Friends, Enemies, and Internet Losers: I have returned.

INDUSTRIAL-ME-MACHINE

Where? Why? How have you gone from us?

We have been forgiven and fell to complacency

We have forsaken the picture to become

A mere, self-contained, jigsaw piece

Oblivious to the real world

Living in a lag created by

The Industrial-Me-Machine that seeks

To assassinate Darwin as surely as they

Executed God

Those who live in the sky towers who could

Never be bothered to peer down at us or up

At those who truly hold the power

Attempt to dictate and suffocate life to a mass

That should function as a collective but has been

Sabotaged by the cross wiring of Sub-contracted

Demon electricians who know what they do but still

Seek redemption from us who have been disqualified

By their masters

In the greater world where Blake’s Doors are revolving

Not welded shut by the Industrial-Me-Machine

Children play as they are while youths play as they are

While adults old men and sand filled hourglasses play as they should be

I beseech you all never call me a star

Behind the angel fire that lights the heavens

Is a physics furnace, a nuclear nightmare, a wicked fire

That runs its course according to a prescribed nature

Then burns out destroying its allies and foes without discrimination

Stranded on earth, we seek the heavens, worshipping

A distant flicker to which we ascribe name and face

We want to be the stars, and accordingly we burn out

Slaves to our nature and the Industrial-Me-Machine

And no one will truly know of our departure for thousands of years

Many miss the disappearance of a mountain

How can we expect people to peek and peer through the

Cogs and wheels of the Industrial-Me-Machine to spy

The fallen petals of the dropping flower

Those who pay-per-month for freedom because they

Don’t want to carry a quarter

Those who believe that mobility is freedom

Those who scream at microwave ovens that cook too slow

Those who goosestep and pander to curry the favour of despicable men

Those who have created a society where one must suffer the humiliations

Of teachers for twenty years just to cope

Those who teach instead of show

Those who prescribe dosage but never cure

THOSE WHO ARE THE ARMED STORM TROOPERS OF THE

INDUSTRIAL-ME-MACHINE WHO THREATEN US WITH THE NUCLEAR NIGHTMARE WHILE PROMISING THE HOLY LAND A HOLY LAND BROUGHT TO US BY DISNEYNIKEMICROSOFT AND SPONSORED IN PART BY LOYAL VIEWERS LIKE US

Welcome to today where our children are classified

As GENERAL PARENTAL GUIDANCE 14A 18A RESTRICTED

Did you give your child a name at birth?

Did you fill out a form?

Did you pay and splice and pay for the perfect child?

Did you give your child a name at birth?

What is your child’s name? What is your child’s face?

WHO IS YOUR CHILD?

Is she the angel of your world or is she 14A?

Can she watch suicide on TV as long as you’re not watching?

Do you have more important things to do?

Are you writing an angry letter to the Mansion

While your ten-year-old is readjusting the dish while your back is turned?

Is it your way or the highway?

Is it your HOUSE or your HOME?

How many flowers grow in your neighbourhood?

What is your neighbour’s name?

WHAT IS YOUR NAME?

DO YOU CARRY THE BUSINESS CARD OF THE

INDUSTRIAL-ME-MACHINE?

Would you know the difference?

Do you dream in colour?

Do you dream at all?

Do your nightmares remind you to breathe?

Do the demons in your sleep smile when they exhale?

Do you have the dream where you’re being chased

Do you have the dream where you’re being chased

Do you have the dream where you’re being chased

Do you have the dream where you’re being chased

Do you have that dream where you die?

Do you deserve it?

How many colours am I holding up?

How many could you see?

Do you see the colours beyond the pastel blah blah blah

Of the flag of the Industrial-Me-Machine that waves in the doorways

and hallways and streets and offices and sidewalks and washrooms and

classrooms and boardrooms and interrogation rooms and cells and confessionals

and hospitals and prisons?

Have you ever been in a brothel?

Where is the light rainbow of life in this world of

The Industrial-Me-Machine? I want to run wild

like a hypochondriac paranoid delusional schizophrenic

psychotic psychopath through the streets until you see

Me standing with your next-of-kin just to see the look on

Your face when you realize that life goes on without you

And you have been castrated, made impotent by the

Industrial-Me-Machine and you are forever doomed to sit

At the player piano and watch the keys

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