The bottom of a lake

My problems like a drunk chick
sit dead on the bottom of a lake in Chappaquiddick

Now im a senator
power of god
blasting out blessings
through the tip of my rod

Ranking in millions
through the dust of the bones
that fertalize our world
crushed at the stones

Were the goat headed men
in the shadows beneath the veil
soybean oil obscuring the tail

To brain damaged and fat
to see our form clear
pieces taken by mice
in small enough bites
you forgot what was there

And anyone who does
happen to glance upon our shape
Like a drunk chick
they’re sitting dead at the bottom of a lake

Hollow and warm

The numbing comfort of being completely embraced drugs and or another persons world. Sometimes circumstance creates the perfect conditions in which you just slip into a behavior seemingly out of the blue and the norm

The words drip from your lips, heavy and sweet,
drowning out everything around
until there’s nothing else to breathe but the beautiful tales they weave

exotic and strange always able to explain away the pain as sun-showers and the holes in our veins as nothing but rainbows after the rain

A lousy shirt

Declining standards and the ever fading American dream as we head into a fascist society and a steadily crumbling general intelligence of the American population

I killed my dreams for you
machine threaded, perfection
in a box of cheap screws

Precision parts held in place
by a low testosterone society

The silence growing louder than its ever been
as the support twists beneeth the weight of our
hollow world

years pass swiftly bringing nothing
less then the sting of cold acceptance
ashes blown away in winter winds

what have I left other than scars upon those I love that’ll last?

I killed myself and all i got
was this lousy shirt

Happy Clown

The mindless mass whose knowledge is nothing more than a smiling clown

Hear me laugh and here me sing
hear me say these stupid things
as im running around, running around
happy as a fucking clown

Running running running round
as the world keeps falling down
While were smiling
just stupid clowns

Stupid jokes, lighten yokes
hanging heavy around our necks
squezzeint our very breath
And the only place we find some rest
is mindless smiling running around

We put our silly make-up on
repeat the words and sing along
they taught us well, we know the song
they taught us well to go along
theres nothing here for you to see
just keep on moving with a smile on

Just as we taught you
happy happy stupid
fucking smiling clown


simulation theory and N.P.C’s (non-player characters)

So, simulation theory, the idea that this reality isn’t, well, real; this is nothing but a computer simulation like the Sim’s being run by higher beings on a computer. I think about it probably a few times a month and i find that though rather depressing if true. i don’t really believe this to be the case but that’s the thing about reality, you can never be sure what it truly is. how do you know what your really looking at, what your really doing? I’ve wondered about that since i was probably 13. I’m now 40 and nothings changed. when i was young i used to wonder if i could be in a coma, how would i know? Could i just be a brain in a vat, how would i know?

So when i heard about simulation theory when i was older it kind of made sense to me, but still, i choose not to believe this be the case. But if it is so then i think about N.P.C’s, non player characters, the passage of time and what i would be; definitely a N.P.C, but could that change at a moment when chosen so by the player?

I’m going to give a few examples and reasons why.

The following link, https://www.nytimes.com/2018/08/11/us/seatac-stolen-plane-richard-b-russell.html, will take you to a story about a common daily guy. He worked at the airport loading baggage, never flew before or took lessons. One day he just up and steals a turbo prop twin engine commercial passenger plane, flies around does loops, dives, even a roll. He tells air traffic control, “i’m sorry, hope im not ruining your day,” he continues, “this is a blast. I’ve played video games before so i kinda know what im doing”. Eventually he crashes purposely into the ground.

He should not have been able to do this, to fly like that; they wonder how he even knew how to start and take off from the runway. Was this guy just an N.P.C who got picked up by a player who for fun did the equivalent on purposely drive off a cliff as we would in our games?

As for me, why would you make an N.P.C who’s conscience of the fact that he could be an N.P.C? That’d be pretty fucking cruel.

As for time, if simulation, how much time has really passed? in games we can make days pass in minutes but to the N.P.C’s in our games it’s days that have passed, not the minutes to us. Could the entire history of humanity be simulated in a few months or years but would seem as hundreds or thousands to use? Why not.

I know im leaving this a bit underdeveloped but hey, its just a brief thought from a common N.P.C.

Super fun bomb time

We’ll bomb them to free them
til they’re screaming for freedom

Chop up their corpses
use them for heating
Drinking your soylent
we know where the dead went

greasing the gears
as the drum keeps on beating
keeping in rhythm
with the hearts it was built from

the machine keeps on heaving
poisoning the air that we’re breathing
Churning out bombs
that we’re dropping for freedom

endless destruction
a  feast of the bleeding
constantly feeding
the machine keeps on heaving
pushing out bombs
that we’re dropping for freedom

 

The Smell of Death

The smell of death
Sits at my door
All my smoke says
What you waiting for

Wont you come on in
Yeah, be my friend
We’ll take a trip
Down to the end

Though we’ve all forgotten how things began
It seems from birth we all ran
Till everything became a blur
So things seemed different than they were

Got the smell of death
Everywhere we go
All our bags scream
That we’re ready to roll

Come on man
Take a ride with us
We can do it again
I’ll call your bluff

Always seeking out the meaning
In a nightmare world unweaving
Random strings get broken loose
Now hang down as a noose

Got the smell of death
standing by my door
Well come on in
what you waiting for

Standing crooked
Death flashed  a grin
Then finally whispered
cant you see my friend
I’ve been standing here so you can’t come in
Cause even death don’t want your sin