Life is not fair,
Life is vast.
I’m a half-wit,
And a half-ass.
In Politics and Religion
We speak with one voice,
Uncle Witless is the people’s choice.
We, the chosen,
Embody righteousness
And bear witness
To divine plan.
Deception is the privilege
Of the politically correct.
When “we” do it, it’s strategy,
When “they” do it, it’s treachery.
Give us answers! We demand
We can easily understand.
For ambiguity is not expedient
And doubt does not make for obedience.
Certainty! Is the unifying command.
Loyalty is the key,
To disagree is to blasphemy!
Allegiance is synthesis,
Acquiescence is responsibility!
To us an alliance,
To them a conspiracy!
Labels, banners and slogans are truth.
The people seek identity!
Designer religion is proof.
Give the people what they want!
A collective identity for the masses,
Petty privileges for the elite.
Organized ignorance
Is what passes
As political consciousness
For the masses.
For the elite
What we need
Is a new age justification
For greed.
Join the Predetermined Party,
Where politics is destiny.
Obedience is obligation,
Authority usurps individuality!
We will think for you
So you won’t have to.
The Predetermined Party
Knows your needs and wants.
Uncle Witless is our Imperator,
The Predetermined Party is our vindicator.
We market consumer politics
To the lowest common denominator.
All hail the Progressive Slate
And its glorious
Liberal Wing!
(It’s never too late
To get your mind right
With the Progressive Slate!)
I’m a green eco-feminist,
I’m an anti-fascist fascist,
I’m a scavenger-leech.
I deny corruptive affiliation,
I deny self-empowerment,
I refuse to assert accountability,
I will not admit imperfection.
No disagendising!
Don’t be suspect!
What to think, not how to think!
Political party!
Slate of candidates!
Platform of positions!
We call our collective influence “consensus.”
Say “consensus.”
“Consensus.”
Why sweat the load,
Cool it and flow.
Today is a toy,
As above, so below.
Interlapping happenings,
The sequence of events,
The gig of life is full when intense.
Whatever’s next is up to the individual,
Reality is up for grabs.
Life, Death and Dirt.
Life lives on death,
Be it fresh or preserved,
Plant or animal,
It’s still death.
And dirt is decomposed death.
Hitler’s in the bunker,
Trying to make a move on Eva.
He hands her a cyanide cap,
And tells her that he’ll never leave-a.
A bed of Bedouins
Don’t mean Shiite to a Moslem.
And if you don’t like it,
You can put it where the Sunni don’t shine.
No threat to mediocrity,
No cause for insecurity.
Exaltation without exoneration,
All the good poets are dead.