Monday, March 6, 2017

Bully Pulpit

I'm like a preacher against the political, but mr. president don't take my shit literal, I rap rhymes in parables, spit from my bully pulpit parallels / draw my own lines to color outside, hyphenating eye beams, planks cleverly disguised - bridging duality, Being homogenized. One om with two names, Eaven and Ell, in between them only a perception of the other subconsciously generating distance, haughtily comparing faux-selves. Racing doggedly in oppossing directions around a möbius track, infinite laps, desperately trying to escape the now, this moment where we're at - repeating actions expecting a different recompense - an insane attempt to change the course of events / Chasing a mirage founded in flex, ignorantly concaving to the convex, illusory cheap tricks paying the rent - we've finally started coming abreast /false advertising revealed - repent, titilation falling flaccid upon an uncovered flat chest. RIP respirations away, punctured bullet proof vest, misplaced trust betraying, hope fading from eyes closing for arrest.  Now let me tell you about a guy I've observed for some time, Stan has a story only contextually different from mine - history repeating but we pay it no mind.  A kid taken advantage of, mistreated, abused even catching beatings when trying to follow the rules. Found camaraderie, comfort amongst others just like him, outcasts, misunderstood - they became fast friends. Formed a crew, made plans then collectively stood up, one day resisted the oppression, made the bullies back up.    Caught off guard, some fought back but most fled away, the union of youngsters came out victorious in the fray.  Waving flags made from the Ts ripped off their foes backs, they paraded around the playground, firecrackers punctuating screams of "hit the road jack".  Celebrating over the route didn't last long, when Stan got home that afternoon he could tell something was wrong.  His dad got a new job the family was moving away but he wasn't afraid anymore - something had changed. New school, history repeated but with a slight twist, Stan stood up for another, using his fists, pummeled "some jackass going around grabbing girls tits"  It felt good to be strong, a hero unafraid, receiving adulation, his lens locked into a frame.  Aftermath, rest period, disenchanted lined up, formed a club, wrote a charter, laid down rules, "only bullies get beat up".  "We're the good guys" they chanted flooding their brains with belief, washing with the water of words, sapling neurons quickly grow into trees.   Before ink soaked into parchment or the words even penned, their hearts violated the principles discriminating against sex, culture and skin. But no one ever noticed because the town hadn't diversified, a globe sealed tightly - it's easy to think it's snowing when your on the inside. Stan's now grown up, by his family and friends adored, won't hesitate to defend their honor, jump right into war. "Uncle Stan is the man, kicking ass for the Lord, we always win the fight with minimum casualties to our boys".  But what about the other sons, daughters, and wives on the wrong side - all the "them", many "innocent" losing their lives? "They get what they deserve, don't expect me to cry, if they were like us we'd live in harmony, see eye to eye" . Addicted to justice Stan fights for a cause but he'll never find peace while cleaving the world with his sword.  Earth-lings breath out, evacuate the lungs, exhale your ignorance, exhume what once was. We drink the same water, inhale the same air, the only thing between us - dogmas of error.  Other vs other, south vs south, rise up again, end up fighting the house. Pride propelled repulsion, jettison parts of ourself, ousting corrupt Alphas, the pride falls apart jostling for position to govern itself.  The oppressed become what they hated, thinking they're better than someone else, the mirror reflecting what's inside flipped Z axis of evol out.  Spend time with any creature, you'll find they're not just a thing, but intelligent beings no matter how insignificant they seem.  Experience makes it harder to mistreat something just as conscious as you, a lesson Stan learned in one day that changed his point of view.  A woman with a lifestyle he repudiated, in fact took joy to persecute, dragged him to safety from a fire fight, tenderly dressed his wounds.  "Why are you doing this?" He gasped in disbelief, in an instant questioning everything thing he once believed.  "We are all the same" she said softly wiping away his blood, "I love you" was the last words uttered before covering his body with her own while "friendly fire" blew the building up.

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