Monday, June 23, 2014

Dystopic Phobia

Nothing hiding
In the mists and shadows
But class antagonists
And rich assholes
Who make more poverty
And more mounting debts
Shoving us deeper down,
into the depths
Killing us more, every day
Everyone poor, never enough pay
Everyday, killing each other
Imprisoning my sisters and brothers
I repress my oppression
I regress in my depression
No lesson in making concessions
Your digression, becomes a obsession
Stuck in the past or a dystopia
Suffering from a bad case of myopia
Your vision gives me claustrophobia
Or some kind of fucked up phobia

Capitalist Kitsch

Capitalism is the largest cult
Every member, trying to crush you to a pulp
Work you to death and leave scars
Inject the market, with horrible war
This system, be peddling apathy
I got a wrath that I can’t scratch or see
Lead by fucking sociopaths and moonbats
Can’t escape this poverty trap, king of the rats
Steady exploitation, webs of oppression
Can’t shake away the repression
Invisible hand tight round my neck, I’m choked
Lost in a haze of booze and dab smoke
The essence is to be present
No acquiescence, or forced concessions
Keep to the struggle, only progression,
No estranged relations and alienation

False meritocracy
So sad to see, so much poverty
Sadness in the eyes, of almost everybody
The guises we carry, are so heavy
Regrets need to be buried, be wary
Of getting lost in fantasy and the, delusionary
Tarry favors, your cronyism, and inheritance
It’s easy to walk the tightrope with a safety net
Try living check to check, you’d never make it
Pretend to struggle in the city, you are shit
So later, you can go on, in Salon,
writing about how you toughed it
Just a shitty anthropologist,
in your ethnographic bliss
Got your degree,
pretending to care about the poor and dissed
But you are far too narcissistic
And can produce only kitsch