Warning and Fair Notice. This poem is not for delicate eyes and ears. It speaks truth on many levels, including the vulgar - for such is the character of the society to which it is addressed. If you are uncomfortable with provocative language, then perhaps this isn't the poem for you. If not, enjoy!
Allen Ginsberg, Are You Lonely?
Where Have You Gone, Friedrich Nietzsche?
I’ve seen the legends of generations turn to dust while being pissed on by hoodie wearing hipsters toting bags of heroin disguised as porn magazines and vibrators.
I’ve seen wisdom tossed aside to make way for gun-toting fascists screaming of ecstasy and sweet release.
For children, who, smoking apathetic mushrooms in atheistic convents, watched reality fade to cell phones and beepers.
Who stuck Doobies up their asses for inspiration, then wondered if the ensuing orgasm was from the pot, or the cock up the anus.
Who ran from Atlanta to New York, all the while aiming for Denver, or Palestine.
Who dreamed of homicides, and suicides, and patricides, and theocides galore.
Who slept with red-necked chickens laying eggs of solid gold.
Who sucked cough drops and ice cubes through straws of colored glass.
Who sang of hookers and silver chains while leaving out the ‘R’s with Bostonian grace.
Who lay beneath the stars in air-conditioned tents, all the while whining of missed episodes and unnatural heat.
Who craved jelly donuts and candy canes which were later regurgitated in the sink.
Who played guitar at best friend’s parties, strumming the infamous G-C-D.
Who sat in corners writing poetry, while all around them life went on.
Who sun-bathed on beaches full of seagulls with blackberries full of sand and hundred-dollar sweatshirts.
Who sat uninspired in lecture halls waiting for someone, or something to somehow show them the way.
Who bought essays off the Internet, and later called a street-bum lazy.
Who flipped burgers for national amusement while giving blow-jobs on cable T.V.
Whose parents paid for their porn career, while angel headed losers watched someone better in unlit basements.
Who contracted aids from dirty needles while snorting million-dollar coke with eighty-year-old bankers.
Who played “punk rock” in stadiums, singing of heartbreak while fucking pop stars and signing record deals.
Who inspired murderers, and thieves, then spoke of the poverty cycle and crime.
Who rallied for civil rights and freedom, only to slander the god of another.
Who chanted wildly for a pay raise, then quit anyway to collect food stamps and unemployment.
Who, upon hearing the bells ring in the far off distance, dropped to their knees and praised Jehovah, Mohamed, and Sponge Bob.
Who, in times of desperation, turned to rapists to show them the way to salvation.
Who spat in the faces of their elders, while looting rotten corpses for a simple fix.
Who died of cancer three times over, but came back to see the second coming fail.
Who traveled to Venice, and stayed there in Venice, only to drown in their sleep.
Who lost their virginity in back-seats stained with cum and saliva from a man who never called them back.
Who killed hamster upon hamster in cold-blooded vigor, staring intently at the carnage with both hands down their pants.
Who bashed gays, blacks, Koreans, and Jews everyday, and upon returning home burned old family photos.
Who set nights ablaze with kerosene and paperbacks, flames flying through the evening sky.
Who dropped atom bombs and tear gas on their next-door neighbors with the wind blowing into their faces.
Who maxed out their credit card buying name-branded murder from china town and Beijing.
Who refused to conform, by wearing black and ripping jeans, throwing cash money at the newest style to hit the scene.
Who “fought” to keep their country safe from home sweet home while far away men fell and died to pay for the oil to cook their meats, move their cars, and lubricate their asses.
Who moved lines on a map back and forth, crying “forward to salvation!” from the comfort of pressurized cabins.
Who made brave sacrifices and decisions by sending their men off to the desert to secure another opium-filled field for the emperor.
Who worshiped the morals they were taught as a child all the while ignoring rules five through ten.
Who followed blindly while the front line marched silently off the cliff.
Who flung themselves at bullets flying through the air with backspin and hatred, chopping violently through bodies in search of plutonium to call its home.
Who sat on merry-go-rounds tossing grenades, watching with glee as women and children ran for their lives.
Who died for their countries, and were left to rot on the battlefield, proud of their sacrifice.
Who choked on their own elbows, ravenously consuming themselves in a fervor of hate.
Who robbed their own children, looting the mansions on Christmas Eve while over for Chinese food dinner.
Who worshiped false prophets, and when the time came crucified themselves to make way for their successors to die in vain.
Who hid in the bushes, and sat in the treetops looking through the bedroom windows of movie stars and teenagers.
Who spoke out of ignorance then killed millions in jungles and forests to cover up their lies.
Who screamed of agony and pain at a ripped sweater, dirtied jeans or lost plaything while children half a world away slaved over fabrics and sewing machines.
Who moved down to Florida in the evening of their lifetimes, hiding in the sand from grim defeat.
Who traveled to Los Angeles, Chicago and New York looking for a solution to their farm boy blues.
Who traveled from Kansas to Arkansas speaking slowly of Ohio, waiting for the Tin soldiers and plasma guns.
Who waited in vain for the age of reason and died lonely and cold, never having the courage to stand up to the fury of hailstorms and fire which spewed from the southerly winds of reform.
I’ve seen wisdom tossed aside to make way for gun-toting fascists screaming of ecstasy and sweet release.
For children, who, smoking apathetic mushrooms in atheistic convents, watched reality fade to cell phones and beepers.
Who stuck Doobies up their asses for inspiration, then wondered if the ensuing orgasm was from the pot, or the cock up the anus.
Who ran from Atlanta to New York, all the while aiming for Denver, or Palestine.
Who dreamed of homicides, and suicides, and patricides, and theocides galore.
Who slept with red-necked chickens laying eggs of solid gold.
Who sucked cough drops and ice cubes through straws of colored glass.
Who sang of hookers and silver chains while leaving out the ‘R’s with Bostonian grace.
Who lay beneath the stars in air-conditioned tents, all the while whining of missed episodes and unnatural heat.
Who craved jelly donuts and candy canes which were later regurgitated in the sink.
Who played guitar at best friend’s parties, strumming the infamous G-C-D.
Who sat in corners writing poetry, while all around them life went on.
Who sun-bathed on beaches full of seagulls with blackberries full of sand and hundred-dollar sweatshirts.
Who sat uninspired in lecture halls waiting for someone, or something to somehow show them the way.
Who bought essays off the Internet, and later called a street-bum lazy.
Who flipped burgers for national amusement while giving blow-jobs on cable T.V.
Whose parents paid for their porn career, while angel headed losers watched someone better in unlit basements.
Who contracted aids from dirty needles while snorting million-dollar coke with eighty-year-old bankers.
Who played “punk rock” in stadiums, singing of heartbreak while fucking pop stars and signing record deals.
Who inspired murderers, and thieves, then spoke of the poverty cycle and crime.
Who rallied for civil rights and freedom, only to slander the god of another.
Who chanted wildly for a pay raise, then quit anyway to collect food stamps and unemployment.
Who, upon hearing the bells ring in the far off distance, dropped to their knees and praised Jehovah, Mohamed, and Sponge Bob.
Who, in times of desperation, turned to rapists to show them the way to salvation.
Who spat in the faces of their elders, while looting rotten corpses for a simple fix.
Who died of cancer three times over, but came back to see the second coming fail.
Who traveled to Venice, and stayed there in Venice, only to drown in their sleep.
Who lost their virginity in back-seats stained with cum and saliva from a man who never called them back.
Who killed hamster upon hamster in cold-blooded vigor, staring intently at the carnage with both hands down their pants.
Who bashed gays, blacks, Koreans, and Jews everyday, and upon returning home burned old family photos.
Who set nights ablaze with kerosene and paperbacks, flames flying through the evening sky.
Who dropped atom bombs and tear gas on their next-door neighbors with the wind blowing into their faces.
Who maxed out their credit card buying name-branded murder from china town and Beijing.
Who refused to conform, by wearing black and ripping jeans, throwing cash money at the newest style to hit the scene.
Who “fought” to keep their country safe from home sweet home while far away men fell and died to pay for the oil to cook their meats, move their cars, and lubricate their asses.
Who moved lines on a map back and forth, crying “forward to salvation!” from the comfort of pressurized cabins.
Who made brave sacrifices and decisions by sending their men off to the desert to secure another opium-filled field for the emperor.
Who worshiped the morals they were taught as a child all the while ignoring rules five through ten.
Who followed blindly while the front line marched silently off the cliff.
Who flung themselves at bullets flying through the air with backspin and hatred, chopping violently through bodies in search of plutonium to call its home.
Who sat on merry-go-rounds tossing grenades, watching with glee as women and children ran for their lives.
Who died for their countries, and were left to rot on the battlefield, proud of their sacrifice.
Who choked on their own elbows, ravenously consuming themselves in a fervor of hate.
Who robbed their own children, looting the mansions on Christmas Eve while over for Chinese food dinner.
Who worshiped false prophets, and when the time came crucified themselves to make way for their successors to die in vain.
Who hid in the bushes, and sat in the treetops looking through the bedroom windows of movie stars and teenagers.
Who spoke out of ignorance then killed millions in jungles and forests to cover up their lies.
Who screamed of agony and pain at a ripped sweater, dirtied jeans or lost plaything while children half a world away slaved over fabrics and sewing machines.
Who moved down to Florida in the evening of their lifetimes, hiding in the sand from grim defeat.
Who traveled to Los Angeles, Chicago and New York looking for a solution to their farm boy blues.
Who traveled from Kansas to Arkansas speaking slowly of Ohio, waiting for the Tin soldiers and plasma guns.
Who waited in vain for the age of reason and died lonely and cold, never having the courage to stand up to the fury of hailstorms and fire which spewed from the southerly winds of reform.
Who sucked endless cock and balls, adding in a complement here, a falsehood there, all the while keeping both eyes fixed on the road ahead and the gold beneath the sand covered beaches.
Who doubted the prophets, slandered the poets, and crucified the saviors, all in the name of religion and god.
Who quoted the scriptures and prayed in the temples, dropping to their knees in bouts of prayer; and later that night remained on their knees with the red lights shining and the cash flowing in.
Who spoke of reform and family values while Vegas paid for ballots, commercials, and toilets made of gold.
Who leaned forward in their seats to better hear the lies of ages past and futures not with coming.
Who barred windows, locked doors, and bullet-proofed skylights to keep out the mosquitoes, meanwhile caging the songbirds and tigers.
Who stared at the sun, then the moon, then the stars while digging deeper to the core of the earth.
Who journeyed to Canterbury, to Bethlehem, and to Mecca in search of florescent light bulbs to last for eternity.
Who wrote love letters in leetspeak, abbreviations and Swahili, leaving their sweethearts in suspense to the meaning behind the letters L-U-V.
Who drank power drinks and flavored water, ingesting more poison and daggers than Caesar himself.
Who got a job in New York, bought a cat, and never again ventured outside their central park apartments.
Who sat stoned in basements, attics, and fading living rooms wondering where they took a wrong turn on their journey to Jerusalem.
Who jumped from illuminated rooftops and towers, landing gracefully on the ground before cowering in fear at how big the ants beneath their feat had become.
Who wrote to historians and poets alike, commenting on the inconveniences of the past, and asking if it could please be changed.
Who saw nothing, knew nothing, and cared nothing for the billions who died beneath their feat, the cries of freedom emanating from their ever-parched throats as they faded to the dark knight’s serenity.
Who smoked cannabis in dollar bills, burning the franklins and hash leaves alike.
Who babysat for bags of heroin and plutonium, sitting obediently in front of T.V. screens and microwaves waiting for the beep.
Who cowered in their sleep, putting up barricades of slime and rot hoping with all their might that that it would stop the rain.
Who took gold watches, gold fillings, and golden eyeballs off the dirty corpses of the fallen, stripping the body of all its treasures before sending it downriver to burn in the coal plants.
Who drove tanks, flew bombers, and threw hand grenades at second cousins, adopted parents, and best friend’s sisters.
Who hunted for meat, for fur, for fats, and for sport.
Who blessed the queen, hailed the crown and threw their freedoms at her feet screaming “take them, take them, take them all to glorify your name”.
Who went deaf and blind to the calls of the falconers, acting out of ignorance, missing their cues and committing atrocities all in a string of misunderstandings.
Who praised their leaders, quoting party doctrine and patriotic mottoes.
Who beat on five year olds, and egged old houses trying desperately to gain the approval which never came.
Who listened to orchestras, played pianos, and wrote great literature; feigning culture as they murdered millions in the streets.
Who hid in the basements when the rapture came, fearing purgatorial pain as the hurricane passed and the waters died down.
Who were dragged through silent waters, darkened valleys and dog filled barnyards.
Who read playboy mags for the articles, exercising hands behind closed doors.
Who salivated at polo shirts and collars raised, ignoring completely the bodies to which they clung.
Who quoted poetry, cited great authors, and read from lyric books, speaking others minds at every turn, yet failing to have their own.
Who raced in stock car derbies, wasting gasoline paid for in the blood of their sons and daughters in deserts across the sea.
Who sold tomaco products, ex-filled barley and opium rice.
Who laughed heartily at cartoon mice, then wore black and asked questions like “Why did they do it?” and “Where is my son?”.
Who drank up the ruffies, gulping down spiked drinks with unintended velocity and force.
Who bought spare livers from the starving poor, breaking in their third or fourth with alcohol and poppy drinks.
Who ejaculated on prisoners of war, laughing loudly and speaking without words.
Who videotaped the new recruits crawling through the mud after being repeatedly raped and tortured with dull blades and broken light bulbs.
Who watched their best friends die on network news, not shedding a tear before flipping to their favorite soap opera channel.
Who listened to the lottery, tuned in to the newscast, and ignored their parents’ cries for help.
Who needed a weather man to know which way the wind blew.
Who suffocated in pillowcases, drowned in swimming pools, and found a million other ways to die young and useless.
Who went bowling in dark alleys and side streets, completely ignorant of the friends who got left behind until it was their turn to be snatched into the darkness.
Who spiraled lower, lower, lower; lower until they hit rock bottom and beat on the cold stone floor begging to be admit into the under-chambers of the hell they’d been chasing all their lives.
Who sucked the life out of vampire bats, frankensteins, and werewolves howling in the night at the concrete moon.
Who saw in their lifetimes the overarching reach of all fears and evils as they sat silently in the back-seats of SUVs, ATVs, monster trucks and dirt bikes.
I’ve seen strippers yelling loudly in tone-deaf voices while beat boxers lost their rhythm.
Who doubted the prophets, slandered the poets, and crucified the saviors, all in the name of religion and god.
Who quoted the scriptures and prayed in the temples, dropping to their knees in bouts of prayer; and later that night remained on their knees with the red lights shining and the cash flowing in.
Who spoke of reform and family values while Vegas paid for ballots, commercials, and toilets made of gold.
Who leaned forward in their seats to better hear the lies of ages past and futures not with coming.
Who barred windows, locked doors, and bullet-proofed skylights to keep out the mosquitoes, meanwhile caging the songbirds and tigers.
Who stared at the sun, then the moon, then the stars while digging deeper to the core of the earth.
Who journeyed to Canterbury, to Bethlehem, and to Mecca in search of florescent light bulbs to last for eternity.
Who wrote love letters in leetspeak, abbreviations and Swahili, leaving their sweethearts in suspense to the meaning behind the letters L-U-V.
Who drank power drinks and flavored water, ingesting more poison and daggers than Caesar himself.
Who got a job in New York, bought a cat, and never again ventured outside their central park apartments.
Who sat stoned in basements, attics, and fading living rooms wondering where they took a wrong turn on their journey to Jerusalem.
Who jumped from illuminated rooftops and towers, landing gracefully on the ground before cowering in fear at how big the ants beneath their feat had become.
Who wrote to historians and poets alike, commenting on the inconveniences of the past, and asking if it could please be changed.
Who saw nothing, knew nothing, and cared nothing for the billions who died beneath their feat, the cries of freedom emanating from their ever-parched throats as they faded to the dark knight’s serenity.
Who smoked cannabis in dollar bills, burning the franklins and hash leaves alike.
Who babysat for bags of heroin and plutonium, sitting obediently in front of T.V. screens and microwaves waiting for the beep.
Who cowered in their sleep, putting up barricades of slime and rot hoping with all their might that that it would stop the rain.
Who took gold watches, gold fillings, and golden eyeballs off the dirty corpses of the fallen, stripping the body of all its treasures before sending it downriver to burn in the coal plants.
Who drove tanks, flew bombers, and threw hand grenades at second cousins, adopted parents, and best friend’s sisters.
Who hunted for meat, for fur, for fats, and for sport.
Who blessed the queen, hailed the crown and threw their freedoms at her feet screaming “take them, take them, take them all to glorify your name”.
Who went deaf and blind to the calls of the falconers, acting out of ignorance, missing their cues and committing atrocities all in a string of misunderstandings.
Who praised their leaders, quoting party doctrine and patriotic mottoes.
Who beat on five year olds, and egged old houses trying desperately to gain the approval which never came.
Who listened to orchestras, played pianos, and wrote great literature; feigning culture as they murdered millions in the streets.
Who hid in the basements when the rapture came, fearing purgatorial pain as the hurricane passed and the waters died down.
Who were dragged through silent waters, darkened valleys and dog filled barnyards.
Who read playboy mags for the articles, exercising hands behind closed doors.
Who salivated at polo shirts and collars raised, ignoring completely the bodies to which they clung.
Who quoted poetry, cited great authors, and read from lyric books, speaking others minds at every turn, yet failing to have their own.
Who raced in stock car derbies, wasting gasoline paid for in the blood of their sons and daughters in deserts across the sea.
Who sold tomaco products, ex-filled barley and opium rice.
Who laughed heartily at cartoon mice, then wore black and asked questions like “Why did they do it?” and “Where is my son?”.
Who drank up the ruffies, gulping down spiked drinks with unintended velocity and force.
Who bought spare livers from the starving poor, breaking in their third or fourth with alcohol and poppy drinks.
Who ejaculated on prisoners of war, laughing loudly and speaking without words.
Who videotaped the new recruits crawling through the mud after being repeatedly raped and tortured with dull blades and broken light bulbs.
Who watched their best friends die on network news, not shedding a tear before flipping to their favorite soap opera channel.
Who listened to the lottery, tuned in to the newscast, and ignored their parents’ cries for help.
Who needed a weather man to know which way the wind blew.
Who suffocated in pillowcases, drowned in swimming pools, and found a million other ways to die young and useless.
Who went bowling in dark alleys and side streets, completely ignorant of the friends who got left behind until it was their turn to be snatched into the darkness.
Who spiraled lower, lower, lower; lower until they hit rock bottom and beat on the cold stone floor begging to be admit into the under-chambers of the hell they’d been chasing all their lives.
Who sucked the life out of vampire bats, frankensteins, and werewolves howling in the night at the concrete moon.
Who saw in their lifetimes the overarching reach of all fears and evils as they sat silently in the back-seats of SUVs, ATVs, monster trucks and dirt bikes.
I’ve seen strippers yelling loudly in tone-deaf voices while beat boxers lost their rhythm.
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"What Is The Meaning Of Life" by Marino Creatively Copyrighted © 2008
[ Published by Derusha Publishing LLC ]
[ Published by Derusha Publishing LLC ]