Emma Goldman’s writing is as valid now as it was a hundred years ago. A testament to the fact we are still ensconced within the same socioeconomic issues.
Transmogrify. From rage, to depression, to surrender, to heal, to grow, to reason, to empathy, to dulcet whisper, to song, to dance…to be. To exist.
Since its inception the war on drugs has psycho-actively altered the global perception of drugs and even the definition of what drugs are. The mental fog over American minds was induced via decades of freebasing anti-drug government propaganda, however people seem to be awakening from the haze of misinformation. Still, there remains plenty of misconceptions aroundRead More
Money and the power it imbues atrophies the living daemon in all who are subjected to capitalist games. It is a manipulator of perception, a truth twister, a divider of people. All who wade into the capitalist pool will be permeated with “money values”, and those who stay too long in the tides become partRead More
Charles Bukowski’s poem Roll the Dice tells of the freedom that comes from putting yourself on the line, and holding a line. Go all the way he says, go into that unknown where the footing is questionable, understanding the commitment to not settle for something less than what sets you free is worth the risk, becauseRead More
Ramblings: 5/22/17 – Being a someone, Trump observation, and Problems with social media
How Trump shares the same salesman soul as Arthur Miller’s character in Death of a Salesman.
There is no political grey area, there is only feigned pragmatism. Wet noodle-ism. The grey – the political middle in the American constituency, or what is considered moderate positions, have long been equivocating endorsers of the status quo. In today’s world these are corporate democrats, the Hillary voters who are still buying her shtick, the Republicans whoRead More
The artist still revered, The authenticity dribbles Time aches and wanes across our countenance The consuming over, diaphanous Days bleed with dying grass, starved to dust The light strains, lanky, withered What is left? Art? Science? Matriculated and processed, ends met with progress stomped All trapped in techno legislated fires of control Stillborn thoughts RancidRead More