Security

Security is a dangerous thing.

 

It is a dance with death:

a journey into desert lands to find rumoured treasure.

But it is illusive; floating like a mirage,

leading you on into nothingness.

Because the more one constantly chases security,

the less one lives in the process,

and the less effective any real security can ultimately be.

Those with the most security have the least life to protect;

and those with the most life have the greater need for security.

But there is no middle way.

 

Security prevents life; it corrupts it

– it seals it away.

Security can be bulky steel locks.

An electric fence perimeter.

An avoidance of others’ opinions.

A decision to not visit somewhere.

A double-barrel shotgun under the bed.

 

Security can also be hatred.

It can be found in treachery and ignorance.

Racism. Fascism. Sexism.

Security is a state of mind;

putting up bars between the psyche and the world;

an immovable rock between the eyes,

hiding any inconvenient penetrating truths.

 

Show me the most secure people in the world and I

will show you the poorness of banality and fear.

Show me the least secure people in the world and I

will show you the riches of fire and soul.

 

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In Too Deep

In Too Deep

I walk this urban jungle
and I see people so lost
wandering through life
desperate and depraved
clinging onto lottery tickets
and shopping bags
and briefcases
and beer bottles
looking for the way out

I see people so lost
stuck in a movie they never asked to star in
working for causes they don’t believe in
trapped in lives they never imagined
a life where the tramp and lawyer
wear the same frown

I see souls starving and dying
behind counters
behind desks
behind smartphones
behind newspapers
behind steering wheels
mothers, fathers,
teachers
bus drivers

people so lost
in too deep
drowning in traffic jams
while turning the radio louder
and louder
to escape the reality

that kills us all

The Secret Killers

The Secret Killers

I see them everyday
out walking the streets, smiling
unchained, untouched

their greatest crime hidden
in a heavy hand on a shoulder
a judgemental stare
the moment that they told her

“it’s time to grow up,
it’s time to join the real world,
we only want what’s best for you”

They are the killers
the murderers of dreams
the mutilators of spirit
the destroyers of all things good

they are the ones
fucking and spawning
fragile beings
into a dangerous world
to make them chase security
and normality
and to merely exist
in a living prison
where dreams rot

behind a television

Post-College Rebellion

Post-College Rebellion

So I finally arrived but the businessmen say the journey has just begun;
twenty years of transitional education to be bottom facing the gun.
With a loss of direction I lament the system and nation;
for what use is any knowledge – without imagination?

And I got that post-college rebellion rushing through my veins,
spewing out my mouth and flowing down the drain.
I got post-college rebellion bleeding from my eyes,
dripping onto newspapers as I read the daily lies.
I got post-college rebellion striking computer keys,
searching for an escape with a backpack overseas;
post-college rebellion and I look up to the skies and plea:
is there more to life than this – is there something more for me?

‘cause I know there are forces out there that want to put me in a box,
to kneel down faithfully and kiss the finger of the man;
to place me into a cubicle where nobody ever knocks,
and dress up nicely – a component of society with a plan.

Yeah maybe one day I’ll be more conservative,
and chase the money and the power, and build a castle to live.
But now I gotta do the things that fan the flames of my desire,
the ones that kill this twitch inside and set my soul on fire.

That’s why I got post-college rebellion burning up my skin,
igniting my anxiety and turning my flesh thin.
I got post-college rebellion choking me like dust,
got me spitting out the mediocrity of this decaying social rust.
I got post-college rebellion wandering into the wild;
got me sleeping on the floor and playing like a child;
post-college rebellion and I look up to the stars and plea:

is there more to life than this – is there something more for me?

Waiting For It

Waiting For It

I see it in the eyes of
elderly men
consternation and horror
as they count down their last
a lost glare shows the void
is calling them

I see it in the eyes of
lonely women
washing the dishes
as they watch the clouds pass
a lost glare shows the void
is calling them

I see it in the eyes of
a man drinking gin
desperation and fear
as he clings onto a glass
a long stare shows the void
is calling him

I see it in the eyes
the fearful eyes
toiling with trivia
passing the days
passing the years
as bodies decay
and minds decay
and eyes finally close

to the dark of death

Pushing Prams

Pushing Prams

Here she comes
Pushing a pram
Sweating profusely, red-faced
Transporting her little
Bundle of joy

All the strain and all the pain
To coax another oxygen breather
Into temporary existence
Into a dangerous world
That doesn’t care

Another employee
Another taxpayer
Another car in a traffic jam
And another one to also
Push a pram
When they grow up
And replicate

Here she comes
Pushing in a pram in pain
The universal struggle
The human urge
To create life
To achieve immortality

And push prams