Category: Life and Shadow

The family never spoke of him: He was an objector.

You won’t find him in any records, either—history never remembers those with the greatest impact.

One night, while the others slept, he quietly packed his rifle and bag, grabbed his dog, and disappeared into the darkness.

His parents and siblings reviled and shunned him: they were ashamed, embarrassed, and thought him a coward.

In fact, he had enormous courage—more guts than any of them could ever hope for.

He saw clearly the clan’s madness and rebuked their self-righteous cruelty. They, in turn, made him a pariah for obeying his conscience.

With enormous bravery, he traversed the treacherous terrain alone to higher places, finding safety in the absence of familiar support.

The clan continued their warring, and when death came for each of them, it was with thrashes and terror—every last one gripped with horror as they realized, in their final moments, that they had wasted their lives in violence.

But death came gently for the objector—the cause of his passing is unimportant. He died in peace, his soul at rest, having accomplished his life’s purpose.

The objector’s name has disappeared as quietly as he did—to leave no hint of your existence is the greatest marker of a life well-lived.

I keep peeping in your window, but I only see ghosts.

I guess the demons of today have forgotten you.

There’s money to be made and fresh people to fuck over,

And you must be ill-suited for those pursuits.

You’re a pretty old shell, decorated and vacant—

That describes most of us at the moment.

Maybe one day we’ll think about you again:

Give your interior some honor and purpose.

We’d have to do the same for ourselves, though,

And I’m not holding my breath on that front.

In the meantime, thanks for the somber show.

The fat old fucks rot in their tacky mansions
Staring at numbers on a screen—
Their flimsy god of no protection.

One wrong move from an old pedo politician
And those precious digits will evaporate;
They’re closer to street beggars than they think.

They’ve built lonely, suspicious lives on fear
And the collection of meaningless shit—
Their selfishness has made them whiny and weak.

In the absence of true power, they throw fits
And threaten violence like stupid children—
They should all be smacked across the face.

This is the world they wanted:
A massive shit show of their own making,
A polluted, stinking heap to mark their pathetic existence.

When they soon pass from this mess—
And may they do so quickly—
The rest of us will dance in joy at their absence.

I, for one, can’t wait to destroy their legacy.

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

The clock runs down as the dinosaurs ravage each other in a blaze of fury and spectacle,

Looking less like the masters of an apocalypse than the two-bit players of a cheap Vaudeville act.

The age of the fossils is belching its last noxious breaths,

And in due course, the aging reptiles with childish dreams of domination will be swiftly forgotten

As enough of the spectators — though not all, of course — finally admit they were never great to begin with:

We just put stupid old monsters on the stage for our distraction.

Then they overstayed their welcome…

One year from now, it will be a brand-new world.

Those who wish to control everything outside themselves won’t like it a bit,

And the people who subsist on fear and bullshit are presently withering into their graves.

There have been harder times than these,

And the sun still shines its light on everyone.

Viewed from the distance of time and space, this is but a passing moment, albeit a pivotal one.

It’s time to dance in defiance of the doddering demons who play God so badly,

And dare to hope for a better future.