Cell Drain

Looked up for the first time in ten minutes while busily tapping away on the touch screen of my cellphone only to notice everyone else in the room inside their personal cocoon of auto erotic digital pleasure. Completely zoned from the rest of the world as they burrowed their way through vast amounts of information like crack fiends seeking the ultimate score. The era of the portable computer has finally made an identation into our already limited attention span, might as well forget it, no need for cigarettes, just get into Facebook, texting, or sending cult hero photos with whitty captions to other brain starved amigos on the other side of the country. Conversation can be quite an achievement for the general public due to our new found facination with social media and the ever presence desire to broadcasat the most minute half formulated ideas in search of the holy grail of peer approval. It has come to the point where I have to place my phone inside a jacket zipper, just let go of the urge for the time being to further bland the minds of mutually distracted public who can no longer achieve the loft rock star goals of their dreams, but now must be quite content to render themselves into a satellite status of semi anonymous huma-droids constructing billions of little sheltered biovaucs in a grand scheme to give spontaneous birth to the next hip meta-cast web portal with illegal downshare links, hologram self portraits of nearby cities, and alternate universes filled with unique species of alien nature that would give even the most unexplainable science fiction character a strong case of xenophobia.

I feel like such a loser for being such a willing participant in the process, but now must settle back in the role of casual observer as the world heads into an era where business and the technological tools the masses have begin to wield, collide into an all out assualt to fuse silicon with carbon, the new big bang into a epoch where the means of communication will supercede the content being offered. Don't doubt when my Facebook feed is filled with nothing but advertisements and a strong helping of irrelevant drivel that constitutes nothing more a widespread epidemic of public urination or indecent exposure we are well on our way. Distraction is my best friend and those around me at the moment. Does anyone care what is going on around them or have we all decided to feed a life that must be pimped by the architects of 21 century dream machines? Maybe I should be concerned or scared for the direction of society, personally it will not be boring by a long shot, the actions of people never fail to dissapoint, so go back to watching the television shows, surfing the net, or doing the social media swing, tune in. turn on, tune out.

Release Date

Pretty close to getting out of this fortress, so much time has past can no longer retain any real measurement of time. Life freezes when all options have been removed, while grasping on to a shallow anticipation that I may resuface from an extended period of hibernation. Been shuffled through a web of holding compartments, no explanations or information of when this journey amongst the casade of three dimensional cubic tiles will come to an end. Flesh beasts surround me on each side, my steps feel heavy, yet unstable as if gravity has started to fluctuate intensity, walking on gelatinous mass surface, one foot falls into the floor another bounces the other foot toward the ceiling. Lost little Alice in Wonderland, escape hyper spell stretch, mind now new age sewer, guru for the plastic creatures dining on silicon wafers and liquid nitrogen chalices, feeds post god nectar for the new era of popularity queen and digital king.

Haven't had many problems with the other inmates till today, got thrown in a cell with a couple of teenagers and someone about my age. At first, the two youth began to size me up, which was a bit of grounds for concern, so damn close to finally getting out of this holding pen and now these arrogant, intense, and ultraviolent mutants wanted to bait me into a fight. One of the baton wielding goons who brought me into this limbo void mumbled something about being let free. Great, we are all of the same cause, except for one skinny white trash piece of shit who spent he free time scoring meth in dark lab rats of the mind. The sleepless caustic endangered scared animal trapped in a corner look was stretched over his face taut like a snare drum wound up to the point of tearing in two. My first instinct when someone wants to stare down is get right in their face, call them out, and see what the problem might be, yet this kid has spent the past hour whining about how once he is free from our current labor camp, authorities from a business corporation have bought the rights to his freedom in exchange a service contract extending any number of years, where he shall play the puppet to the whims of others more sadistic than himself.

People in this position, obtained by the system, become nothing more than meanacing news reels used to instill fear in the general public who do want to deal with any sort of hard customers that may be inclined by some genetic or environment stimlus to go on a killing spree in anytown America. Happens all the time, a gear turns, a belief is internalized, while the medics, fire department, and police arrive to clean up the mess. None of this does anything to quell my current decision to either fight or leave it alone. Luckily, there happens to be another person in with us who is more upbeat, optimistic, and excited as myself to get the hell out of here. The second youth, a real tall, wide, and aloof type lumbers back to one of the few wooden benches in the room, neither concerned or captivated with my arrival. This diffuses some of the tension, but by now I can't look at him, he knows the deal, bait me to brawl, then in come the meatheads to kick the shit out us, then toss me back into confinement for another month, who wants that, I only seek to walk the damn streets a free man again and figure out how to get back on my feet.

Just shut out this small quarter with walls littered in third grade scrawl gang affiliations, tags, and the arbitary expletive, a few people must have spent quite a stretch in this room as most of the painted floor had been scratched away possibly by fingernail, but after asking the older cool captive how the letters were created; he rather casually broke off a small piece of concrete from an existing crumbling pillar then used the rock to carve away the layers of flat grey paint from the floor. No one wants to our talk about our release dates especially now that the one kid has played his hand; he has nothing to lose except a commitment to an invisible entity who shows no sympathy, tolerance, or love, but rations out enough sustanance to keep him alive like welfare children, cashing in on their existence, yet offering no help to pull themselves away of their reckless, impulsive, and often fatal decisions. Things are quiet for a while, as the older inmate pleades for someone to rescue him from this detention, still no one arrives for him, soon enough I am dragged out by my heels with the tall quiet kid, just the luck of the draw. We are cut loose, back into the streets of the world, I give quiet kid five bucks for a pack of smokes and he disappears back into the chaos that delivered here in the first place.

Street Lamp Fallout

One light on this alley, must run at least 300 yards, looks like it fades off toward the end of the universe in the direction of an ultimate fear few dare to face, except the insane, desperate, or destitute who make such a location their permanent residence. The dark forces are a beacon for misery, failure, and compulsion to self destruct, like a shotgun in the mouth, then pull the trigger, danger is nothing to be avoided here, can't be done, impossible, it comes with every breath, every shower, and every carefully measured footstep down this corridor of misfortune. A woman walks into the void, clay like, animated, a chew toy for eternal forces who need to be appeased with token sacrifices in order to prevent something more universally catastrophic. There are plenty more snacks wandering these nearby avenues who have no other purpose than to serve as fast food for the purely evil nature that nests at the other end of the alley, like a spider, alert but motionless, patient yet quick to strike, the moment between inaction and mortality is razor thin, no decision, merely detection then consumption. Screams of terror fade into bottomless wells, victim after victim, the people around here once tried to burn the apartments around the alley to the ground only to find more and more rows of abandoned housing fortifying the passage drawing more unsuspecting victims into its insastiable stomach. As the gap between the rich and the poor widens this meat grinder for the havenots shall only grow larger to keep up with the ever increasing influx of more people, shredding humans into fodder for government agencies to further personal agendas while lining their budgets with programs that only serve to maintain, refine, and improve on the process of making citizens of the United States into either criminals or cannibals, the guts are eroding, I can smell it on the sidewalk, see it in the eyes of every third person I meet, and watch blank eyed children dream of malnourishing the minds of the future with useless gadgets and information that do nothing but drive people to drugs, obiesity, or a first class seat into cyberspace, billons of children need something to do, not all of them can rule the world, but this rate, none of them will.

We Wear Fad

Crossing empty streets under the shadow of billion dollar corporations. Youth bastard children of free market will, nothing more than banner ads in the three dimensional reality of life, walking, talking advertisements who subscribe to the pay to play system of living, where putting money in the end user concept such as fashion has made generations nothing more than stand ins for B rate actors on television shows twenty years deep into rerun status. Only the original models ever laugh to the bank, all the rest must live with the shortcoming of being nothing more than a plastic cloroform mold, synthetic to the touch, manniquins seem more life like. all possesions in tow, stuff into the latest hip hand bags, given light by anonymous bloggers from unknown corners of the globe. Photoshop images, Final Cut videos, and Pro Tools music tracks have become the dialouge of the 21st century, no need to talk to anyone, just post your personal voice onto the internet, create a new life, solidify through the use of technology and the general publics' overt willingness to embrace anything from cyberspace as accurate. Awash in the new land of tall tales where even the most boring night walking in front of the Hard Rock Hotel in Las Vegas can seem like an escapade of events, where cops arrest jay walkers with outstanding warrents who nothing are more than small game hunting practice for when the real criminals come to town; the ones calling the shots in this city, untouchable with a stack full of favors from every big player in the area, true protection and the ability to dictate cool kids on the streets, bandanas, sunglasses, and tight pants, a bit over weight with a heavy junk fix on hipness, never satisfied, roaming the town looking for people to hustle or kill. Anything for the next phase of spring clothing lines to finish out the final years of high school. Rock music, rock music, pop music, hip hop all take control, murder the minds of the masses, take from everyone, right on this shirt, says I have the right to want it all. We want the world and we want it now.

Jack Tripper

Wanders the grocery store pushing a cart full of groceries with no intention of paying. Yelling at the top of his lungs how he has just tipped over a section a canned goods near the dairy section. His small band of fellow panksters laugh at his high speed challenges with other shoppers who quickly drive off into the nearest opening to avoid demolition. Part demon, part child, no boundaries or worries as the local rent a cops chase him throughout the place. Everyone around me pretends nothing is happening, like when a child is crying on an airplane hour after hour. No one wants to hear it, but most have been trained to just endure, don't rock the boat or cause any commotion, so Jack Tripper carries on tossing oranges, beef jerky, and spam, a modern day Cat in the Hat whose own personal brand of foolery is only meant with the best intention of amusement, his amusement unfortunately. No sooner Jack Tripper is escorted out by black nylon jacket wearing guards each holding an arm twisted up and turned into Jack Tripper's back. Into the night Jack roams donned in avaitor shades, black Dickies, and a windbreaker dancing to the melodies inside his mind, the jovial joker, unaware of the meaning of malice, ill will, or contempt, jumping up in the air kicking the back of his heels together; he heads off into one of the roughest parts of town unconcerned for his well being, satisfied with the pleasure of a leading a life without boundaries dodging the authorities and all those who only seeking to exploit his flow of infinite happiness at least until the drugs wear off.

The Wait

Half comatose, an old woman sits under the light brown glow of a single light blub. The blinds are drawn with no signs to television signals bouncing reflective images off of living room walls. Her head hangs low as if asleep or in some serious state of deep concentration, while turning herself into a gallery exhibit I occasionally observe on way home from work. Life has been lived, the only thing left to do is standy by until the time to die arrives. The doors are open, the windows unlatched as if she might be tempting death to arrive at a faster pace or a would be killer deranged enough to turn the woman into an evening news story. But after living in this neighborhood for the past year, no human or spirit has bothered to fulfill the wish. So each day the vigil continues slowly turning the old lady into a marble statue, awake yet frozen, withdrawing to a dreamland of past triumphs as well as failures, a personal movie theater with all the greatest hits of her generation, while over time the array of prescription drugs ingested sustain existence begin to warp the movies in a barrage paranoid delusional subplots where all the surroundings have become completely unfamiliar. No delivery into the safe haven of the afterlife, no the train is coming to a slow halt and the final stop, no different than the first one, so back on, stop after stop, auto repeat, flat land two dimensional imagery which is neither inhabitable or any sort of refuge, only a luxurious facade hiding an impentrable truth of eroding on a time line that offers no joy or pain, merely a hollow, untextured exoskeleton that stares back in the bathroom mirror. Back to the chair once more with head held low, exhuasted, frustrated, and ultimately praying the entropy of her physical presence collapses one final time.

Kiling Floor

Urine, urine, nothing but the smell of it rising into my nostrils as I lay on the cold hard floor in some small six by six room, four othes sleep on well worn laquered benches, damn symphony of snoring echoing through my skull. No idea what has happened in the past twelve hours, abducted, tossed into some black sedan with tinted windows, no explanation, reason, or apparent motive, drugged, moving in and out of consciousness like some indie art snuff film, complete paralysis, immobilization, and enclosure. Shadowy figures in front of flourencent lights have been yelling at me for some indeterminable amount of time, hours, days, or years. Time has stopped altogether. No possessions, no cellphone, identification or shoes, they keep on pumping the A/C into this metal cage, some sort of security building with sliding metal doors that open and close electronically. Really tired, but too overwhelmed by whatever chemicals have been shot into my system, not strong enough to fight off the effects, but at least I can sleep, finally, but what circumstances, so much for work today, not that it matters anymore, freedom has been thrown out the door, meaning ideals such as showing up to work, paying the bills, and behaving in a civilized manner have lost all their importance.

Great, might as well lay my head back down on this urine stained surface, close my eyes and hope for a better beginning. Fading in and out as more bodies are congregating into whatever available space is left in this miniture cell, everyone has gone fetal, either out of fear, subconscious, or the frosty breeze forming icicles on the opaque glass window of the security door. Men in dark green uniforms are kicking at my sides to awaken, automatic response, a capture victim with no alternatives, obidence became a wish, a hope, a path of potential escape in a labyrinth of flourencent hospital sanitized passageways. No sympathy, flesh based robots who act via a series of commands with no deviation, ever, they are just as trapped as myself, voluntary captives who have only succeeded in making a career of relinquishing their personal freedom to babysit others, deemed by some great invisible moralistic wisdom of superhuman nature to display the detainees like freaks in a circus act. Compassion, sympathy, and humanity have no place in this metallic box of doom. All of us in this room at whatever moment are living on a timeline in which we have no control over.

Chained up at the hips, walking like penguins, orders shouted, "Turn to the left", " Place your right shoulder against the wall." "Don't look around at anyone else." Dehumanize is the key here, remove all positive nature, grind the boots a bit harder, mash the spiked hammer harder, squeeze, intimidate, and instill fear. Not much left to do but laugh at my current state, but this does not please the blurred out faces of the guards, they have no features, only hostile mass, powered by anger, hate, an all out desire to control, dictate, as well as kill those who shall not bow down to their destructive agenda. Everyone is being divided up in groups, more holding cells, plastic trays of something resembling food are shoved into the new confined space, who wants to eat this green bolonga topped with homemade glue. One man in the room does not care, he has been starved down to a malnourished thin rail. Still, all I can do is marvel in amazement as the being or what use to be a being, devours a trays of reprocessed garbage. This is how they get you, overtake the senses, after smashing all needs and desire down to pure survival, consuming the worst of the worst of everything feels like a vacation, a reward, a victory against the elements of nature, but the only thing to be worried about here are the elements of human nature and how some will wield power to break people down like this organism huddled up in the middle of this compartment force feeding himself every last bit of morsel he can get inside himself. This person is our future, a premonition, or preview at the complete destruction of the human character, what I cannot see yet, is the journey leading to the abused, molested, and violated half living corpse ingesting conformity after all the will to rebel has been beaten out of him, maybe he was just a hard case, but now it no longer matters anymore. This indivdual no longer exists, an outcast, voided from the journals of society, no burial or ceremony, just a low grade subserviant pension as an experimental lab rat for unseen psychological and sociological scientists, when they are done, right out into the garbage heap with the other used up, discarded cartons of filth. I can begin to understand a little, very little of the plights of freedom seekers, waiting and waiting with nothing else, but the conviction to keep themselves from going crazy, knowing that belief could set them free, the toughest thing in this room right now is wondering if I am ever going to get out, the guards don't speak, none of the others in the space seem to have any idea what is going on or how they ended up here in the first place. Fear wants to take over, break me down into a small crying child, but what good would it do, everyone in here right now is freaking out on the inside to some degree, uncertain of their futures, except that they may be living the rest of it in lockdown inside a building, underground, or Carribean island prison camp. The drugs seem to be wearing off, a few people begin to talk, small talk, nothing like the overwhelming inability to formulate a timeline of how we all came to end up in the same location. People in blood stained shirts walk past the window of our cell, bags over their heads, predators who kill whatever is put in front of them. All I can hope is they don't put those killing machines amongst us because no one in here would ever see the light of day again.