We grow as people, yet in our lives,
we tend to be the tender beings, stuck in time.
Not wanting to grow, nor wanting to change,
just being loved for what we are.
Most of us don’t know what they want to be,
having been told too many times, what we can and can’t do.
Yet we just want to be loved, for what we are.
Opened eyes and breathing deeply, nothing more to do,
maybe eat, sleep and shit. Sometimes we move,
othertimes we don’t, and still, we just want to be loved, for what we are not.

two men on the ground grappling
fighting, not for their lifes but for their pride.
choking, coughing, wrestling, sweating, aching, gassing.
one is up, one is down but both turn red.
positions change, the game stays the same
fighting, not going for the kill, but for the win.
two men on the ground, who will tap?

I am an artist,
writer,
listener,
creator of things that never happen,
concepts in my heart
pumping through my veigns
next lane to the mainstream with too much art in my blood.
always thought and rarely acted
playin grounds in my head
just as the good concepts should be,
thought by someone
enacted by someone else.

it’s not even bloody,
no crimson, no stains,
nothing is torn, or ripped.
yet it’s tunes turn to horror,
the longer they last.

running for weeks,
more than 6 weeks a year
the suicide rate skyrockets
and families dismantle.

the season of love,
no bitterness allowed.
we all should just cherish
the big ol’green tree.

traditions rooted
far older than the church
yet claimed to be theirs
only an adopted idea.

after all you can love it
if you stay sane
keep the business out ya mind
and celebrate without fear.

trust your heart,
that young burning spark,
goes out in the dark.
goes out in the day.
sleep eight hours anway,
you will live longer if you pray.
that does not mean there is someone,
but your mind rests in peace,
so believe what you want
it’s your decision to make,
and never forget,
always bake some cake.

not chosing where we go
is so utterly wrong
and yet so right.
where we start or
the stack we are awarded,
is out of control.
shuffle the deck.
play – win – play – lose – play – by the rules lose – cheat – lose – play – play – play
play.
eventually win.
can’t cash out until the end,
and even then,
chips don’t matter.
always playing
’til it’s dawn.

imagine mustaches everywhere,
digital age does not mean a thing
nobody knows how to use it
yet the food is too amazing.

perfect shapes and sizes,
technology serves nothing compared to
all these choices
you can make
to fill your stomach.

screw you,
I just placed my order
it’s time to forget all the nice things
and scream fuck you at the world.

sometimes we are handed a pack of cookies
but more often we have to fight for the sweets.
sometimes we even have to order a pack of fuck you
as you can’t get any further without offending someone.

living broken dreams and wanting to change
it’s easier to give up and call it a day. whining. crying.
smiling at the people taking your cookies,
than to face your problems and
give them a pack of
fuck you.

don’t need a medal,
unless it’s golden.
can afford to run down the court,
has the money to fix all his stumbles,
paying the drugs,
and feeding the cat.
all the pain in his back, knees, joints, bones and muscles,
he will suffer them all,
playing a game meant
for pleasure.

making more money with blood,
sweat
and entertainment,
than joe at his job.

he’s not more than a tool,
like the hammer on joe’s belt,
for others to make more,
than he will ever earn.

he might have some bucks,
yet his due date is punched,
will expire soon.
ready to be thrown away,
commenting on a game, where he was the best,
now there are new cats on the block.
fading away,
remembered by the old bellies of the fat fan,
paid to do the expert talk,
on mainstream TV.

thinks he’s a millionaire.
taxes and luxury are reality.
thinning his pocket,
cause a few million ain’t enough,
with a life full of private jets,
filled with fast and easy sex.

he’s shining bright,
in the media light,
married with children,
ready to file the divorce.
no problem to feed three families at once,
easy for him to get back on the horse.

a life free of sin,
going to church,
wearing a cross on his arm,
and around his neck.
thanking the lord,
that playing a sport,
sweet and soft like the girlfriends peck,
keeps him cozy and warm
and delivers his fat paycheck.

building a franchise of his own breed,
that’s why they call him,
a professional athlete.

we are all so overrated
simple beings walkin earth.
the bad things we do will ruin it all. destroy the world.
now how pathetic can we be?

was rexs death his fault?
he might have been the biggest badass hunter on earth.
yet he’s dead.
farting ruined his atmosphere?

or how else did those huge fellas
cause their cosmic misfortune,
walking through the world and one day
bang. you have been extinct.
come again in a few billion years. or maybe
never.

time to change the stage,
and let the humans play.
talkin, prayin, beggin,
to the lords to not make us disappear like all the others before us.
the sissy’s of evolution, whinin and bitchin,
havin to many minds to waste.

we are, simple, maybe even a bit retarded, standing and wading,
having the power to fear imagination.
bad things we create, stuff we should not make,
and yet were are simple pawns in a game called
life.

one small, for us big change,
and it’s all about to turn,
back from the green round globe
to a scorching burning ball.
just waiting to let our farting resources return.
fossil energy problems solved, we simply need more dinosaurs
to rot beneath our feet.

sure, we are too wasteful,
and stupid when we act,
yet doing good, can be the most evil thing
we do.

living life, as simple as it sounds,
is the only thing to do.
yet we are not alone, million species extincted before us,
let’s ask them how they failed.