Head member of evil’s fraternity Turning revelation’s crank A beast of world renown Prophet of death and woe Giving himself the bloody crown Of god’s victorious foe
Tags: Poem
Senses of the people The flaming smoke of a dying dream surrounds the multitudes. A green putrid essence of a shattered existence clings to most. A dreary, numbing hum emanates from every object and corner of every city, village and farm. The bitterness of aching, controlled, enclosed minds litter the tongues of young and old. A greasy film of greed encloses upon banker, farmer, student, and worker alike. No one is here, who has not lived with, who has been without these feelings. They hang upon us, as our clothes drape upon our missive shells. All have suffered loss and pain. No other species suffers better or more willingly. You can be different. You can be free of the oppression that they, and we, bring down upon us. Our time here is too limited to be subservient to any master other than our own conscience. You must only do the things, the jobs, the activities, and the labor that you see as right for you alone. Disregard the masses, disregard the government, disregard anyone who attempts to tell you what can and cannot be done. What should and should not be done. What is right and what is wrong. History teaches us that such societies crumbled under their standardized thinking. Be different. Be free.
Tags: Poem
In a tear Lies all the dreams All the memories All the hopes and trials Of a person’s life
Tags: Tear Poem
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In Eden
Posted On 05/26/2009 05:59:03
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if life is a dream please, please arouse me in death so I may fully live my true reality so I avoid traipsing, tripping and day dreaming in Eden
Tags: Poem
Eighty plus years They don’t realize that there is only eighty plus years To this body, then the knowledge goes You must then start all over Back to square one No wonder none of life’s questions have been answered No one dedicates the time to it These are not questions with answers that will just pop into some Scientist’s or philosophers’ head by luck They take vision and willingness to stretch the limits of reality For we live in a small shard from the wisdom of life Death is not to be feared or desired Rather it is a meter or stopwatch on our progression Dare not misunderstand Not progress in a monetary or materialistic view But in a contemplation or truth-seeking method Death should be welcomed when one has either lost The desire to seek knowledge or one has given up In search for answers and swaggers down the dirt gully of redundantness To the descending escalator of life.
Bitter sand etched snake-like runways across the drying blood as it seeped from his lacerated arm. The jagged edge of torn flesh loomed like a Chicago skyscraper from this angle. Head flat on the desert, body prone and limp. The wound would heal. The scar would stay. Just another story to add to the dozen that came before it. The reason for the scar lay a few feet past his outstretched mangled arm. Six inches of red stained dirty steel, still clutched in the even dirtier grip of a Spanish man. The Latin man laid still now. The knife laid still as well. Lifeless eyes cursed him with a memory. Him or me. The justification had started. His own goddamn fault for pulling a weapon. Those were the rules. Well…the one rule, no weapons. He rose with much effort from the dirt. Only now did the screams, the cheers, the naked noise of the crowd return to his ears. The chant of “Dragon! Dragon!” again echoed in this dimly lit concrete valley. Shanty apartments, bars, strip-clubs, and restaurants showed their collective asses to this alley. And it was here, among the throng of shocked tourists and greedy locals that he took his first life. The first of several. His arm was raised by the thug who benefited from these games. And he limped off, through the ecstatic crowd back to this two room apartment above a nearby liquor store.
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