Talking To Myself

Dark place with the glock aimed
Ain’t a tame thought in the way
Faced lead shots, taste great

Sippin’ at the glass filled with 9s I feel I might blast
Trippin’ thinkin’ this moment is the last

Chill, it ain’t a crime to feel bad

But it’s like I’ve had more than enough time to go mad
A rough road and grip slippin’ on the cut rope
Stuck hope wishing, can’t cope
If I go missin’ no one’ll know, the Earth won’t stop its roll

This ain’t a new feelin’
You’re just dealing with repressed demons
They’re creepin’, keep seepin’ through the crack peekin’
Speakin’ to the your inner thoughts and your dreams that they haunt
Intentions to freak you out when from the shadows they scream and shout
Drought of the good days, dark thoughts replay
They’ve plotted out what they’ll say and anticipate how you’ll behave
It’s rouse, the truth is that good news lies at the end of the tunnel
The struggle leads through a path of rubble
A mountain and a climb, fighting evil the whole time
Harpies and vultures, from time to time a poacher

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Practice

Patience is Key

Understanding could only be achieved if we decide to hear one another

If we learn to tolerate in order to listen and comprehend

To label one another without getting to know one another is the road to divisiveness

We’re more similar than we are different

Still we choose to discuss only how “they” are not like “us”

As arbitrary and trivial as these ideas are they seem to rule our daily interactions

We force people to hide their differences and then hide in fear from those we don’t know

But because everyone hides their true selves out of fear of being judged, we know no one

Thus, we fear everyone

A self fulfilling prophecy that perpetuates hate and could only be stopped by its creators

We preach unity but practice division

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Dying Philosophy

Over the last couple of decades the concept of philosophy has been reduced from what it was at its height, tools for critical thinking, down to trivia information about when certain philosophers were born and what they thought of certain concepts. Western society particularly doesn’t teach the ability to think critically. They focus on these trivialities rather than educating the individuals on how to formulate their own opinions and ideas with the tools of philosophy. We’ve successfully obstructed what philosophy really is, which is a way to acquire perspective. And now we’re faced with a western society incapable of processing complex information. It’s become common place to delegate opinion development to media and social medial platforms and sources. The development of philosophy has been left to politics…

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Sobriety

Jack writes about his journey in stopping marijuana use.

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I’ve been a pothead on and off since I was about 15 years old. Began with marijuana. Eventually landed on ecstasy. Even dabbled in psychedelics. The only one I kept returning to was marijuana. I easily let go of all the others. Returned to marijuana so often I’ve defined it as addictive behavior. And I put no blame on the cannabis itself for my constant return. I’m the one with the addictive tendencies after all. Theoretically, I could have gotten addicted to anything from alcohol to gambling or sex. It just so happen to be this because it was the first. It happen while I was the youngest.

I quit for many years. Since senior year in high school until the middle of my college years. When I got back to it I’d only use every couple of months. About a year in it was as frequent as every weekend. I felt creative using it and enjoyed the feeling. It gradually leaked into the rest of the week. Maybe something left over from the weekend would get used on Wednesday. It wasn’t long before anything left over was used the following Monday. As I got more used to doing it regularly it became such a part of the daily routine that I began looking forward to it. Eventually trying to stretch the same amount through the entire week. By this point I managed to get high each day micro-dosing. As my tolerance grew I was less affected and left wanting more each time. I began buying twice as much each week. That kept me stoned Sunday through Saturday. From then on it’s a tolerance building game.

And then I’m getting high to feel normal.

The days I don’t have it I feel anxious. Depressed. Desperate. Bored. I think the boredom is the worst part. It’s maddening. Whenever I try stopping, boredom turns me back around. It’s so easy to access marijuana and instantly make all things fun and exciting. The all natural boredom killer. For a low price have a blast. But I only think this is true. I don’t function sober because what I used to call sober is the state I’ve reached now while high. High when normal, normal when high. I’m paying to avoid boredom withdrawal. The cannabis does nothing but keep me stable. It’s the only way I…

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Structural Integrity at Zero

With logic tossed out the window and reasoning a thing of the past, the outrage culture takes center stage in our media run society. This is a short ranty poem on the subject.

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Guilty conscious ringing off alarms in the darkness. It’s haunting
Daunting the shifty nonsense. Swinging pendulums lost in the crossroads
Demon deals hidden by the cornfields. The chase of success is too real
Flaunting the wrong things ‘till the swan sings
It’s been too long since cashing that check from reality. It’s caustic
A cost that won’t stick. Caused by old tricks. Stone moss that grows thick
Structural failure, neglect, the behavior
Rejected by the savior, reasoning. Calculating to slave work
Seasoning the flavor of…

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High Horse

Staying clean is easy if your mind is powerful enough to fend off the crave for vices. It’s simply odd feeling. Once you’ve adjusted to some form of reality, any alteration is the new high. Having been stoned for so long rocked, but I didn’t expect such a splash once I settled on the other side. I feel high being over it. Ironically, I stopped standing for shit. Living life dirty just to wash it off eventually. And then I look back and wonder, what was the point of the ride if I don’t enjoy long trips. Claiming to go on a journey and finding myself in the same place. Kept thinking there was no way out. But I won’t give in. It’s time to get high off of being sober. I keep getting older and I don’t want me life to end before the story begins. Too much to do, not enough time to spend.

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I'm No More

Sometimes we feel ignored but it’s just in our heads.
Sometimes we are ignored and they follow up with regret.
Sometimes we don’t speak and the words moves on.

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Gab inaudible crap. Stuttered puffs of smoke on which to choke. Of words, broke. Get stoked with hope someone will know, yet the roll is slowed. Snake eyes gaze the two step, phased.
Said to be cold. The safety blanked is much too old. Need a cane to be able to remain stable ‘cause it can’t quit kicking the jock. He’s tossed the ball on this side of the court but good judgement is not on the table.

On all fours, the dumb whore lets anything lay on top. She wants more. The mind is a fucking slut.
That’s when they slip in. Sliding and scheming. Coming to conclusions.
Until he’s hot headed, they’re not ready to stand steady, instead they plot dreading the rain when it’s heavy. The pour down hill. A flood rips still towers right from their solid iron. The red pill goes silent.
Systems fail. He gets violent. I’m not trying to fight him.
Let him out.
Let him shout.
Let him tire.

And the mouth runs dry with lifeless twisted chimes. Echoes from past times. Like hellish bells ringing well past the due date.
A new take on the birth of the problem child. Fighting, struggling, dying out. On bottom.
The words mean nothing. The pleas heard hardly.
They herd hard. Strong leads.
Like fucking animals. Picking at the random battles. Cattle cooped waiting for supper.
Duped. Trapped in giant coops.
But when questions aimed at truth show proof they’ve got no clue the volume lowers.
And he fades out.
Soup. Drowning in heat. Screams shatter defeat.
Loops causing retreat. Deep settled and bleak.
He stays there.
Speaking to the wind. Creeping, shrieking, blending in.
The words spoken are all broken. So he holds them.
Gives them back to that slut waiting on her back.
To get fucked with another problem. She’s bad luck. She loves to solve them. Jigsaw.
The jigs up. The chick is rough. Dangerous. Gives no fucks.
Tangled together. Alone forever. They’re one.
For the worse or the better.
Extroverted indoors.
Behind the locks.
Inside the box.
I’m no more.

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Barely A Man

Reflection is a difficult thing for people to accomplish.
Defeating our self denial is a great challenge for most.

Jack rants about adulthood, being a man, age, maturity and more.

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I’m no man. Barely a grown child. Immature. Unaware of what I want from life. Not even sure what life really is. Confused on a regular basis, hoping to one day know, perhaps understand, why I feel the way I do about the things I do.

I won’t hold my breath.

Been wondering if I’m doing life right. Am I successful? Am I accomplished? Could I be doing more? Should I just because I could? But why? To what end?

Might consider wearing a suit and tie to jump around like a monkey for money. That might make me a man.

I own a successful ever growing business. I’m my own boss. Make enough money to throw half of it away into meaningless garbage and still have bills paid, but boy do I love video games and dodging responsibility.

Understanding and thought out, but cold and unconcerned. Am I disqualified?

I’m probably republican on paper. Guess that’s it? That makes me a mature adult?

Can’t be a man. Don’t even know what a man is. No more than a 27 year old kid.

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Cancer

Some cancers are unstoppable and shall consume until here is nothing left.

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Curious this parasitic creature living on the skin.  It eats and destroys the flesh, turning it black in its wake. A web reaching out further and tightly gripping the fertile life surrounding it. The host is drained gray. Slowly consumed until its internal sustainability commences to fall apart. Until the structure necessary for the host to be considered alive begins to collapse. Then and only then does this plague begin to search for its next victim. A fresh host capable of sustaining the parasite until sucked dry.

This corrosive cancer multiplies and grows under most conditions. Although hosts classified ‘M Class’ are at highest risk for they produce the nutrients necessary for the parasite to feed.

The human infection migrating from planet to planet, sucking them dry of life and moving on to the next thing. Destruction. Consumption.

Killing off life as it spreads. As is reproduces.

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Predeterminations

A reflective analysis of the philosophical predeterminations we make about the world and the people in it. We always think we have things figured out while it is obvious to everyone else we’re making assumptions.

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We claim to know the most while always knowing the least.
We boil the people around us down to simple generalizations not considering all the intricate details that make them.
We tell the world they’re being fake when they don’t behave according to our uneducated guess.
We pretend we’ve got every circumstance figured out to the smallest of details and cast blame when things fall apart.
We deny it being obviously a result of our lack of preparation.
We know what everything is for, what motivates each individual, what everyone thinks and feels at all times.
We feel there is no need for questions when we already know the answers.
We feel there is no need to be told because we won’t believe what doesn’t match our predetermined notions.

We, in our primitive prideful minds conclude and conclude with zero input from the reality of the matter.
Yet, we are stuck trapped thinking this is real, this is accurate. The world is what’s wrong not our assumptions.
We are arrogance, it leaks most from those of us who’ve accomplished the least.
Who understand our…

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God Doesn't Like Cheap

With Religion these days being no more than a system used for financial gain and societal control, it's hard to know what needs to be done to be saved.
This brief thought based rant suggests what might be happening.

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Traditions forced into gullible minds
Manipulated by systems designed to take advantage time after time
Consumerism hidden behind the face of a god
Obey and offer a sacrifice of finances so the pearly gates open
A stay at God’s place is expensive
Meet the conditions, pay the fee, sign here
Maybe you’ll be considered
Salvation only arrives if you stand in line
Free will is a crime
But if you buy the goods you’ll be saved
If you waste the time and money you’ll be loved
God doesn’t love cheap

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Voiceless Virtual Rage

As the internet continues to behave as the trashcan where we throw our opinions our collapse becomes more obvious from a distance.

Jack vents in this angered piece.
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Many of us exist in a perpetual denial of our own design. Screaming at each other, it’s unclear if its for change or to disperse the pint up energy. Casting blame in every direction of what we feel most guilty of. Unable to control these impulses.

And we continue, and continue, and continue, and nothing ever changes.

The ever increasing rage of society which began with the children which felt neglected and voiceless, like a plague contagion spread to the adults and the elderly.
But it’s never real. Our virtual personas are the monsters. In person, we’re too coward to make the same stands, but behind the safety of our electronics we find it justified to diminish the life of another. Because they aren’t real. Because we’ve never met them.
Enlightened or not. With reason or not. We believe we are justified in a pursuit. The world must know what we know, and believe what we believe the way we believe it. Because we believe it.

We’re unable to stop. It’s who we’ve become. The pause button was lost when we gave up on developing our voices in person and now even the elderly behave like children, simply trying to disperse this brokenness we’ve been handed.

There’s no fix in sight and the rain clouds will make it over the hills soon. They’re coming our way. We’ve never seen an umbrella so there is no protection. We’re stuck screaming.

It’s what we do. We point fingers here, and…

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But 'Merca

A country of emotional jackasses with little thought.

They clearly don't understand the situation with the children.

The don't understand the adults they arrive with are not family, they are coyotes or smugglers attempting to enter the country pretending those are their children.

They clearly don't understand anyone that can prove they are related manages to stay together as a family.

They clearly don’t understand coming into the country illegally is... Well, illegal... Therefore, a crime... Thus, they are criminals just by coming in illegally. Because... Its illegal.

They forget what prison is whether immigrant or not, which is to get removed from your family and put into cell or cage for your crime. Thus, an illegal immigrant goes to prison for the crime.

The clearly don't get that there are like 17 Latin American countries these kids come from, not just Mexico, and without paperwork we don't know which.

They don't understand most of these kids show up alone anyway.

The clearly don’t understand the foster system continues to lose children and its literally safer to put them in a cage.

Trump says lets build buildings to put them in and house them and then the people scream prison and say no. Thus, a cage is the only option.

They don't understand releasing these children is impossible because there is nowhere to sent them without knowing where they came from...

But... 'Merca.

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Backwards

 

I’m an Extrovert living an Introverted life.
I’m a polygamist in a monogamous relationship.
I’m a rude guy being nice to those around me.
I’m blunt candy coding shit for emotional disasters.
I’m honest while deceiving others for family and friends.
I’m a creator surrounded by people with no input.
I’m a polymath around people with nothing to teach.
I’m a logician dealing only with the opinions of individuals.
I’m the free spirit caught in a computer system.
I’m in love with self-improvement facing self-destruction.
I’m standing on the edge of a cliff that I don’t seem to fall from.

And they tell me I’m the one not trying to hold on.
They tell me I’m the one not making sense.
They tell I’m the one that needs to change.

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Opt out of Success

Jack expresses his thoughts on success and accomplishment in today's world and how it manifests in the general population. 

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The human mind is of dreams and desires
We hope and fantasize over theoretical pleasure
We long for purpose and freedom with it consuming our moment to moment interactions
Always present in our conversations and manifested in our actions
Yet, the human condition prevents us from going further than the want
We don't strive or fight to bring things out from the ether
We've settled for our place and time as though it were etched in stone
Feeling like victims to our current state
As if things that aren't already will never come to be
Once the possibility is understood, though
That is when the fear of failure sets in
The discomfort of having to move in order to accomplish overwhelms us
Static inaction is familiar
It requires us to spend no time of our empty meaningless lives
Seeking purpose is too tiring if the success is not immediate
Self reflection is not present
So we accuse our environment
The systems we live in
But we never question our ability and motivations
In our eyes our failures are all but our own faults
Thus, we have a direction to blame in
We can opt out of it being our own doing
And we do

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Writer with Excuses

A Rant on writing, writer’s block and writing excuses.

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Running out of ideas. Time to gather new ideas seems short, slippery. When visualizing time I’m looking at the wrong things, seeing it in reference to life instead of the moment. But how useful is a long life spent working and collecting money, never having enjoyed life before death?
Priorities need to be better aligned. To consume as much as is made. As it is, I have more output than input and the tank is headed towards empty. As all the juice is squeezed out of the same withering thoughts, they become abstract and raw. Emotionless information. They’re dissected beyond purpose. They’re just parts. A car brought down to its basic components.
With organization it should be possible to compensate. I have to get over myself. Too much, “I’m too good for this,” or “I’m too busy for that,” going on. If there is time to waste there is time to spend. I need to bring the courage to settle my mind and make drastic changes without dreading the adaption process. The period of change where one feels lost. I should be chasing that feeling as if it were the guiding force. That feel of unfamiliarity is important to inspire and it’s the muse I’ve been missing.
I get too comfortable in my ways and methods. Although they work, there should be new material as often as there is new method and craft developed.
Sometimes a story needs to be told. I need to paint a picture. What good is having shiny freshly sharpened tools if they never get put to use? Hanging out in the tool shed polishing and sharpening, but never using? All this talk of purpose and meaning, yet, here I am avoiding change that’ll supply stories with purpose and meaning to share filtered through my lenses.
I need to get my shit together and be the goddamn writer I pretend to be.

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Protest Later

 

Sirens and flashing lights
The loud voices go quiet
The riot dies down
They flash their guns
Badges ready to fire
We’re bystanders frozen in place
As the skin starts the race
Denying what’s right before our faces
“We’ll just protest later”
When it’s clear and we’re safer
Where voicing our thoughts won’t get us in trouble
Won’t involve us in the...

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Second Amendment Rights

...as the Black Community attempts to add ownership restrictions out of fear that the White Community would be a danger if armed.

In both instances Government Politics sides with the Caucasian population.

In the 1950s and 1960s the African American population armed itself to avoid being killed by the Caucasian population.

In the 2000s and 2010s the African American population attempts to unarm general population to avoid being killed by the Caucasian population.

Ultimately none of this matters. The government has bigger guns than either side is allowed to own. If government military decided to rise up against us there is nothing a fully automatic rifle could do to stop it. A Nuke versus a rifle seems unfair in the first place. It’s that easy to erase proof of our existence.

They keep us debating the guns against each other while keeping eyes off of the fact that they get to own what they’d like. If civilians are unarmed the government is a threat. If civilians are armed then civilians are a threat. In both cases to the Black Community.

This is a stereotype that holds some half-truths. The Black Community kills its own constantly. The White Community also kills it’s on constantly. The black community kills the white consistently. The white community kills the black consistently. It’s all equal.

Media is a tool that allows a simple thing to occur and it is to feed the desired image to the general population.
In predominantly white communities only inform on when a black community member commits a crime against a white community member.
In predominantly black communities only inform on when a white community member commits a crime against a black community member.
As this becomes the most stable image...

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Mysterious God

...If we do, there is no need for a God.
If we pray, are we asking for something already on God’s perfect plan? So it’s not a miracle but rather something that was going to happen regardless of our involvement, making the act of praying meaningless and fruitless in the first place. Or is he answering our prayer against his perfect plan? Maybe his plan wasn’t perfect and our prayer made it a little better? No. Then why pray?
If someone’s death is part of God’s plan, he’s okay with death, we’re the ones...

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