Glue, it’s the social illusion

Mick Hugh/Mick’s Neon Fog

Mick's Neon Fog

They took us out to green pastures when we were young. Gentle folds of fragrant earth open to us, long warm roads winding to focal points beneath the horizon; wheat fields expansive. Open. Blue skies and the right to die beneath a willow with no one’s name. The dark mysteries of night and the thousand specks that beckoned us to the vast possibilities of life, out here in the frontier land. Textbooks’ covered wagons and dreams imprinted on pupils. Let the pupae bloom their wings. Scythes in our left hands, pens in our right. Honesty: what the mighty fought and died for. Tunes of freedom on the nightly news, red white and blue over the colonies and the untamed West and the Cadillac coupes that flew the ‘50s birds from their nests and the conservative… They pointed at green pastures when we were young. Danced naked unabashed, told us it…

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A Call For Revolution

Kindra M. Austin

I was born a breeze, blue sharp

and breaking Sunday glassware–

social refinement

is over-rated

when innocent blood is spilled

in the name of Peace.

What peace? Fundraisers are crooks.

Uppity mother fuckers

dress up in laurels.

It’s the regular people

who give an actual fuck.

When will real America embrace the fact that we outnumber our politicians? 

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Mirrors/Faith/Dust

S.K. Nicholas/A Journal for Damned Lovers

S. K. Nicholas

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I am my faults and failings, and I wear them like scars. I am my boredom and lack of interest, and there is nothing to be ashamed of because I write from the heart and nothing else matters. There is love sometimes. There is apassion that burns and simmers, but I do my best to dampen it because it’ll wear me out like it has so many times before. Sometimes the urge and obsession to express myself with words leaves me disillusioned, and I want nothing more than to turn my back on it and settle down with a woman who can help nurse me back to health like she would a bird that’s fallen from its nest and broken its wing. But who am I kidding? I couldn’t quit this thing now, it has become me, and there’s no way back to the man who used to be me…

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Ikimasen – David Lohrey

Talking truth to power.
What potent language.
Truth. To. Power. And if
power talks back, I’ll call
my lawyer. I’ll return
to my safe space. I’ll issue
a trigger warning to comrades
around the world: Help!

We’ll take them to court. My
lawyers will set them straight.
They’ll read them the riot act.
They’ll spank their asses
and set me free. I’ll
celebrate with pancakes
and whipped cream. A
brunch for the warrior class,
LGBTQ crusaders fighting
in pink tights and gold
lame running shoes. It’s
a true revolution, led by
Pussy Riot and the Marijuana
Growers of America. Give us
the chance and we’ll turn
the country into a 3rd world
basket case, just like Venezuela,
or my favorite, Zimbabwe.

We’ll kick pregnant women
in the stomach, set
fire to the White House, and
suck off anyone who
joins the cause. We’ll line up
on our knees to sing The Battle Hymn
of the Republic: “Oh say can you see
how fucked up we all are.”

The Black Bloc will attack us
if they believe we are against
them. Black power groups
declare white lives don’t matter;
we better sign up or they’ll
cut our throats. Speak
truth to power. What do
the US Army, Walmart, the World
Bank and Madonna have in common?
They all demand we get along. Open
borders and open arms. That’s CIA policy.
That’s the lyrics of the Pussy Riot. Globalism
is the new narcotic; it’s an aphrodisiac. Just
ask Kissinger. It’s orgiastic and if
you disagree, you’re an enemy of the State
as well as an enemy of the Stateless. There’s
unanimity; just ask Anonymous. There’s
consensus. The new Totalitarian State has
decreed that we must all get along. You’ll only be
targeted if you say, “Not me.” You may be shot,
if you utter, “Ikimasen,” which in Japanese means,
“I refuse.”

The greatest We in the history
of mankind is under construction.
All you have to do to join is
to give up everything you believe.
Clinton demands that Putin
go down on Obama. Then there
can be peace. You not only
have to obey, you have to swallow.
Total surrender and then we’ll talk.
That’s the US position; our boot
on your neck, our cock in your
mouth. Clinton has you in her
sights. McCain’s finger’s on the trigger.

Take me out for a walk.
Put a collar on my neck.
Use me like an imprisoned
sex slave. Beat me, drug me,
hand me over to your friends.
The new regime demands total
humiliation and absolute power.
They’ll put rings in our noses
and baseball bats up our asses.
This is no joke. The party is over.
It’s come to this. Samuel Beckett
had it right. We’ll be told
to bleat like sheep or squeal like pigs.
We’re all to be named Lucky,
each and every one of us.

The bright spot on the horizon is
that our enemies are too stupid to hide
their intent. We have time to prepare,
time to fight back, but when they
say it’s time for us to shut up,
they’ll mean it. Few will believe them. They want
erasure. They want ethnic cleansing. They’re
planning to exterminate the opposition.
They’ll let us live as go-go dancers or park rangers.
We’ll just have to submit to castration and
permanent brain damage. It’s coming.


 

[David Lohrey was born on the Hudson River but grew up on the Mississippi in Memphis. He currently teaches in Tokyo. He has reviewed books for The Los Angeles Times and The Orange County Register, has been a member of the Dramatists Guild in New York, and he is currently writing a memoir of his years living on the Persian Gulf. His latest book, The Other Is Oneself: Postcolonial Identity in a Century of War: 20th Century African and American Writers Respond to Survival and Genocide, is available on Amazon.com.]