stream of consciousness ranting; poetical style

I wrote this a while back in one go; no revision to speak of; no structure particularly, just a blast – a rant, if you will.

I didn’t even think of a title for now, but it felt good to write it. So here we go…

 

you see them standing on the street
+ think… there must be something
there: but where?
exterior is all and that is that;
old hat; we know the truth lies somewhere else
but how?

Symbolism! But no it’s more like semiotics!
What a word; the sign and signifier divide
the world into those that think they know
+ those…

…that stand there on the street and think
(let’s not stop now and borrow
something else from academia…
invigilator! what a word!)

that all is being marked; that every
eye that passes by assess all
and scores; the t-shirt has a word upon
that signifies the lifestyle choice
of all those who have found their voice
through retail

…what a thing! we sing, I express myself
like everyone else
through dressing as I’m told

…or I’ll be bold, and be unique!
as long as that means that I’m the same as all my friends.

so – the t-shirt! eight! it would
it would have been more but the brand was not aggressive enough…

but then the hair!  a ten! carefully crafted then
to signify that I (or he)
am just the same as…
well… anyone…

so maybe it is camoflage; a cloak
to hide the soul?
the soul?

does he even know?

I am convinced that no-one knows
that there is anything more than this
celebrity the goal; the god
the tv shows, the clothes, a lot
of noise

He turns it up, he plugs it in
it is entirely possible, you know,
to go from sleep to work to tv shows
to sleep and so repeat;
when all is fake you’re not awake,
you’re not… you’re simply not
awake or maybe not alive

so thrive on noise, so plug it in
and turn it up and never stop and never
stop and never think… don’t blink

and you will never know… not
that there is anything more, but
that there ever could be anything more
than this

than this
the noise, the background hiss
the truth that we are sold
and told
that this; that this is bliss
and no, there is no soul

 

-jka

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About juakaliandy

husband, father, writer, and (importantly) just another human trying to make sense of it all...
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