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Black Friday | Protest Poetry

Black Friday cattle mindlessly consuming at the corporatist trough

Homo Consumpticus.

Homo Unconscious.

Homo Cancerous.

Homo Virus.

Destructive sheep.

Or cattle.

Or—for you mechanized geeks out there—cogs. Automatons.




Synonymous now. All.

Gotta get this.

Gotta get that.

This and that.

In the landfill in a year. Tops.

Moo, motherfuckers. Moo.

I can't believe I'm a member of this species.

I can't believe I have anything in common with these people.

You can't reason with them.

You can't see reason in them.

None of the moral kind, at least.

None of the sane kind.

None of the decent kind.

A species that cares not for its own world,

its own breathing air,

its own land,

its own future,

its own children ...

is a species alien to me, utterly.

Agent Smith was right. We are a virus.

You cannot reason with unreason.

You cannot save a soul that already destroyed itself

pursuing things, pursuing status, pursuing power,

pursuing useless shit shelved in useless, vast spaces.

You can't say to them: "What the fuck are you doing?"

They won't listen.

The planet is literally collapsing around their—our—ears,

is burning, is drowning, is choking ...

but hey!—there's a sale today!

It's Black Friday today!

Let's go and CONSUME!




Not really all that long ago, that was the word

for the progressive wasting of the body.

In the not so distant future,

the children you did not love

will revive that word

to describe the hell of the wasted planet

you forced them to inhabit.

All so you could be a ravenous herd animal today.

Black Friday.


From the upcoming

Conversations With God: Volume 2


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