Always absorbing
Everything everywhere
All the time.
With the images
Always provided
For me,
How am I
To imagine
Anything of my own?
This Ubiquitous
Assimilation drains
My originality
And kills
My creativity.
I’m told what
To eat, what
To wear, what
To think, how
To act, where
To buy, how
To pay, when
To leave, and
Who to love.
I am plagued
By Doublethink.
I deliberately
Believe in lies
When I know
They are false.
I willingly play
My part in this
Marketing holocaust
Twenty-four hours
Per day for
The rest of
My life.
I am bombarded,
Like the ocean,
Day after day
With thoughts that
Are not my own.
I am an empty
Shell, defenseless
Against the onslaught
As long as I
Choose to stay
Plugged in.
My attention span
Is shorter than
My penis
Thanks to the
Programming I adopted
From a culture that
Demands robotic-like
Behavior.
My phone beeps,
I reach for it
Without so much
As a thought
For what I
Was doing before.
We are trained
Monkeys, lab rats
For the powers-
That-be. They
Rake in billions
Per quarter and
Dull our senses
With entertainment,
Sugar, and drink.
We assume we
Have a choice,
But do we?
Try to unplug
For even a day
I dare you!
I wish my
Mind had a
“capture screenshot”
Feature like my
Phone so I could
Watch my thoughts
Like a movie for
Just one day.
I would be
Appalled to discover
Ninety-nine out of
A hundred screenshots
Were purposely planted
There by a
Corporation vying
For my money.
That one thought,
One cool drink
In a desert
Of dry skulls
Might be of
My daughter’s genuine
Smile when she’s
Not worrying.
Or my son’s
Embrace before
Bed last night
When he really
Wanted to convey
His love through
Nothing except
His hug.
Or of my dog’s
Tongue gliding
Across my soul-
Patch while our
Exhales mix into
The same space
And we appreciate
One another apart
From any words.
Another thought out
Of a hundred
Might be of
My wife and
How she manages
To love me
Even when I’m
Impossible to love.
Her strength and
Her beauty compel
Me to try to
Be a better
Man, a better
Lover, a better
Father, a better
Human being.
She believes in
Me even when
Belief in myself
Has disappeared.
Out of millions
Of thoughts pouring
Down on my
Mind like a
Torrential thunderstorm,
I’m lucky to
Have even a few
Of those thoughts be
My own that
Weren’t planted there
By another. I
Cherish those
Authentic moments
(when I am
Able to recognize them
For what they are)
Because they prove
I am still alive
And can still
Think for myself.
Those moments make
Wading through bullshit
Up to my chest
And sifting the
Ashes for a spark,
Worthwhile, because
Those rare moments
Create one thing—
HOPE! Hope
Keeps us all
Moving forward
Even when all
Seems lost. Hope
Is what squeezes
Through the cracks
When life feels
Pointless. Hope is
Reading another’s
Authentic prose or
Poetry and feeling
“Me too!” Hope
Is the invisible
Force that pushes
Us all down
The river. Hope
Is the current
That propels us
Through life. Hope
Is all the Auschwitz
Survivor had to
Wake up to every
Morning. Hope
Is why I pick
Up my pen and
Press it to the page.
Some days, actually
Most days, I ask
Myself what I
Am doing with my
Life. I wait
For an answer.
And I wait.
And I wait.
And I wait.
Back to work I
Go, the ex calls,
My dog gets
Neutered, my wife
Has an emergency
(at least she
Thinks it’s one)
That I must fix
My son wants
The new Kobe’s
My daughter needs
New tires, I go
Work twelve hours
Again tomorrow, the
Insurance is due
In four weeks, taxes
In eight, mortgage
On the first every
Month to pay
For this palace
That feels like a prison.
Where was I?
Oh yeah, my
Life? When will
I get around to
Writing that novel?
Who will notice
My talent and
Offer me time to
Figure all this
Shit out? Does anyone
Really care whether
They are being controlled
By a system
Designed to suck
Every last dime from
Their meaningless
Existence before they
Return to where
They came from?
Is it even possible
To create a life
That wasn’t already
Created by a previous
Version of myself?
Is my present
Self nothing more
Than a slave to
Yesterday’s Self?
It all reminds me
Of those books I
Used to read as
A kid where I
Got to choose the
Outcome of the story.
The only difference
Is I can’t read
Ahead and pick the
Best outcome. I
Can’t guarantee that
Waking up at four
In the morning and
Writing for three hours
Every day will
Produce any meaningful
Outcome so I sleep
Until the last
Minute and have to
Rush out the door.
Is there any point
In trying to succeed?
Am I a rudderless
Ship? Do I
Mindlessly drift in
The winds of my
Culture? Is this
Life something an
Otherworldly force
Chose for me?
When Ali said
He was the
Greatest did he
Know that before
Saying it or did
He say it and
Then have to
Back up his
Big mouth?
So what if I
Said I’m the
Greatest writer since
Poe, Wittman, or Nietzsche?
Do I believe the
Part of me that’s
Laughing out loud or
The part that comes
From the same
Otherworldly source
That brought me,
And Ali, into this world?
Remember those
Screenshots of my
Mind I mentioned?
Millions per day tell
Me not to try,
Don’t wake up early,
Get sucked into a
New show, ignore
Your health, scan
Facebook, Instagram,
Twitter until eleven
At night. Keep doing
What you’re doing and
Eventually you’ll
Catch a break.
But that break
Never comes and
It never will. The
Lotto office apparently
Forgot my address.
The long-lost
Relative with the
Truckloads of cash
Must have got robbed
On his way over.
The obituaries are
Full of dreamers
Whose ship never
Came in. They
Believed the lie
That their church
Or their government
Told them. “Be good
And be obedient,
Give us your money,
We’ll invest it for you,
We’ll take half of
What you’ve earned,
Thank you, and
We’ll keep you safe,
And barter with god
On your behalf. Just
Promise not to
Think for yourself or
Listen to the
Conspiracy theorists
(they’re just a bunch
Of crazies anyway).
Go see that movie
You’ve been dying to
See, get drunk with
Your buddies, smoke
A little weed even
Though it’s not legal
In your state, just
Do whatever you need
To do in order to
Not really pay attention to
What’s going on.
We prefer you alive,
Barely, but not so
Alive that your passions
Wake you up enough
To think for yourself.
You have to
Understand, a large
Group of people who all
Think independently and
Authentically can’t be
Controlled and manipulated
As easily as we prefer
So, please, keep doing
What you’ve always done.
Oh, by the way,
Your favorite team
Is playing at eight
Tonight. Pay no
Attention to the
Mind-numbing and
Mind-altering short little
Videos we play
During every timeout
And halftime. Those won’t
Hurt you a bit!”
Always absorbing
Everything everywhere
All the time.
With the images
Always provided
For me,
How am I
To imagine
Anything of my own?
This Ubiquitous
Assimilation drains
My originality
And kills
My creativity.
So I shut off
The television
And all the
Voices in my
Head by meditating
For an hour.
Peace My Friends!
Travis
Ubiquitous…that word’s been showing up all over the place! Wha an appropriate sentiment.
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