1. |
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Since the days of old,
In the fictions we've been told,
Throughout history the enemy
of the decency society
designed to breed
has silently watched our every move.
Violently derails and skews
the quest for truth. It laughs, amused.
It’s time for hysteria.
A case of malaria.
A lie I'll share with ya.
I know that I'm scaring ya.
Why would I do this?
Put you through this.
Cause it's hilarious.
With the tools that we're given,
In the era that we're living,
Our collective stomach is gorged.
Humanity’s a lush for information.
Addicted to the sensation.
We will eat all that we can afford.
But with this diet of excess
we're too confused to assess
which entities do possess
integrity we can trust to endure
those we know obscure
objective truth, traded for
sensational narratives.
Scandal imperative
to the agenda worked towards.
It's an opiate for some people
to engage with their evil
side, removed, sure their screen will
keep them anonymous,
while they're haunting us.
It’s time for hysteria.
A case of malaria.
A lie I'll share with ya.
I know that I'm scaring ya.
Why would I do this?
Put you through this.
Find it hilarious.
Now your discourse reads like Reddit,
Politicians don't care who said it,
They will repeat it.
Exports of the internet
Emboldening the malcontent.
We're taking over.
Spewing our hate.
We're taking over.
You've dug your own graves.
And now you got a fight on your hands.
Because despite what you planned,
we're grabbing all of your clocks and we're moving back the hands.
You've got a lot work to do,
to disseminate your truth,
amongst the troops,
amongst the youth,
so they will choose to side with you.
With your enlightened views.
Of how those without still matter.
Of how a cap on wealth would be better.
Of how we can live together
despite the weather,
the storms between us.
We'd all benefit from a spell of genius,
if we'd just admit that it's not devious
to educate the populous en masse.
Some oppose because it does impact
the control they have
on those that lack
information needed to fight back.
So if you find it prudent,
to recruit you a platoon of students,
you'd better start now.
Start calling us out,
because it's only just begun.
And if you stay silent we've won.
Won't stop. It's wrong, but it's fun
to watch your faith in truth come undone.
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2. |
Detachment
03:36
|
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|
It hurts whenever I get curious,
so furious about what's happening down the block.
Crime and disorder,
Turns teens to warriors,
Turns me toward a mindset that's fraught with
detachment
and distraction.
This is a policy
adhered to flawlessly
and honestly it dawns on me: it's swallowing my thoughts.
This form of self-protection,
medicated to perfection,
has sedated my connection to the self and brought on this
detachment.
It can't be healthy,
this segregation.
A mind in compartments.
Complete separation;
not equal.
No thoughts renewed;
no sequel.
Placed out of view.
It's so easy to mislead me.
There's safety at arms length.
Seems to be our strength
as people.
Unabashed.
A lost connection.
The server crashed.
The wifi, my mind, has fried in fact,
I find no line to trace it back.
Not sure I'd do it if I could.
Not sure I'd know it if I should.
Not just my surroundings.
It's ever-bounding.
Anxiety tastes like a lake when your drowning.
That's why I'm frowning on the train,
all alone my face looking pained
by effort to train
a mind to gerrymander what it restricts like Cook County districts.
Keep one side secret from what is the realest.
Close it. Don't peep it. You don't have to feel it.
Don't have to see what would easily be the
key to defeat the progress you've reached.
You've finally beat it.
But you're still in that lake so don't breathe in.
Recall that empathy,
if allowed to linger overhead
will flood the banks of the lake
and make you struggle to remember
that rain is a necessary part of sustaining life.
But it surely is.
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3. |
Incubator
03:42
|
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|
I haven’t left this house
for a week or just about.
Blinds shut. Curtains drawn.
But light sneaks in as I peer out.
One eye on the street.
Two kids meet.
I know what they’re about.
I haven’t left this room
for a day, maybe two.
As I sit and stew
on a floor that’s littered with shirts and shoes,
scrolling through the news.
The abuse is self induced.
I haven’t slept for days.
I can hardly see through this haze.
Not just the smoke
inhaled in the hope that there are better ways
to cope with the violence.
To pass the days.
I haven’t left this house
for a month. I can’t go out.
I can’t face the day.
I would rather stay locked away.
Maybe tomorrow, but I have my doubts.
And I know it’s in my mind.
This happens all the time,
but I’m starting to see
what this could mean
for me. This waking dream
where I’m unraveling at the seams.
Playing out in real time.
A thriller of the silver screen,
or so it seems.
I can’t stop.
I can’t press pause.
My lungs forgot
how to inhale and how to breathe,
or so it seems.
And I know it’s in my mind,
but it’s so much worse this time,
and I’m starting to see,
that this won’t work for me.
I’m still in this house.
The air is poison now.
It’s time to break down the door,
light a match and burn it down.
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4. |
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|
These birds are eyeing me.
Born of the ash, they spread their wings.
It's been said no man has ever seen
them convene.
I couldn't live there,
There wasn't enough air in that room.
I would have died there,
in that spackled tomb.
Smoke rose. I was spared.
Severed body walking.
No apetite.
Not dead but not alive.
Just a stomach rotting
with every swallowed pill.
Normal can be prescribed.
I don't want to live there.
There isn't enough air in that room.
I don't want to die there,
my worst thoughts removed.
I'll meet my own stare.
In a room painted white,
paranoia ran it's course.
It wasn't always explicit fright,
but there were locks on every door.
Once when I ventured outside,
it was a routine commute,
something snapped, was sure that I
wouldn't last the afternoon.
Then at dusk, I cycled home
clutching a bottle full of pills.
Took one every day for weeks
A static mind was such a thrill.
But as the weeks turned into months,
to my distress, I could not express my
thoughts through rhyme or be compelled to fight for
the truth, my light source.
Temporary, I'm sure.
The locks on all my doors.
Those relics. Those eye-sores.
No source of my plight, sure,
but it's not right course.
I'd rather incite wars
than have nothing to fight for.
I'll scream until I'm hoarse.
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Smear Campaign Chicago, Illinois
Smear Campaign is a music incubator sometimes band from Chicago, IL
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